#also: I think this is the last time I will be able to read this edition without it disintegrating completely

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you go to your first basketball game and didn't expect something more

You were exhausted. Not in the tired of life way, just the overwhelmed by glamour kind of way. The Formula 1 movie premiere had been a blur of flashbulbs, champagne flutes, and glimmering gowns. You weren’t a driver, but you may as well have been with the way the cameras hounded you and Charles from the moment you stepped onto the red carpet.

It never really stopped, that attention. Not when you were the younger sister of Charles Leclerc and one of the very few women working as a Formula One race engineer—let alone one who’d made it onto the Ferrari team by twenty-three. People were interested. People always had questions. And your face? Apparently marketable enough for every tabloid to want it next to your brother’s whenever you were in the same city.

So, yeah. You were exhausted.

Which is why the idea of going to a basketball game sounded... almost rebellious in its normalcy.

You leaned your head on Charles’s shoulder as the car rolled through Manhattan traffic, humming under your breath. “I still can’t believe you dragged me into that afterparty last night.”

Charles snorted, relaxed in his seat with Alexandra curled up against his other side. “You say that, but you were the one doing shots with Lando.”

“I did one shot with Lando,” you corrected, “because he said I was too uptight.”

Alex laughed softly. “He also said you should be in front of the camera instead of hiding behind pit walls.”

You groaned. “He says that every time. I fix your telemetry one time during qualifying and suddenly I’m Angelina Jolie.”

Charles grinned and gave your hand a squeeze. “You just hate being famous.”

“I don’t hate it,” you murmured, lips quirking. “I just hate not being able to disappear.”

And that was really it. You hadn’t told anyone outside your inner circle about your plan for today. A quiet trip to the Barclays Center. Just you, Charles, and Alex.

You’d mentioned it in passing after breakfast this morning, still sipping your iced coffee, eyes puffy with sleep.

“I’ve never seen a basketball game in person,” you said, squinting at your phone. “New York Liberty’s playing tonight.”

Charles blinked at you across the kitchen island. “You want to go?”

You shrugged. “Kind of curious. I know nothing about it, but the atmosphere seems cool when I googled it.”

“You google everything,” Alex teased you, whited you just shrugged at.

“Alright.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll text my manager. We’ll sort it.”

And of course, being Charles, he sorted it within half an hour. Three courtside seats. No fanfare or sponsor ties. Just you three, sitting down to watch women throw a ball around and, hopefully, scream at each other with intense athleticism. It sounded oddly soothing.

Now the black SUV pulled up to the Barclays Center and the street buzzed with energy. The pre-game crowd was thicker than you expected. People in teal and sea foam green jerseys stood in clumps on the sidewalk, others in navy and silver.

You read a few of the names on the backs of shirts. Jones. Ionescu. Bueckers. That last one you pronounced in your head like “Buckers” before second-guessing yourself.

As the door opened, Charles stepped out first, always the gentleman, offering a hand to help Alex out next. You slid out after them, a little disoriented by the shift in atmosphere. Less polished than the premiere, but more alive somehow. No tuxedos or gowns—just sneakers, t-shirts, music blasting from speakers along the entryway.

You adjusted your sunglasses, even though it was nearly evening, and tugged your denim jacket tighter around you. The press hadn’t followed. No one here really cared mush about who you were. A few teenagers glanced at Charles—probably Formula 1 fans—but no cameras. No interviews. No one asking how Charles thinks of the season so far, how no one asks you about updates on the cars.

Just... peace.

“Didn’t think there’d be this many people,” you said under your breath as you approached the VIP entrance.

“Basketball’s apparently big here,” Alex replied, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “The Liberty are kind of a big deal.”

You tilted your head. “Do you know anything about it?”

“Enough to pretend,” she said with a grin.

“Perfect. I’ll follow your lead.”

Security ushered you in quickly once credentials were checked—Charles’s manager had arranged everything—and the cool of the arena swallowed you whole. Air conditioning, the sharp scent of popcorn and floor polish, and the distant thud of basketballs echoed in your ears.

You followed a staff member through the lower tunnels, emerging out into the blinding brightness of the court.

And just like that, you were courtside.

It was... closer than you expected.

You could see the lights glaring off the court. Hear the rubber of sneakers squeaking with warmup drills. Players darted up and down the court, long-limbed and agile, even just jogging. You didn’t know who was who, but one team was in blue warm-ups and the other in black.

Someone was shooting three-pointers with precision. Another sprinted from baseline to half court and back, ponytail whipping behind her like a comet trail.

“Bloody hell,” Charles muttered beside you, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. “They’re fast.”

“Mmhm,” you said, barely hearing him.

One of the players jogged past, close enough to see the tiny bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face. She didn’t look over, too focused on her footwork. Her jersey read BUECKERS in crisp blue letters across the back.

You blinked.

Oh. That name again.

You leaned toward Alex. “Is that... Buckers? Like the jersey we saw outside?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. She’s really famous, I think. Played for UConn. Supposed to be a big deal for the Wings this year.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “How do you know that?”

“Google is a wonderful tool, hermana.”

You studied the woman as she slowed to a jog near the bench, catching a water bottle and tipping it up with ease. Blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, pale skin, strong arms that flexed easily with every movement. She had a kind of presence. Not in the way F1 drivers did—loud, cocky—but... quietly intense.

You tilted your head. “She looks like she could stare through someone’s soul.”

Charles chuckled. “Don’t let her stare at you like that. You’ll explode.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it.

The arena began to fill. The crowd’s energy ramped up with every minute closer to tip-off. Announcers boomed over the speakers. Lights dimmed, and spotlights painted patterns across the hardwood.

You settled into your seat, tucking one ankle over your knee and balancing a bottle of water between your palms. The back of your neck buzzed with anticipation, though you couldn’t say why. Maybe it was just the unknown—this whole world of sport you knew nothing about. Maybe it was the air conditioning. Or maybe it was the fact that Bueckers, whoever she really was, had just glanced toward your row like she knew exactly who you were.

But she didn’t. Did she?

It started with a tap.

A quiet one, like the soft thud of a butterfly wing against your skin. You were distracted by the sweep of pregame lights moving across the ceiling, the slight back and forth between Charles and Alex beside you and by the rhythmic sound of basketballs echoing like thunder on the court.

You didn’t notice the two players breaking away from warmups at first, not until you caught a shift in the atmosphere. Like energy moving in a new direction.

And then, there it was. A gentle, almost tentative voice near your shoulder.

“Hi. Um. Are you—are you Charles’s sister?”

You turned and blinked.

It was her.

Bueckers. The name you’d only just learned a few minutes ago. She was taller than you’d expected up close, but not by much. Her cheeks were flushed from warmups, blonde hair tied in a tight ponytail. Her jersey was still partially tucked in, and she was holding her water bottle in both hands like it might anchor her to the moment.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your mouth. “Depends who’s asking.”

She let out a soft breath, something between a chuckle and a sigh of relief. “Just a fan.”

That surprised you. “You’re a fan of me?”

Paige shook her head, then immediately nodded, then looked like she regretted both. “No, I mean—yes. Not like in a weird way. Just... I’ve seen you on the screen sometimes during races. You always looked beaut—uh, I mean—focused and serious.”

You blinked again. “You follow Formula 1?”

“Arike’s girlfriend is obsessed,” Paige replied, glancing quickly over her shoulder. “She’s a huge Ferrari fan. So Arike’s always hearing about your brother. And I guess I kind of got sucked up in it once I moved to Dallas.”

You glanced past her. Sure enough, one of her teammates—the one with the wicked jumper during warmups, now confirmed as Arike—was enthusiastically talking to Charles. She looked slightly overwhelmed, and very excited, holding her phone in one hand as she grinned up at him like he’d just won her a car.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Wow. That’s not something I expected today.”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured, and when you turned back to her, she was already looking at you again. “Me neither.”

You didn’t know what it was, exactly. Maybe the nerves in her voice, maybe the way she rocked slightly on her feet like she was resisting the urge to bolt—but it made you soften.

You held out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

Her smile grew. “Paige.”

You nodded. “Ah, Paige. It’s nice to finally know the first name.”

She laughed. “You didn’t know?”

“Nope,” you said, tipping your head. “Just kept seeing Buckers jerseys everywhere.”

Paige’s ears went a little pink, and she tucked a loose piece of hair behind one ear, fingers fidgeting with the elastic of her jersey. “Um, it’s Bueckers actually. The ‘u’ is silent.”

“Bueckers. I apologize,” you said.

“It’s okay,” she gave a shy smile. “You, um. You’re really here for a game?”

 You glance back out to the court, where the rest of the Wings and Liberty were still running drills. “First one ever. Thought I’d see what all the hype is about.”

She grinned. “You picked a good one. Liberty versus Wings is never boring.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said lightly. “I’ve never watched basketball before. Been surrounded by race cars all my life.”

Paige laughed again, lighter this time. “That’s okay. I know nothing about racing except that I can’t even go-kart without spinning out.”

You smiled. “Maybe we can teach each other.”

The words hung in the air, light but charged. Paige’s eyes flickered to your mouth before quickly darting away again. You didn’t miss it.

“So,” you said, shifting in your seat so you were angled slightly more toward her, “are you just saying hi, or are you here on official wingwoman duty for Arike?”

She groaned softly, but she was smiling. “She begged me to come over. She got too nervous and didn’t want to go alone.”

“Too nervous?” you asked, genuinely curious. “Charles is like... a walking golden retriever. He’s the least intimidating person I know.”

“I think that’s why she’s nervous,” Paige said, leaning slightly closer. “She wants to make a good impression. Her girlfriend’s always saying how cool he is. Especially his girlfriend. Plus, Arike’s not great with... subtlety.”

You snorted. “I can tell. She’s practically vibrating.”

Paige’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer before she pulled back slightly, clearing her throat. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t be bothering you before the game.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you said easily. “I feel like I’m the one that’s bothering you. But this is already more fun than I expected.”

She grinned. “What did you expect?”

You shrugged. “To sit here awkwardly while everyone screamed around me. To not understand what was happening. To check my phone halfway through the second quarter.”

“And now?”

You looked at her, really looked, and smiled softly. “Now I kind of want to stay until the very end.”

Her blush returned, stronger this time.

The crowd began to rise in volume as the clock above the court ticked closer to tip-off. Music pulsed through the speakers. A Liberty player dunked during layup lines and the crowd roared. Paige glanced toward the bench.

“I should probably get back,” she said, sounding reluctant.

You tilted your head. “Are you starting?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “But I’ll—um. I’ll try not to trip in front of you.”

You smirked. “No promises from me. I might cheer for the other team just to keep you on your toes.”

Her mouth parted like she didn’t know whether to laugh or challenge you. “You wouldn’t.”

You lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t I?”

She bit her lip. “Well... if you change your mind, I’ll be number five. Wings jersey. You know. Just in case you decide you want to cheer for the right side.”

You leaned back, eyes gleaming. “We’ll see how you play.”

She took a few steps back, still facing you, then finally turned around just as Arike finished her impromptu photo with Charles and bounded after her.

You watched her go—watched the easy way she moved, the subtle glance she cast over her shoulder before disappearing behind the bench.

Alex elbowed you gently. “So. That was a very long conversation for someone who only came over because of Arike.”

You tried for casual. “She was being polite.”

Charles snorted. “Mon dieu. She was flirting and she was terrible at it.”

“She was sweet,” you corrected, still smiling faintly.

Alex leaned in. “And you liked it.”

You didn’t say anything. Just sipped your water, eyes trailing back to where Paige now stood with her teammates, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, gaze already scanning the court—but every now and then, flickering right back to you.

And each time it did, your heart fluttered a little faster than it had on any starting grid.

It wasn’t obvious at first.

You weren’t sure what to watch during a basketball game—when to focus on the ball, when to look at the off-ball movement or when to just follow the flow of the players gliding across the court like it was muscle memory. The speed surprised you. The precision. The sheer athleticism of it all.

But what surprised you most was how often your eyes were drawn back to her.

She moved like she didn’t need to think, like the court was just an extension of her breath. One second, she was at the top of the arc calling for the ball, the next, she was slashing into the paint, drawing a defender with her before dishing out a no-look pass that made the crowd gasp and a teammate drain a three.

You leaned forward unconsciously. “She’s really good,” you murmured.

Charles glanced sideways. “You mean Paige?”

“Mhm,” you said without looking away. “She plays like she’s solving a puzzle no one else can solve.”

“She has vision,” Alex added. “Like a driver who sees the apex before the turn.”

You nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as Paige picked off a lazy pass and darted up court in transition. She didn’t rush, didn’t force anything—just read the defender’s body language and timed her steps perfectly before finishing with a layup that rolled off her fingers like silk.

The scoreboard ticked up in the Wings’ favor.

And Paige—oh, Paige—jogged back on defense with a half-smirk tugging at her mouth. Her eyes scanned the front row, just briefly, but when they landed on yours, they didn’t move.

You didn’t either.

Her gaze lingered a second too long. She gave the smallest shrug of her shoulders—barely noticeable—but it said everything. That one was for you.

You blinked. A beat passed. And you smiled, just a little.

Timeout.

The coaches called for a break, and both teams huddled by their benches. Paige wiped her face with her towel, bouncing on her toes, sipping from her water bottle, listening with half an ear to what her coach was saying.

But her eyes found you again.

You didn’t pretend not to notice.

She raised a hand and waved—quick, subtle, a flick of fingers from low by her waist like she didn’t want anyone else to see.

You lifted your brows, amused.

She smiled again—shy, still—but different now. Confident in a way that felt like a quiet dare.

“She’s waving at you,” Charles said, practically choking on his soda.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, thank you, Cha.”

“I’m just saying,” he replied, grinning like an idiot. “You’re distracting a professional athlete in the middle of a game. That’s impressive.”

“I’m not trying to distract her,” you muttered.

Alex smirked. “You’re not not trying.”

You crossed one leg over the other, resting your elbow on the armrest between you and Charles. Paige was back in the game now, standing on the wing waiting for the inbound pass. She glanced toward you again.

You didn’t wave, didn’t smile. You just raised one brow and tilted your head like Alright, Bueckers. Show me something.

And she did.

She moved off the ball like she was built for it—cutting, darting, changing direction so fast the Liberty defender couldn’t keep up. She caught the pass mid-motion, turned, and let it fly from just beyond the arc.

Swish.

The net barely moved.

Half the crowd screamed.

The Wings bench stood up, cheering.

And Paige? She jogged back, biting her bottom lip like she was trying to hide a grin—but didn’t try that hard. Her eyes met yours again, and this time she winked.

Winked.

You could feel Charles and Alex practically vibrating next to you.

“Ay dios mío” Alex said under her breath. “You’re in so deep already.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly. “I just met her. I didn’t even know how to say her last name.”

“You know,” Charles said, “I always imagined you’d fall for someone complicated. Mysterious. Dangerous.”

“She plays basketball,” you said flatly.

“She’s clearly dangerous to your self-control.”

You ignored him. Sort of.

Because you were watching her again. Watching the way she locked in when she played. The way her teammates looked to her instinctively. The way she trusted her first move—no hesitation, no overthinking. Paige Bueckers played basketball the way you did data analysis mid-race… fast, decisive, and like the margin for error was nonexistent.

And every time she made a big play, her eyes flicked back to you.

Like she wanted to know if you’d seen.

Like she needed you to.

By halftime, your heart was pounding harder than it had in any garage on race day.

You’d come here for something simple. A distraction. A break from being Charles Leclerc’s little sister or Ferrari’s engineering prodigy. Monaco’s Princess. 

Instead, you got Paige Bueckers.

And every time she looked at you, it felt like she saw right through the noise.

The final buzzer sounded like a sigh.

The game had been close—closer than anyone had predicted from what you gathered in the crowd chatter around you. Liberty fans were loud, but by the fourth quarter, you started to hear more Wings chants pick up momentum. You didn’t understand every foul or call or play, but you understood Paige.

You understood how her team trusted her. You understood how she handled pressure like it was gravity. You understood how, after every big moment, her eyes found you.

And now, it was over. Scoreboard locked. Jerseys drenched in sweat. Fans buzzing in that familiar post-sport high.

You stayed seated as most of the arena stood to leave. Charles was scrolling through his phone, nodding occasionally at a fan who called his name but otherwise keeping low-key. Alex sipped the last of her drink, curled comfortably against his arm, while you just… watched.

The court was still alive.

Paige was surrounded—first by teammates, then reporters, then fans pressed against the rails. She was gracious with each person, smiling wide in photos, laughing at something a little girl said, holding her sharpie with care as she signed the backs of posters, jerseys, and phones.

“She’s got that same energy you do after a podium,” Alex said gently.

You glanced at her. “Huh?”

Alex nodded toward Paige. “A little exhausted, a little adrenaline high, kind of glowing but pretending not to notice.”

You looked back. Paige was crouched to take a photo with a kid in a Wings jersey two sizes too big for him. She gave the camera a thumbs up. Her pony was messy now, strands of blonde hair falling loose around her face.

She glanced toward you. Saw you still there.

And smiled like it meant something.

You felt it like a pull.

Paige whispered something to a staffer and took a final photo, then jogged toward the bench. Her teammates were heading back to the locker room, but she lingered. You stood as she approached, not sure what you were expecting.

“Hey,” she said, a little breathless. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “I said I’d stay until the end.”

Her eyes flicked to Charles and Alex, who were now standing just behind you, watching quietly. Paige’s cheeks flushed, but she held her ground.

“I, uh—I have to do post-game interviews,” she said, almost apologetically. “Media stuff. Probably fifteen, twenty minutes. But I was wondering…” She shifted, bouncing slightly on her toes. Her voice was softer now, meant only for you. “Would you wait?”

You blinked. “Wait for you?”

She nodded. “I just— I’d really like to talk more. If you want. I don’t know if you’re going somewhere after or flying out soon or—”

“I’m here tonight,” you said, cutting gently through her nerves. “We’re in New York for another day.”

“Oh. Good. Okay.” Her smile was so honest it made your chest feel warm. “So... would you?”

You could feel Charles and Alex still watching, but they didn’t say a word. You tucked your hands in your jacket pockets and tilted your head.

“You want me to wait around in an empty arena just so you can talk to me again?”

Paige met your gaze. Didn’t back down. “Yes.”

The answer was so simple it made you grin.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll wait.”

Relief bloomed across her face. “Cool. I won’t be long. Promise.”

She started to turn, paused, then hesitated before glancing at Charles.

“I’m a big fan of yours, by the way,” she added quickly, cheeks turning red. “Both of you. You guys looked really good in Monaco.”

Charles lit up. “Merci. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear most of that conversation earlier.”

Paige laughed nervously. “Noted.” Then she looked back at you. “Be right back.”

You watched her disappear into the tunnel, every bit of her confidence lingering behind in the way she glanced at you over her shoulder one last time.

When she was gone, Charles bumped his shoulder lightly into yours.

“Does she always look at people like that?”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing.”

You shrugged. “Maybe she just appreciates a challenge.”

Alex grinned. “You’re such a liar. You’re already gone for her.”

You didn’t answer. Just sat back down and stared at the empty court where she’d just been.

And waited.

It was quiet by the time she returned.

The kind of quiet that only settles in after the world has exhaled. Most of the crowd had gone home. Security lingered by the exits, sweeping the rows. Staffers rolled carts of used towels and half-empty water bottles down the tunnel. The court was bare now. Just the hushed hum of the arena winding down.

You were still there. Sitting courtside. Jacket draped over your shoulders, fingers absently spinning the cap of your water bottle. Charles and Alex had wandered off somewhere to give you space. You hadn’t asked, but they just knew.

And then you heard footsteps again—softer now, not game shoes. Slides against the polished concrete.

You looked up.

There she was.

She was fresh from the locker room, face clean, blonde hair damp and tied loosely now. A W hoodie, oversized, sleeves pulled down over her hands. She wore simple black shorts and Nike socks pushed halfway down her ankles.

She looked like herself in a way that tugged at you—like all the edges were finally rounded off now that the lights were dim and the cameras were gone.

“You waited,” she said, quiet.

You gave her a small smile. “I said I would.”

She sat beside you, one seat in-between, giving you space but close enough for your knees to brush if you shifted.

Neither of you moved.

For a while, you just sat there like that. Silence stretching between you like a breath held, but not tense. Not awkward. Just... present.

She finally spoke. “So… be honest. What’d you think?”

You looked at her. “Of the game?”

Paige nodded.

You took your time. “It was like hearing a language I don’t speak, but still knowing exactly what everyone meant.”

She blinked at that. “That’s... really poetic.”

You shrugged. “I’m around fast cars all day. I don’t get to be poetic very often.”

Paige smiled to herself. “You said you’d never seen a basketball game before?”

“Never.” You glanced out at the now-empty court. “I came in expecting to get bored halfway through. I thought I’d be checking my notes on my phone by the second quarter.”

“And instead?”

“I forgot I even had a phone.”

She turned her head toward you, expression soft. “Because of the game, or...”

You looked back at her. “Do I need to answer that?”

She didn’t blush this time. But her eyes dropped for a second, and when they lifted again, they held something steadier. More certain.

“I’m glad you came,” she said.

You studied her. “You mean that?”

“Yeah. I—” she hesitated, exhaling through her nose. “I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes when you play so many games, they all blur together. It becomes muscle memory. You forget what it feels like to want someone in the crowd to see you. Like, actually see you.”

You didn’t speak, not right away. Because that hit somewhere you weren’t ready for.

“Does it get lonely?” you asked softly.

Paige blinked. “What?”

You looked down at your hands. “Being known. By everyone. But not really known by anyone who isn’t part of the circle.”

She was quiet. You risked a glance at her. She was already watching you.

“It does,” she said. “It really does.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

“I figured you would.” She shifted in her seat, angling toward you more. “You know what it felt like tonight?”

“What?”

She paused. “It felt like you weren’t here for the show. You weren’t waiting to be impressed. You were just... there. Watching. Like it was already enough.”

You held her gaze. “That’s because it was.”

You saw the breath catch in her chest before she tried to play it off with a quiet laugh. “You’re really dangerous, you know that?”

“Because I said something kind?”

“No. Because you meant it.”

That silenced you both for a long moment. You let it happen. Let the silence linger and swell and settle. Eventually, Paige leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, looking out at the court.

“Do you think you’ll come to another game?” she asked.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you mirrored her posture, your shoulders touching ever so slightly. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’ll be there.”

She let out a small breath of a laugh, low and fond. “God, you’re gonna wreck me.”

You smiled. “That’s not my intention.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why it’s worse.”

The lights overhead dimmed a little more as the staff shut down sections row by row. A janitor passed with a sweeping broom. You didn’t care. You had nowhere else to be. Not in that moment.

She looked at you again. “Can I give you my number?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was inevitable.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” she said, grinning now, eyes crinkling. “You could’ve been not interested. Or just—”

“Paige,” you cut in gently. “I waited for you.”

She smiled slowly.

You reached into your jacket and pulled out your phone, unlocking it and holding it out. She entered her number carefully, then hesitated before handing it back.

“What?” you asked.

She looked slightly sheepish. “Just thought my contact name should pay tribute to our first interaction to each other.”

You checked it.

Buckers

You laughed. “Wow. You’re not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Nope. It’s part of you now. You gonna change it?”

You didn’t. You saved it as is.

“I like it,” you said. “It’s us.”

You both stood when security finally made a quiet gesture that the arena was closing up. Paige stretched her arms above her head and gave you a look like she didn’t quite want to leave.

You didn’t either.

“Hey,” she said, more serious now. “Can I call you tomorrow? Or tonight? Or whenever it’s not weird? I just... I’d like to talk more. Without a clock running.”

You nodded, heart softening. “I’d like that.”

And then you leaned in—just slightly—and kissed her cheek. Slow. Intentional. Close enough that your lips brushed the corner of her mouth.

She froze. Exhaling softly.

When you pulled back, her face was pink, her eyes shining.

You whispered, “I’ll be waiting for that call.”

[a99jazzybean]

HIIIII! I just binge read your date everything fics and I love them! May i ask for yet another Chance fic, where y/n is familiar with g&g and used to play with their friends from time to time - using his dice of course! And... y/n used to kiss the piece for the "lucky shot", doesn't matter if it worked or not. So now, with Skylars help, y/n can speak with him and even play a session or two and it is so much fun! But she is completely oblivious to the fact that he remembers every time y/ns lips touched his dice-y form and each time he silently yearns for her lips to touch him once again... The rest is up to you, lots of love!

I love this prompt so much! Thank you for the request!

With a Taste of Your Lips...

synop: You and Chance decide to play another session of G&G. Little do you know, a special tradition of yours has him feeling all sorts of hot and bothered. i.e. You discover Chance can feel when you kiss his die.

words: 4.7K

includes: chancexfem!reader, ttrpg playing, making out, fondling an object?, cumming untouched kinda, smut

a/n: I might make a part 2 to this one, thoughts? Also, its got smut. No minors!

“You feel yourself growing weaker. The spell the lich cast on you drains your life force. All of your comrades are downed. You are their final hope.” Your GM stares you down, brow raised. “What would you like to do?”

Looking around the table you see all of your friends' faces are grim. All eyes are on you. Taking a look at the battlemap before you, your eyes widened. 

“Past the cliff, it’s the Abysmal Pit, correct?” You asked the GM. 

“Correct.”

“And anyone who falls in is erased from existence, right?

“Correct.”

“No!” Sam shouted. “I know what you’re thinking. You can’t do it!”

You give her a solemn look, eyes filled with sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” You pick up your red D20. “But you can’t stop me. I’m going for a grapple on the lich, then I’m dragging him over the edge with me.” 

A chorus of gasps erupts from your party members. Some are getting teary-eyed. 

Two years of a campaign filled with adventure, friendship, romance, and tears. This is how it ends. Perhaps it was destined to be. 

“Make your roll.” Your GM feels tears prick in their own eyes. Not knowing whether they want you to succeed on this or not. 

As is tradition on major rolls, you bring your trusty die to your lips. Pecking it softly, you pray that this works. 

“Lucky shot,” you hear Sam say under their breath. 

Cupping the die in your hands, you give a good shake. Then you release it onto the table. Everyone in the room is holding their breath as it rolls. Finally, it stops. Natural 20. 

Normally, the table would erupt with cheers. This time, it wasn’t proper to celebrate. 

“Prim,” your GM took in a shaky breath as he spoke your character’s name. Trying to hold back tears. “You muster up the final dregs of strength within you. Pulling yourself up with a groan. Everything hurts, but your mind has been made up. Pushing through it all, you start to run. Taking one final look at your fallen teammates. This is the last time you will see them. Tell me how this ends.” Their voice wavered. 

“As I run toward the lich, I let out a final ‘goodbye’. I grab it around the waist, then throw both of us off of the ledge. No matter what it does I keep ahold of it. It’s coming with me.” Your own eyes fill with tears. 

“As you fall, the lich tries to get you off of it, but to no avail. For a brief moment you can see a flash of its past humanity. Fear filling its face as it realizes the one thing that it tried to run from has finally arrived. Death in the shape of a half-elf rogue who risked it all to defeat it.”

Chance sighed dreamily, remembering your great sacrifice. Seemed like you frequently played characters that laid their life on the line. No wonder he was absolutely smitten.

While you weren’t able to see his personified form at the moment, he was able to see you. Back hunched over as you typed on Mac. The computer feeling pretty good about themselves as you cranked out your latest self-insert fanfic. What else were you supposed to do when an AI took over your job? 

Chance wasn’t able to see what you were writing, but could see Mac occasionally blush and chuckle at the words you were typing onto them. 

“Care to share?” He asked the computer. 

Mac glanced over at him, then back to one of the screens in front of them. 

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. She’s kind of mortified that I’ve even read this stuff.” Mac turned back to read what you had just typed out, red blooming on their face. “Yeah, no. You don’t need to know about this.” 

Chance grumbled to himself. It didn’t feel fair that Mac got to see the sexiest innermost thoughts of yours. Actually, he was kind of jealous of many of your objects. Betty slept with you every night, witnessing the limited sexual exploits of yours. Johnny, he wouldn’t talk about it, too much of a gentleman. But the massage setting on his shower head? He might have alluded to activities you had accomplished with that. 

It was frustrating to say the least. Seeing how much better the other beings in the home got to know you intimately. All Chance wanted was a taste of that knowledge. 

He hoped you’d put your Dateviators back on again. Now that you had been able to see him, all he wanted was your attention. It didn’t help that you enthusiastically offered to play G&G with him. Only feeding into the ever-growing obsession with you. 

It didn’t start when you put those glasses on, no. It started when you came up with that damned tradition. Kissing the 20 side of his die body. You didn’t know, couldn’t know, really. But he felt it, every single time. It was special, something you only did when making a major roll. And you always picked him. Your “lucky shot” for your “lucky die”. 

The thing was, you hadn’t ended that tradition. When you began playing with Chance, you continued to make your lucky shots. Not realizing that although the personified version was sitting in front of you, Chance was still very much connected to the object he was. He would have you roll on something difficult, and as if it were instinct, you pressed your soft lips right on the20 side. Thankfully, Chance had been able to maintain his composure as you watched the die roll. However, it was beginning to become too much. 

Each press of your lips to the die had him falling for you harder and harder. 

With a sigh, you pushed away from your computer. Eyeing the die beside you with a smirk. Tapping on the desk, your gaze flitted over to your glasses. It had been a few hours since you had them on, couldn’t hurt to say hi to your office. And there might have been a specific object that held your affections.

“You know. I can feel you looking at me, right?” You teased the die before putting on the Dateviators. 

Chance’s face was ruddy when you looked at him, caught red handed. Rubbing his neck sheepishly, he gave you an apologetic look.

“What can I say? You’re nice to look at.” 

Now it was your turn to blush. The damned man always seemed to fluster you in such innocuous ways. Somehow always polite with his flirting. 

There were times he could be fairly forward, but he never pushed. It was sweet. 

Thinking about it, you could go for something sweet now. But nothing that was consumable. 

“Do you have a session prepped?” You asked.

Immediately, he perked up. A bright smile on his face complimented by an enthused flush. 

“Of course! Ever since you’ve come along, I’m like ten sessions ahead!” He leaned toward you, bouncing on his toes. 

“I’m glad that you’ve been so inspired. I love your stories.” You gave him a soft smile. 

His eyes widen, practically sparkling at your words.

“Y-you love my stories?” He held his hand to his heart, feeling the muscle pump faster at your compliment.

“Why do you think I want to play with you so often?” You pulled his die over with a finger, rolling it around. “I have a lot of fun with you.” 

“We could have more fun.” He raised a brow suggestively, looking over his glasses at you.

Red in the face, you waved him off with a giggle.

“Do you have time to play now?”

“I always have time for you.” 

You were sure you heard Timothy scoff somewhere in the distance. That was no matter though, for now you had the full attention of your favorite die. 

“Shall we play, then?” 

Chance nodded enthusiastically, then proceeded to get his GM station set up. When his screen and notes were all in place, he gave an approved nod. Looking up, he beamed at you again. Feeling his heart squeeze at the content smile on your face as you sat on the other end of the table from him. Oh how he wished to always keep you happy. He would play forever with you just to make sure that smile never fell from your lips. 

“Alright, where did we leave off?” He glanced over his notes.

“I managed to talk myself out of being eaten by a giant.” You had your own notes pulled out. 

Chance felt his heart swell again. You took notes! Oh, you truly were the perfect player. 

“That’s right! My charismatic girl!” He chuckled as your face grew red. 

He was glad that he managed to make you as flustered as you made him. Equal opportunity flirting to make the other squirm. Again, perfect. 

“You’ve gotten away from the giant, but you still have yet to find the gilded egg laying hen.” 

“Thankfully, you have quite the wise girl as well!” You let out a satisfied huff. “Can I make a perception check to see where the chicken is?” 

“You may.” He motioned for you to continue.

Shaking the die in your hands you urged it to roll well. 

“C’mon D20, show me what you’re made of!” 

You released the die, it clattered into your dice tray. After a moment of circling, it landed on a 16. 

“Nice! And that’s a plus four to my perception!” 

“Wonderful!” He cleared his throat, continuing his tale. “As you look around the foyer of the giant’s castle, you aren’t finding any indications of where a hen might be roosting. However, after a moment of hearing silence, there’s a new sound filtering down the hallway to the north.”

“What’s the sound?” You ask with a knowing smirk.

“It’s soft harp music, almost dreamlike.” 

After your previous character died valiantly saving a village from a dragon, Chance asked if you would mind experimenting with a fairytale themed game. Of course, you agreed, excited to see what he would come up with. While some of the quests you have been on so far were a bit predictable, he had many twists and turns added in. 

Like Cinderella’s slipper turning out to be a baby mimic. When you had managed to aid the prince in finding his lost love, the mimic revealed itself, chomping down on her foot. However, she didn’t scream. It turned out, Cinderella’s ballgown had already consumed her and was using her head and limbs to blend in. The fairy godmother revealed herself as a demon looking to collect on the souls of the kingdom. All she needed was the prince to disappear so she could take his place. 

It was a lovely twist that ended with a fairly hard battle. Thankfully the prince that accompanied you turned out to be part of the bloodline of very powerful sorcerers, so he was able to aid in the defeat of the fairy godmother. 

The prince tried asking for your hand in marriage, but you had other adventures to go on. Instead, you left with a hefty amount of gold. A token of appreciation for saving the kingdom. The engagement ring hidden amongst the coins didn’t go unnoticed, Chance giving you a cheeky wink when he mentioned it. 

You had noticed the man had been throwing romance options at you throughout each of the fairy tales. Many of them were love stories, sure, but it seemed like he really wanted you to get with someone. Little Red Riding Hood, growing smitten with you after you saved her from the belly of a wolf. A huntsman asking for your hand after you aided him in saving the kingdom from a corrupt king. Snow White practically begged you to marry her after you turned out to be her “true love's kiss”. He was laying it on pretty thick, so to speak.  

Truthfully, the reason why you never accepted was because you wanted Chance to stop hiding his affections behind characters in your game. The two of you had constant flirty banter, but it felt like he could only speak through innuendo when hinting at wanting anything more. While it was endearing, it was starting to become tiring. 

Though admittedly, you were a coward too. It would be hypocritical to judge the man considering you couldn’t muster up the courage to do anything either. Instead, you sat in a flirtatious purgatory. Something that could be viewed as a comfortable platonic relationship, but in reality had very, very heavy overtones of desire. 

Neither you or Chance could be subtle. There were times where you could feel the hunger in his eyes as he ran your game. Usually when you did something quite clever. 

That time when you answered his Latin riddle? The man was very glad he had baggy pants on. 

Then there was you. Easily bending to his dominating whims when he was GMing. Something about him having that kind of authority over you often had you clenching your thighs and squirming in your chair. And don’t even get started on the villain monologues. He pulled one of those out, you left the gaming table with your panties soaked. Giving Betty quite the show when you couldn’t get to sleep. 

Back to your current game, Chance asked for your next move.

“I follow the sound of the harp.”

“You feel almost entranced at the music. Your steps pulling you to the north hallway. After about an hour of walking (remember, this is a GIANT’S castle) you made it to the room the music was coming from. Peering inside, you see a giant sitting on a bed. She appears to be much shorter than the one you first encountered, but still clearly a giant. You can tell she is related to the other giant, both sporting the same nose shape. The giant girl is playing the harp, her fingers delicately plucking at the strings. You look across from her and see what you’ve been looking for. A hen nestled in a nest of straw. Its body swaying side to side with the music. Below it you see a peek of gold. What would you like to do?”

“I’m not going to try and hide.”

Chance looked at you with wide eyes, surprised at your blatant move.

“I handled the other giant with my words, I can easily do the same again.”

Oh, he loved your confidence. Your willingness to dive in despite the consequences. He just hoped that it wouldn’t end with your bones ground up to make bread. Quite the horrific way to depart this mortal realm.

“If you say so. You stride inside with confidence. Hyping yourself up from your previous encounter with a giant.” He rolled a die, giving a grimace. “The giant girl doesn’t appear to see you. She’s looking right at the hen, swaying side to side as she continues to play the harp.”

“I try to catch her attention by clearing my throat loudly.” 

“You clear your throat, and she stops playing. A sour look grows on her face as she looks for the source of the sound. Looking down, she finally spots you. Crossing her arms, she gives you a pout.”

“You know, it’s quite rude to interrupt a performance.” Chance put on the voice of a little girl, making you chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“Chance, you know that wasn’t in-game.” You gave him a stern look. 

“I know, I’m just messin. Anyways… she looks at you, waiting for you to respond.”

“I apologize, your music is lovely.” 

“Then why did you interrupt me?”

“Well, I have some important matters to discuss.”

“Important matters? What’s important is that Bailey gets her proper rest.” Chance returns to his normal voice. “You follow her gaze to the hen in the nest.”

“Is Bailey your hen?” 

“Obviously!” The character voice returned. “And she won’t lay eggs unless I play for her.” 

“I see.” You ponder on that information for a moment, then ask. “Is the harp huge?”

“It’s giant, so is the hen.”

“Didn’t the asshole who hired me say he had been here before? Why send me up if there’s no way to bring the items down?” You huffed in frustration at the quest-giver.

“Who said there wasn’t a way to bring them down?” He clicked his tongue at you, admonishingly.

“Hmmm. I think I'll talk to the girl some more.” He motioned for you to continue. “I’m sure Bailey loves your music.”

“She does, she always lays an egg when I play! My daddy says I’m gettin just as good as my mama!” Chance goes back to narrating. “After she says that she goes quiet. Her eyes widening as if she’s just realized you were here. There’s a darkness in them that surprises you for a girl so young.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” You bit your lip nervously.

“You’re a human. Humans aren’t allowed here!”

“Um, you’re dad let me go. At least I think it was your dad.” You give Chance a nervous glance.

“Roll on persuasion.”

Shaking the dice, you let it drop. Watching in fear as it lands on a three. Chance’s gaze grows dark.

“You only think you know? How can I know if you’re telling the truth?” Chance narrates again. “The giant girl stands up, towering high over you. A glare on her face as her eyes narrow. But you spot something odd, her eyes are watering.” The little girl voice is put back on. “All humans lie! I bet you’re no different!”

“I decide to stay quiet, letting her speak.” You say to Chance. Again, he’s surprised at your action.

“Your people killed my mom!” He switches back to normal. “You now see tears falling from her eyes. She’s going to reach for you.” He rolls a die, eyeing you expectantly. “Would you like to do anything to stop it?”

“No. I let her.” 

“A large hand grabs you with a crushing squeeze. You feel the air forced out of your body by the strong grip of her hand. She lifts you to her head.” He clears his throat, going back to the girl voice. “I should just eat you, show you how it feels.” He gives you another expectant look. “Are you going to try and do anything?”

“Nope. I’m gonna close my eyes and accept my fate.” 

Impressed, Chance sits back with his arms crossed. Pondering on what to do next. While you had managed to talk your way out of the last giant encounter, he thought you would at least try to fight your way out of this one. The giant child’s stat block was something that you could manage on your own. 

“Okay. I want you to roll persuasion, and I’ll be nice and give you advantage for what you’ve managed to do so far.”

Pumping your fist in the air, you reached for the die. This time, you brought the D20 to your lips, giving it a light peck. This was a roll that was gonna need it. 

“C’mon lucky shot, don’t let me down now.” 

The first roll landed on a 6. Again, you brought the die to your lips. The kiss to the dice slightly lingering, just for good luck. You shook it in your hand and released, crossing your fingers for a good roll. Slowly, it spun to land on a 20.

“Nat 20 babee! Let’s gooooo!” You stood up and cheered, your character saved.

Chance remained seated, face beet red. His breathing had become labored. For some reason, he couldn’t get himself to calm down. Maybe it was the fact that you had kissed the die in succession. Something he could feel burning through his body. 

Coming down from your high, you realized Chance hadn’t continued. Turning, you gave him a concerned look. Walking over, you eyed the state he was in. Face still extremely flushed. 

“Are you okay?” You leaned toward him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“I-I’m fine. We can continue!” He rubbed his neck nervously.

“Are you sure? Your face is really red.”

“What did you expect after kissing me like that!” He clamped his hands over his mouth, face turning another shade darker. 

“What? I didn’t kiss…” You looked over to the die, feeling a heat crawl up your neck. “C-can you feel that?”

Hands still over his mouth, he nodded. You realized you had been performing your luck ritual the entire time you had been playing with Chance. He could feel it. Every. Single. Time. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You felt terrible, doing that to him without asking.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He said softly.

“But then I kept making you uncomfortable! Kissing you without your consent, ugh. I’m so sorry, Chance.” You gave him a sad look that pierced his heart. That wasn’t what he meant at all!

“I never said I was uncomfortable.” He composed himself somewhat.

“Huh?” 

“I might have liked it…” He trailed quietly. 

“What was that?” You couldn’t make out what he said.

“I like it!” He blurted. “I really like it when you kiss me.” His face grew red again as he waited for your response.

“Y-you do?” 

He nodded sheepishly. 

“Yeah. It feels… nice. Really nice.” He bit his lip nervously. “You’re always so soft and sweet.” 

“Oh.” Your face was burning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He gave you an apologetic look. 

“Chance…” This time you were nervous.

“Yes?” 

You leaned down toward his face. Arms planted on the headrest of his chair.

“Can I actually kiss you?”

“I-I mean technically you are ‘actually’ kissing me…” He stuttered out, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips.

You gave him an unamused pout.

“You know what I mean. How’s about this? Can I give you a reciprocated kiss? One that you also participate in?”

“Yes. Please.” 

With that, you pressed your lips to his. Chance froze up at first, eyes wide at the fact that this was happening. Leaning into the kiss, his eyes fluttered shut. You let out a content sigh at the feel of his lips against yours. Soft and plush, perfectly meldable with your own. 

With your tongue, you teased at his bottom lip. Gladly, he slightly opened his mouth for your tongues to intertwine. A low groan left him as he tasted you. So fucking perfect.

The man pushed the chair away from the table, letting you sink onto his lap. Your hand trailed up his neck, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. He moaned against you at the action. His own hands trailed over your body, mapping out your slopes and curves. Ultimately they landed on your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. You giggled against his lips, pulling away to get a good look at him.

Face still flushed with kiss bitten lips and blown out pupils. He stared up at you like you were a goddess that was granting him a blessing. That was sure how this encounter was feeling. Something that he had only dreamed of. 

“You’re so handsome.” You pressed kisses against his jaw and down his throat, making him shiver. 

“And you’re beautiful. So perfect.” He pressed a kiss to your lips. 

Leaning your forehead against his, you smiled. Then an idea came to you. Biting your lip, you wondered if the man beneath you would oblige to your whims. 

“Chance…”

“Hmm?”

“When I kiss your die, where do you feel it?”

“Oh, um, I guess on my face? Like a whisper against my cheeks and the corner of my lips.” He let out an awkward chuckle. 

You shifted off of him to grab the die, then returned to his lap. Holding the die in front of you, you looked over the numbers.

“So what would happen if I kissed the other numbers?” You asked, gaze hungry.

Oh, oh, this was hot. So fucking hot. Chance thought just kissing you was a dream come true. You wanting more from him? That was merely a fantasy.

“I suppose I would feel you kissing me on other parts of my body.” He answered. Truthfully, he had no idea what would happen. You only ever kissed the 20.

“So if I kiss the one.” You brought the dice to your lips, pecking the side.

Chance giggled at the feeling. Right on the bottom of his foot. 

“I take it that was your foot?”

He nodded, excited to see where this was going. Already feeling himself growing semi-hard in his pants as  he watched you in anticipation.

You pressed a kiss to the five, eyeing Chance’s response. He twitched under you with a whimper. 

“Where was that?”

“My left thigh.” 

Okay, so if five was the left thigh then… you pressed a kiss to the six.

“R-right thigh.” He groaned out. Having your lips on him like this was something else. 

It was probably a good thing you never kissed the other numbers. He was sure you would make him cum from just kissing him alone. 

“So if six is your other thigh then that must mean seven or eight is likely your-”

“What if we avoided that area?” He cut you off, a nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“Why’s that?” You leaned in, giving him a deep kiss.

“I-I just…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“Chance, would me kissing the dice equivalent of your crotch make you cum?” Wow, just right out with it. 

“Y-yeah, yeah. It would. I’m gonna be honest. With the way that you’re already going at it, I’d probably cum just from you kissing me.” 

“Really?” You sat upright, eyes sparkling. 

He nodded, blushing furiously. 

“Could we try it?” You bit your lip. 

The thought of having the man fall apart just from you kissing him had you riled up. You could feel yourself growing wetter at the thought. Seeing him squirm from your kisses before coming undone. Oh, that was very appealing. 

“You want to?” He was surprised.

“Yeah, I do. Only if you want to.” 

“You don’t have to ask twice.” He wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. Your tongues tangled with each other as you moaned. 

Pulling away, you brought the dice back up to your face. Eyeing the numbers, you decided to go for the 19. You gave it a slow kiss, watching Chance as he shivered and moaned. The feeling reached a sweet spot on his neck that had him keening. He was pretty sure he was addicted to your lips now. 

You continued to press kisses to various numbers. Loving every whimper and moan you managed to get out of the man. Occasionally you would lean back in to give him a proper kiss on the lips, only to return to tease him with the die. 

Chance could tell you were avoiding the seven and eight. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“P-please.” He groaned through gritted teeth as he felt your lips on his chest. “I need you…”

“Need me to what?” You teased with a smirk.

“Kiss the seven and eight. Please.” He begged, squirming beneath you.

“Hmm. Good boy.” Oh fuck. That had his dick throbbing. 

Slowly, you brought the die to your lips. You pecked all over it, then finally pressed a kiss to the seven. Chance cried out at the feeling. Your lips right where he needed them. Feeling them press against his throbbing length. He was sure the next one would be the last he needed. You gave another slow kiss to the eight. It was his undoing. Cock twitching in his pants, releasing a sticky load into his boxers. His hands gripped at your hips as he rutted against the feeling of your lips. 

“Oh f-fuck.” He stuttered out. 

You pressed your lips to his, then kissed all over his face. The man melting into your affection. 

“How was that?” You asked softly.

“Amazing. Perfect. Wonderful. Perfect. Did I mention perfect?” He chuckled.

“I’m glad I could give you that.” You picked up the die again, giving it a peck on the 20. 

“Guess I’ll be keeping my lucky shot tradition for our other games.” You gave him a sweet smile. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Chance pulled you back to him, “did you think playtime was over?”

[cherrychilli]

18+ Eddie Munson x f! reader, idiot friends to lovers, not exactly a meet cute because they already know each other but it's also not not a naughty little meet cute if you get me, face sitting, 69 just not in the way you might think(yet), lots of horny flirting, mentions of blood, minor injury and one tiny meta reference I couldn't help but slip in. WC: 2K

Say what you will about Carol Perkins but the girl's got one hell of an arm. You stare with simmering contempt in your eyes at your purse wedged between the branches of an old, towering hickory several many feet above your head.

You're not surprised by it though. You expected some kind of retaliation after your little spat when you caught her trying to shoplift lip gloss at the cosmetics counter you worked at.

Word travelled fast after that, everyone snickering about how she tried to pull a Winona. Unfortunately for you, the incident wasn't enough to make her swear off five finger discounts. Her sticky little fingers managed to get hold of your purse when you had your back turned for only a few seconds the next day, a crudely scrawled note left behind which read, Come to the woods behind the school if you want your knock off Gucci back.

So you went there anticipating some fight club type of shit to go down. You really couldn't rule that out with a person like Carol, an old school bully to many who went to Hawkins High, especially those unlucky enough to have actually felt the fiery sting of her open palm against their cheek.

Only you were kind of looking forward to this meeting. Now a graduate and a little fired up yourself, you didn't need to worry about anything like a potential expulsion if you were to strike her back, fixing the rings on your fingers so that if you needed to, you could scratch open her chin when you uppercut the bitch.

But Carol wasn't there, a little to your disappointment. Only her handiwork left behind for you to deal with.

So now here you were, a crackling carpet of brittle yellowed and browned leaves crunching under your converse as you try to figure out the best way to go about retrieving your purse, hoping she hadn't also swiped any of the money inside it.

Looking around, you can't seem to spot a stick long enough to try and dislodge it, all of them far too short and skinny like bony witch fingers. The few rocks you try to aim at the thing missed every time too, purse still firmly in place.

So, you knew what needed to be done.

It's been a while since you last scaled a tree but you haven't forgotten how, hiking the skirt of your flared midi dress higher up your thighs while you reach for the closest branch, dry bark crumbling in your palms.

You're as careful as can be, taking your time to test every branch before you bear your full weight down on it, winding your way higher and higher up the thick gray trunk as you remind yourself to not look down.

Sweat beads down your back making your dress stick to your skin and your hands began to feel raw halfway through the climb so the relief you feel when you finally reach your purse is immense. Freeing one hand to pop open the clasp, you're able to confirm that Carol had in fact pinched a 50 which you very much intend to get back with interest before you toss her purse into the middle of lovers lake.

Clamping your teeth down on your purse, you begin your descent, following the exact path you took to get up it only you make it just a few inches lower when you hear a distinct dry snap followed by the shifty sound of footsteps. Two sets of footsteps making their way through the fallen leaves in fact.

Quietly, you sit yourself down on a thick branch that looks strong enough to hold you up, your legs dangling as you try to remain hidden behind the greener leaves yet to turn a shriveled yellow and break off from its branches. The thought of being caught like this is something you're not keen on. Especially at the risk of giving whoever it is an unobstructed up skirt view of your panties.

You hold your breath until they comes into view, recognition dawning on you when you set your eyes on the familiar combo of leather and denim and a very distinct tumbleweed of wild hair.

Eddie Munson, your old classmate and some letter jacket meat slab following in tow. The two of them sit across from each other at the formerly vacant wooden table and bench below, the tinny sound of Eddie's lunchbox echoing all the way up to your ears when he sets it down between them.

You watch quietly and closely at them going back and forth when Eddie quotes his price for a considerably large portion of the devil's lettuce all wrapped up in a thin, flimsy little plastic bag, a little amused seeing him all business and no jokes or smiles. There must be a party happening tonight, you deduce, that much weed too much for just the one person, even for a guy as big and hulking as Eddie's new customer.

The meat slab is the first to leave after digging through his pockets for a few extra dollars until Eddie hands him the stuff, trudging away through the crisp layer of dried up leaves until his footsteps turn muffled and then completely silent to let you know that he's no longer in the woods.

Eddie lingers for a few moments, apparently in no kind of rush as he takes his time closing up the lunch box, pulling out a cigarette and lighter as he gets up from the bench, just about to pass by your tree when-

crack!

The branch you'd perched yourself on wasn't as strong as you thought it to be when it snaps, a choked scream stuck in your throat with your teeth still wrapped around your purse when you lose your balance, your eyes squeezing shut as you plummet.

The impact knocks the wind out of you at first. Luckily you hadn't hit any of the other branches on your way down but a pulsing dull ache weaves it's way through your muscles, your palms and knees dirty and scraped up but your face seems to have landed on something much softer.

When you try to pick yourself up, you find yourself face to face with a pair of black denim jeans, the zipper somehow upside down as your hands press down on a pair of meaty thighs while you try to steady yourself.

You rock back just a bit, still trying to figure it all out with your head all spinny when feel your clothed pussy come to rest on something hard, a puff of hot air blown right into your panties with a muffled exclamation sounding out.

The way you scramble away is almost comical, so frantic like a severed gecko's tail when you figure out that you'd fallen right on top of Eddie, your face in his crotch and his in yours.

"Oh my god oh my god, I didn't mean to- are you okay? Eddie I'm so sorry!"

He's far less jittery than you are, propping himself up on his elbows with a little groan, leaves tangled in his hair, his lunchbox knocked onto its side behind him. The fall had made him bite his cigarette in two, one end lying on the forest floor before it's joined by the other when Eddie spits it out of his mouth. You manage to find his lighter nearby, picking it up and handing it back to him.

"Still in one piece", he pats his chest and he huffs a laugh, placing the lighter back inside his jacket pocket. "Could get used to this. It's not everyday that it rains pretty women."

The flirt. Just as he'd been with you in high school though you're not sure whether to be charmed or embarrassed given the circumstances. So both emotions manage to sneak in before you can decide on which one.

"I- my purse- Carol, see she tried to shoplift, right? I caught her and so my purse-", you find it just behind you, holding it up in front of Eddie's face as you continue to explain. "She lifted it before I could notice and she tossed it all the way up there," you point up at the spot you fell down from. "I slipped. I tried to stay quiet while you were busy but the branch broke and my foot slipped and..."

And what? "I'm sorry I sat on your face, Eddie? It won't happen again?" God, you felt so stupid right now.

"Woah woah, take a breath. It's not like I'm going to press charges or anything", he assures you.

You knew he wouldn't do anything of the sort. Eddie was always nice to you. Still is it seems, even after you so rudely and abruptly body slammed into him so damn hard. Maybe your luck's starting to turn. Or maybe it's just because he's in a good mood after a big sale... Yeah, that must be it.

Feeling a little better about the whole thing, you manage to get yourself back on to your feet even if a little unsteadily, holding a hand out to Eddie so you can help him up too. He accepts it at first but when his eyes fall to your knees his hand slips free from yours.

"You're bleeding", he notices.

Looking down, you see that he's right, two open cuts on both knees. Nothing serious but the blood is yet to clot, trailing down your legs in thin red lines and staining your socks.

You don't have anything on you to help dab it with, looking around when Eddie begins to shed his denim vest.

"It's clean, promise. Took it out of the laundry this morning"

The gesture is so sweet, watching him attentively as he kneels at your feet. You attempt to help too, picking the leaves out of his hair because it's the least you could do while he carefully cleans away the dirt on your skin. The feeling of his hand wrapping around your calf to steady himself is nice too, pressing the denim against your wounds so gently that you barely hiss at the sting.

"Doesn't look too bad. That's a good thing. You always had nice legs".

Your face could not feel any hotter than it already feels right now. At this angle, he might even be able to catch another glimpse or two up your skirt again but this time you don't mind at all. He's earned it.

"Thanks", you tell him with a smile, your toes curling in your socks because there's something so nice about being taken care of after the the whole thing with Carol that it makes you want to shiver with delight.

In the past you knew not to take him too seriously just in case he was only being nice to you but at the same time, Eddie was never one to be shy or less than honest about what he thought or said. Maybe you just had trouble accepting that and in turn, accepting that you were more than deserving of that kind of attention.

"You shouldn't be walking around like this. I could give you a ride if you're cool with that", he offers when he looks back up at you, the deep brown of his eyes now a light cinnamon with the sun spilling down on his face from between the branches.

"Yeah, I'd really appreciate that", you accept eagerly.

The drive back to yours is more than pleasant, though you'd never actually lost touch it was nice for two high school friends like you to reconnect on a new level. Eddie even joins you in trashing Carol a bit too though now you feel you might actually owe that thieving venom spitting cobra of a woman a little thank you.

What were the chances of this all happening? the both of you in the same place at the same time, your branch giving way the exact moment he got closer to you? no sooner, no later. Whatever the reason might be, today feels kind of special.

"Sorry I messed up your vest", you hold up the bloody thing tentatively when he pulls up outside your house.

"You kidding? 's the best its ever looked. Pretty hardcore"

You giggle at that, part of you realizing that you don't want to leave his van, trying to stall and find a reason to stay a little longer and keep whatever this is becoming going.

Eddie looks back at you pensively as you do so.

He doesn't want you to leave either. He thinks about how absurdly fast he'd gone from securing a deal like any other day to having his nose buried in your panties out of nowhere. If he doesn't act just as fast he might never get this opportunity again.

"Y' know, I wouldn't mind seeing even more of you next time", he smiles, somehow coming on more sweetly suave than sleazy like you would find any other man who would say so.

"Eddie Munson, you hound", you play scold him back, swatting him gently on the arm. Any excuse to touch him. You can't help noticing how nice and firm it feels under that dark layer of leather.

Honestly, Eddie's a little surprised himself that his charm's actually working too but manages to keep it up.

"So, what do you say? dinner? movie?", he suggests hopefully.

"Sure. Dinner, movie and then, when you come back to mine, maybe we can pick up where we left off from when I was on top of you", you wink back.

[xoxochb]

— late night reading 💌 ⋆˚࿔

“sweet girl.”

you snap out of your trance, blinking your eyes as you come back to reality. “hmm?”

“are you okay?”

percy wears a concerned frown. you can’t help but match his expression knowing that you were the leading cause to his distress.

“I’m okay.”

“are you sure?” he reaches out, giving you a peck on the cheek. when he pulls back, he takes both of your hands into his own, rubbing your knuckles soothingly.

you kiss one of percy’s cheeks. “I’m sure. I just stayed up late last night. you were out by nine but I couldn’t sleep.”

“you could’ve woken me up.”

you shake your head, toying with his fingers. “you looked peaceful.”

“what time did you fall asleep?”

“two…”

“and you woke up at ten.”

you nod, tiredly resting your head on percy’s chest. your entire body follows, curling into him subconsciously.

“you need to get some sleep, sweet girl.”

“I know. but I had to finish my book.”

percy untwines his hand from yours, using one to card his fingers through your hair. the action alone nearly sends you into a deep slumber. though you sigh contently at the comforting notion.

“you’re trying to make me fall asleep,” you mumble, voice muffled from the skin of his chest.

“insightful. and sexy. nice.”

“insightful?”

“yeah.” you hear percy’s smile through his voice. “you told me that word once.”

you tell him a lot of words. you often have him read ones from higher vocabulary to expand his knowledge of words. a few months ago you had began a thing where every sunday you would sit with percy and repeat words over to help his dyslexia after he’d complained about not being able to read your books with you.

you’re surprised he remembers half of them though. usually he ends up zoning out and staring at your lips halfway through your lesson. then he asks if your into the whole teacher-and-student trope.

“I didn’t think you’d remember it.”

“I remember everything you say to me.”

you grin in disbelief. “your lying.”

“promise I’m not. yesterday while you were eating lunch you said you wanted to ‘eat the ass of the guy who made this sandwich.’ direct quote.”

“‘was a really good sandwich.” your eyes flutter closed as the exhaustion begins hitting you.

“I know. you told me seven times.”

“hmm. interesting…”

percy presses a kiss against your forehead, sliding your hair out of your face and behind your ear. “sleep, sweet girl.”

you exhale slowly. soon enough you comply.

— this is literally nothing but I thought it was cute so here’s to all my fellow book girls who also stay up extraordinarily late to finish their books 😋😋💕💖💘💝💗💓💞

[artist-owl]

Top 10 Funniest Deaths of the Silmarillion

Because sometimes you have to laugh through the tears when you’re reading this book. Did reading about (most) of these deaths emotionally devastate me? Oh yeah. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a laugh about it.

10 - Maglor: didn’t fucking die, the coward! Like, given that Elves can die of depression, there’s realistically no way he lived past the Second Age, but we never get confirmation. Schrodinger’s Elf, if you will.

9 - Turgon: specifically in a fandom context it’s funny bc fanon Turgon is the boring as cardboard member of his entire generation and then he goes out refusing to leave his falling city and stands atop his tower as dragons bring it down in crumbling flames whilst yelling “great is the victory of the Noldor!” Cannot stress enough that he did not need to do this. He could have left and said no. Dumb as hell but I respect it.

8 - Argon: pour one out for my boy his death and whole existence didn’t even make it to the published Silm. Not to mention he survives the entire crossing of the Helcaraxë while his sister in law literally got friged, then dies like .5 seconds after setting foot in Beleriand. Tfw you’re so impetuous that you hew your way through the orcs without stopping to think that this means they can close ranks and surround you. Not his fault, he’d never fought before. Probably.

7 - Nienor: learns that she did a sibling incest and immediately yeets herself off a cliff. Like I can’t blame her but there’s a morbid humour in how fast she made that decision.

6 - Túrin: same as his sister, but his cursed sword suddenly reveals itself to be capable of speech, calls him out for killing his boyfriend, and then calls him a lil bitch before he kills himself with it. Also with the way his life was going this wasn’t even surprising.

5 - Sauron (death no. 3): you know he lived and died the same way: not knowing what the fuck a Hobbit is or why he should worry about them. Also this bitch dies three goddamn times because he can’t learn his damn lesson.

4 - Fëanor: Fingolfin got the death that Fëanor was destined for bc Morgoth didn’t have time to plan ahead for that fight and granted Fingolfin a badass last stand; with Fëanor he went “I’m not fighting that guy” like a lil bitch and straight up sent out a fuckton of Balrogs to fight him instead, and Fëanor survived this for long enough to curse him out again, make his sons re-swear the oath that would ruin their lives and countless others’, and then spontaneously combust out of sheer Big Mad. Other Elves have faded away from depression because the weariness and sorrow of their souls overcame their bodies; Fëanor literally invented a new way to die. Post cancelled I’ve circled back around to being impressed.

3 - Thingol: Stiffs the Dwarves on their payment and starts hurling insults and slurs at them while holding a necklace that was recently liberated from a dead dragon’s hoard that had been inset with a twice-stolen gem that lowkey curses everyone who covets it after his magic goddess wife told him that coveting it was a bad idea. Like, my guy, wtf did you think would happen.

2 - Sauron (death no. 1): the biggest L of his career. Just sitting in his temple in Atlantis Númenor, laughing maniacally, assured of his own victory, and not looking out the window behind him to see the massive wave that is approaching at mach fuck. Dies and jrrt specifically mentions that he’s never again able to have a body that men (specifically) find hot. This is more pathetic than the #1 spot but I want him to stay losing 😌

1 - Finrod: do I even need to say it? You’ve got this classy, friendly, noble Elven lord who, in short order: agrees to help a Man complete a suicide quest because he Swore An Oath, dressed up as an orc, said his name was Dungalef and his friend here was Nereb, lost a rap battle to a god bc the god brought up his ptsd triggers, got stripped naked, slipped his chains and fought a werewolf, naked, with his teeth, and won before dying of blood loss, but not before he gave a little lore drop to Beren about how Elven deaths work as his last words. The absolute legend.

Put your favorites and/or other nominations in the tags, I want to see if there's anyone I missed.

[borathae]

Boyfriends? | JJK x MYG

“Yoongi doesn’t do labels, while Jungkook loves labels. So one night, he asks Yoongi ‘what are we?’, hoping that the last four years together weren’t just casual for him.”

Pairing: Vampire!Yoongi x Vampire!Jungkook

Genre: established relationship!AU, Fluff, Slice of Life, slight suggestive themes

Warnings: just some anxious thoughts, this is a post sex cuddles scene, Koo being a little brat, Yoongi being a fond brat tamer, he tickles him hehe, snuggles & kisses, also! mention of blood drinking as part of his training to become a good vampire <3

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on an alternative fictional universe and does not correlate with any real life people. I do not support the shipping of the actual members.

Wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: i love sanguis!yoonkook so much :( omfg this hurt me because i just love them so much and my heart exploded :( istfg this break was so good for me, i have so many new ideas already heheh i can't wait to bring a very lore-y multi chaptered fic very soon hoohoh <3 but for now enjoy this lil yoonkoo fluff <3 also! whenever i write something for them just know that i am channeling hyyh!yoonkook 💔

Yoongi doesn’t define his sexuality. Neither his romantic attraction. He thinks that it is a rather stupid thing to do. He never truly understood the appeal of it nor felt it necessary to do.

“Why should I put a label on myself just so other people are satisfied?”

Because that is what it is for him. Satisfaction of other people. He should put himself into a box just so they can sleep better at night. Well, fuck them. Yoongi is way too old to live for strangers. He knows what he likes and other people can get fucked. They’ll find out who he likes when he allows it.

Jungkook defines his sexuality. And his romantic attraction. For most of his life, he felt like he didn’t belong. Into society, into groups, into life. So learning control and finally being able to be part of something again, Jungkook also feels it important to define who he is.

“I can finally be part of a group. I’m so happy.”

Because that’s what he is these days. Happy. A very happy bisexual man who doesn’t care about the gender of his lovers and who falls for personality.

And so it happens that “I hate labels”-Yoongi and “I love my label”-Jungkook are dating. At least Jungkook thinks that they are. They never really defined it – put a label on it so to speak.

But it must be that they are dating. After all, they are sharing a blanket as they are relaxing in front of the fireplace. They each only wear boxers and a tanktop which in itself is such an intimate look to share. The rug under their bodies is soft and heaps of pillows surround them.

Yoongi is using a few of them to keep himself propped up as he writes anecdotes in the book he is reading. Jungkook is lying on his tummy, watching the flames dance. Music is playing. Lofi hip-hop. Sometimes, he feels Yoongi’s fingertips dance down his back. It makes him shiver every time it happens. Jungkook feels exhausted, but he can’t fall asleep.

He flips his head to the other side, looking up at Yoongi.

The latter notices and gives him a glance. He runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, making him shudder in a good way.

“How is your head doing?” he asks.

“Heavy.”

“But no pain?”

He shakes it, “no, just so heavy. Hyung, it’s so heavy a-and I’m so tired.”

“Relax, bub. That’s normal.”

Yoongi is Jungkook’s mentor. Before Yoongi, Jungkook was unable to exist within the human world because he would have ripped through anything that breathed. With Yoongi’s help, he learned how to be normal again and because the road to perfection wasn’t finished yet, they used tonight to train.

“You are ready for the next step in mastering your urges”, Yoongi told him and then monitored Jungkook as he drank from a blood bag filled with human blood.

Up until this point, they merely trained with animal blood. At first Jungkook was very confused, “but I thought that I shouldn’t drink human blood? At all. Never.”

To which Yoongi assured him, “completely staying away from it, will only do the opposite. You need to learn how to handle it, so that if you accidentally drink it, you don’t become violent.”

With Yoongi’s reassurance, Jungkook choked down the blood deliciously and if it wasn’t for the older vampire, he would have lost control.

But he didn’t. Yoongi took his mind off of it in the typical, amazing way Yoongi often takes Jungkook’s mind off the bloodlust. And Jungkook wanted it. It felt so good. Quite frankly, he didn’t want it to stop.

Yoongi pulls his hand back and continues to scribble in his book. Jungkook is thinking. Yoongi calls him bub and bun and Kookie, but does it mean anything? Yoongi allows him to cuddle into him, but does he want the same? Yoongi fucks him, but does the sex even mean anything to him?

It has been two years since the world became peaceful and four years since they met and not once has this relationship been defined. Yoongi doesn’t call Jungkook his boyfriend. He calls him “my boy” or “my Kookie.” But never my boyfriend. What is he is just a good friend to him? What if Yoongi doesn’t want to put a label on them?

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, bub?”

“Are we dating?”

Yoongi lowers the book, “what do you mean?”

“Am I your boyfriend?”

Yoongi widens his eyes, blinking them in confusion.

“Why are you asking that all of a sudden?”

“Just feeling anxious.”

“Jungkookie, hey”, Yoongi softens his voice, “just relax. You’re okay, everything will be okay.”

“Please don’t avoid my question”, Jungkook insists anxiously. Is this it? Four years of intimacy, of building trust and bonding and it never meant the same to Yoongi?

“Of course you’re my boyfriend.”

Jungkook’s chest instantly stops tightening. His body tingles.

“You silly boy, do you seriously think I’m like this with someone I’m not dating?”

“You’re a really kind person.”

Yoongi chuckles, eyes soft in adoration. He pinches Jungkook’s cheek.

“You little bun, that’s not the same.”

“We never made it official.”

“I didn’t think it necessary. I thought it was pretty clear that we are dating once this”, he gestures between them, “became regular.”

“I guess, but I was thinking. About labels and how you hate them and yeah. I got scared that we aren’t official for you.”

“We are.” Yoongi pushes the pillows aside and lies down to face Jungkook. He tugs a strand of hair behind his ear. “If I’m not showing it enough for you, you have to tell me. I’m not good with reading signs or getting hidden messages. You gotta tell me directly what you want.”

“I know.”

“So? Do you want me to show it more?”

“No, you’re showing me that you love me. I think I just needed to hear it tonight.”

“I understand. You can tell me if you need that. You know me, I’m not gonna recite love poems to you on my own.”

Jungkook chuckles, “I know you, hyung. I think it’s cute.”

Yoongi grimaces. “If you say so.”

“I do. You are so cute.”

Yoongi chuckles, “you’re aware that I rearranged your insides just moments prior?”

“I know.” Jungkook closes his eyes and settles into the pillow. “Only cute people can do that.”

Yoongi laughs, “okay, okay you’re being an idiot. I get it”, he says, leaning in to kiss the shell of Jungkook’s ear.

Jungkook relaxes his muscles, enjoying the soft tingles rising all over his skin as Yoongi kisses every inch of his upper back. His face next. Jungkook rolls to his back so Yoongi can reach it better. Their eyes meet. Yoongi cups his cheek and kisses him. Jungkook seriously thinks that it feels so much better now that he knows it’s official. Every second, every moment, every touch exists to strengthen their relationship as boyfriends. Seriously, if Jungkook’s heart was still beating, it would race like crazy.

He giggles. Yoongi smiles.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I’m happy.”

Yoongi kisses him with a smile before he begins littering his face with kisses.

“I’m happy too, bub.”

“Oh, Yoongi”, Jungkook lets out and unable to control the surge of happiness, he shoots up to take Yoongi into the tightest hug human- and vampirekind has ever seen.

“Okay. This is happening”, Yoongi chuckles, letting it happen without hugging him back. It’s not because he doesn’t want to, but simply because Jungkook is squeezing his arms against his sides.

“I love you so much”, Jungkook giggles, shaking Yoongi from left and right.

“I love you too, but please stop that”, Yoongi laughs, head thrown back and bouncing around.

“No. You’re my stim toy”, Jungkook says and squeezes him tighter, making a cute sound for it.

“Whatever that is”, Yoongi laughs, taking the squeezing until it starts hurting. Then he begins to fight back. Softly of course, finally using his strength to shove Jungkook’s arms open.

“How are you doing that?” Jungkook gasps, trying with all his might to bear hug Yoongi again, but it is useless.

“I’m the strongest, remember?”

Jungkook’s back hits the rug, his wrists get pinned by one hand. Yoongi looks at him as if he wanted to take him to euphoria and back. Just for a second because then pure mischief burns in his eyes. Jungkook feels said mischief very soon as Yoongi begins tickling his sensitive side.

“No! Stop! Hyung please stop”, Jungkook squeals, laughing so loudly it bounces off the walls. He tries to fight his wrists free, kicking his feet helplessly. But it is useless. Yoongi is stronger and he is hellbent on getting Jungkook back for always being a little brat.

“Hyung I’m sorry”, Jungkook laughs, crying tears.

“Not enough”, Yoongi coos, changing sides.

“Ah! Please I’m gonna pee myself, stop! Please”, Jungkook squeals, laughing oh so much that his mouth truly cannot open any further.

“Mhm, alright”, Yoongi rasps and stops. He lets go of his wrists, sliding his hands to the smallest part of his waist to hold him. Somehow in their tickle match, Yoongi slid between Jungkook’s legs. They are thrown over his lap, resting their weight on him.

Jungkook recovers with little gasps and gulps. The first thing he does is wipe the tears from his blushy cheeks then he pouts at Yoongi.

“This was totally not necessary and very mean.”

Yoongi chuckles, “for all the bratting you did this week? It’s a mild punishment.”

Jungkook pouts harder, “I can’t help it. Besides, you’re too sensitive. I’m not even bratting.”

“Careful”, Yoongi squeezes Jungkook’s waist. The latter squeals and writhes.

“Sorry.”

“Better.” Yoongi smiles, bending down. His hands run along Jungkook’s torso until he has to rest them on each side of his head. “You’re so fucking pliable.”

“Hyung…” Jungkook sighs, melting into a puddle.

Like this. Underneath Yoongi and with his head foggy in feel good emotions, Jungkook gets kissed. He wraps his limbs around Yoongi and deepens the kiss. This might be one of the best nights of his life. He is his boyfriend. And now he is making out with him. This is the best night ever.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Boy toy

Written for @switcheddieweek, day 6, and for round two of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Exposure | Switch, Sugar Daddy, Sub!Eddie

Relationship: Steve x Eddie

Rated: E

Words: 1,290 [also on AO3]

Tags: Switching; Sub!Eddie; Dom!Steve; Rock star Eddie; Movie star Steve; Modern AU; Blindfolds; Lace; Lingerie; Toys; Collars; Humiliation; Dirty talk; Finger sucking; Dry humping; Blow jobs

“Eddie Munson’s newest boy toy.”

Steve reads out the headline in the same bored drawl that he recited the last two articles in, but a faint tremble of amusement is creeping in. Even without being able to see, Eddie can picture him perfectly: phone balanced in one hand, the other fiddling softly with the remote on the armrest, the barest of smiles grazing his lips.

“Subheading, wait for it: … Who's the face behind that ass? God, who comes up with these? Do you think this is serious or some silly joke?”

Silence settles over the room, only disturbed by the low hum of the toy buzzing against Eddie’s prostate. Steve lets it linger, just long enough for the warm coil of arousal in Eddie’s belly to settle back in. Just long enough for the dull, painful tingle in his knees to start bothering him again, now that there's nothing to distract himself. Just long enough for him to start wondering if he should answer the question.

Then again, Steve was pretty clear in his instructions.

Kneel.

Head down.

Don't make a sound.

It's a bit strange. For all that Steve loves to test Eddie’s patience when their positions are reversed - always wiggling and whining and pleading at him with those big, wet eyes of his - he has no tolerance for disobedience when he's the one calling the shots, not even on a good day.

And today is not a good day. Today, Steve is pissed.

“It's common knowledge by now,” Steve reads, casually turning up the vibrations of the toy, “that Eddie Munson has a type. Corroded Coffin’s frontman likes his men young, athletic and shapely. And what can we say? His newest catch, spotted recently at luxury BDSM club The Hideout, clearly ticks all of those boxes.”

There’s another beat of silence. Eddie hears how Steve fiddles with the remote again, and this time, the pattern of the vibrations changes. Not a constant buzz anymore, but a slow ebb and swell, each crest sending delicious shockwaves of pleasure into his leaking cock. His fingers twitch, longing to touch himself, but he keeps his arms crossed behind his back just like Steve told him.

“There’s pictures, too,” Steve says. “I don’t need to describe them, I think?”

He doesn’t. Eddie has seen them approximately a hundred times since the first article came out this morning - and even if he hadn’t, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way Steve looked that night. How the lace hugged his legs and thighs. Dark, shimmery black contrasting beautifully with his tan skin, matching the color of his shorts and collar. The broad lace blindfold - the same one Eddie is wearing right now - making his lips look all the more shiny and pink. Eddie still remembers how he begged and pleaded against it. Steve doesn’t like having his vision impaired, least of all when they’re out in public. He says it makes him feel exposed and helpless, but Eddie was feeling a little mean that day, so he stayed firm.

In retrospect, it was probably a good thing. Paired with the low light of the venue and the distance from which the pictures were snapped, the blindfold makes it near impossible to make out features - apart from Steve’s strong jaw and the spectacular swoop of his hair, maybe. Steve should be happy about it, truth be told.

Except he isn’t.

“Fans are, of course, dying to know who Eddie’s newest sugarbaby is,” Steve continues. “Knowing him, it’s probably only a matter of time until we find out. … Well, I’m sure they’d fucking love that, huh?”

A long, slender finger hooks itself through the o-ring of Eddie’s collar and pulls. Not very harshly, but since Eddie doesn’t see it coming, he still yelps in surprise and struggles to maintain his balance, not daring to bring his hands forward to support himself. The sudden shift in position nudges the toy a bit more firmly against his prostate. The next vibration comes reliably and relentlessly, and he moans, precome dribbling onto the fabric of his lace stockings.

“You told me,” Steve says, voice suddenly very close to his ear, “that place was discreet. You told me I didn’t have to worry about it, and look where it got us. What if anyone recognizes me, have you thought about that for a- … Are you smiling?”

Eddie shakes his head as well as Steve’s hold on the collar will allow, biting the inside of his mouth to get the treacherous little tug of his lips under control.

Did he plan for this? Fuck, no! The Hideout is discreet, usually. They’re probably moving heaven and hell as they’re speaking, trying to figure out who snapped the pictures and sold them to the press. Whatever poor bastard did it will rue the day he ever set foot into the club.

But no place is ever truly safe, and they both know it. Steve better than him, probably. Being the only child of Hollywood’s most beloved celebrity couple, he was practically raised on the big screen. Steve had his first movie contracts under his belt before he could even walk, way before Eddie ever dreamed of picking up a guitar. Hell, if anyone is anybody’s sugarbaby here, it sure as hell isn’t Steve.

“Well,” Steve sighs. His hand has released its hold on the collar and is travelling up, tracing the shape of Eddie’s bobbing throat, the curve of his jaw. “At least one of us seems to be enjoying himself. Now, how do you plan on making it up to me, huh?”

Eddie turns his head, searching and finding Steve’s thumb and sucking it into his mouth. Steve makes a low, pleased sound from somewhere deep in his throat and Eddie’s neglected cock twitches.

“That’s your solution to everything, huh?” Steve murmurs. A foot pushes itself between Eddie’s thighs, and he moans, swirling his tongue around the finger in his mouth. “Sucking my cock? Well, I don’t think you’ve earned that today, have you?”

Eddie hollows his cheeks, bobbing up and down on Steve’s thumb while he grinds himself against Steve’s leg. If he looks pathetic and desperate enough, maybe Steve will change his mind.

Steve, as if he read his thoughts, laughs softly.

“God, the sight you make. Wish the fucking tabloids could see you like this. Maybe that’s what we should do, huh? Maybe I should get the leash and take you out. Maybe I should let them see what a dumb little slut you are.”

He won’t. Eddie knows he won’t. Unlike him, Steve still cares about both of their reputation. It's cute, in a way.

But God, the thought of it? The thought of Steve parading him around like this, naked and exposed for everyone to see? Feeling a dozen and more eyes on him, even with the blindfold on, burning into his skin while he kneels at Steve's feet, the perfect picture of discipline and obedience?

“You're actually getting off on that, huh?” Steve’s voice is a low, awed rumble. Eddie whines when the finger slides from his mouth, but Steve makes a soft shushing noise, cupping a hand to the back of his neck to pull him closer. The scent of his arousal is strong and heady, and the tip of his cock is slick as it nudges Eddie’s bottom lip. He opens up and eagerly presents his tongue. Waits.

Steve sighs, and the grip of his hand on Eddie’s neck goes a little gentler. “Alright already. You know I can't say no to you when you're like that. If you make it worth my while, I might consider letting you come.”

Eddie has every intention of making it worth his while.

He always does.

More Steddie Bingo

Ko-fi

[runnning-outof-time]

Not At All | Tommy Shelby x Reader

PART 3 of A Series of Interactions at The Garrison - but can also be read as its own story

Request: yes by @brummiereader - sent in as a blurb request

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

Summary: Things between Tommy and (Y/N) come to a head after a different kind of interaction happens at The Garrison.

Warnings: language, smoking, mention of drinking (it takes place at a bar, y’all)

Word Count: 2308

A/N: I’m so happy that everyone’s enjoying this unexpected journey so far — I hope this next part doesn’t disappoint! I’m sorry it’s taken a little longer than would’ve been expected for me to put it out….I hope y’all are still interested in it. I’m really proud of how it came out. The prompt I used is bolded in the story. Enjoy! :)

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED — I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THE STORY!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged!

Things were different at The Garrison today. Not many people had been through the Small Heath watering hole, and it finally gave (Y/N) a chance to breathe behind the bar. No one was yelling rudely for another drink, no one was arguing on who arrived at the bar first, and there were no terrible messes that needed to be cleaned up.

There was this one man though.

His name was Daniel. He was unlike the majority of patrons that frequented the pub. Instead of being demanding, he sat and waited for his order to be filled, tipped (Y/N) way over the normal amount, and struck up a normal conversation with her….one that didn’t make her feel inferior or like she was in harm’s way.

It was a welcome scenario that she was thankful for on a day that was going slower than usual.

They kept their conversation going, only stopping when (Y/N) needed to tend to a customer or restock the bar. It switched topics frequently, their discussions ranging from the goings on around the city to what Daniel did for work: he was a writer for the newspaper, and the boy did the stories he share make (Y/N) laugh.

“So this one time I was assigned to what my boss called a festival that was way too far outside of the city limits for my liking, but the pay was good so I agreed to it,” he started up on another story, resting both of his elbows on the bar so that he could lean in on them for effect, his grin growing as he continued, “turns out he wanted me to report on this sheep herding event that some local farmers were doing…you wouldn’t believe the size of the bloody crowd that this thing attracted!”

“Miss can I get another round of shots?” a patron interjected a request into the story, effectively pausing it and making (Y/N) go about filling the correct amount of glasses he was wanting.

“You’re going to need to make two trips for them,” she told the man as she placed the bottle of liquor back in its position on the shelf.

“Nah, I’ll be able to take ‘em,” the man disregarded her statement, then going about grabbing as many of the glasses that he was able to hold. He managed to get a grip on all but one of the glasses. “Put that one on top of this one here, will ya?” he then asked (Y/N) to assist him.

“I can bring it over to your table if you’d like,” she suggested another plan.

“I said put it on top of this glass,” the man insisted, his patience now clearly wearing thin.

(Y/N) pursed her lips into a fine line, obviously not wanting to follow through with what the man was suggesting. But she obliged, managing to get the last glass to balance on of the glasses he was already gripping in between his fingers so that she could avoid his temper rising any higher.

All was well until the man began to lift the cluster of drinks off of the bar top. Sure enough, the glass that she had balanced wobbled and fell back to its previous place, making the liquid it held splatter everywhere as it did.

“Fuck,” (Y/N) sighed under her breath, quickly grabbing a towel so that she could stop the spread of the spilled drink’s contents. She then shot a look to the man who was standing with the rest of the drinks in his hands. “Take those to your table and I will bring the last one over,” she said to him, the tone she spoke with telling him that her plan was not up for debate.

The man nodded and followed through with it, leaving the bar for his table.

“I’m sorry, give me a moment,” (Y/N) sent an apologetic smile in Daniel’s direction.

“No worries at all. Do your job,” he smiled back at her.

She then went about the motions of completely cleaning up the remnants of the spill on the counter before she refilled the glass and brought it to the table of awaiting men. They thanked her and she smiled at them before returning back to her spot behind the bar.

“Never a dull moment here,” she commented to Daniel, laughing softly as he smiled at her. “I’m sorry again for interrupting your story.”

“Love like I said, it’s no worries. You were doing your job,” he grinned at her. He then gently reached out and used his thumb to wipe what (Y/N) quickly realized was a wet spot on her right cheek. “Though it seems you missed a spot in your hasty clean up,” he grinned at her, his thumb lingering against her skin for a moment longer.

“Thank you,” she whispered her thanks, feeling her skin heating up where his finger brushed. She subconsciously leaned his touch, quite liking the feeling of his smooth skin touching hers.

“Oi, out!”

Another voice entered the conversation. (Y/N) knew exactly who it was without even looking. The commanding nature of it was a dead giveaway.

Daniel jumped back from the bar top and turned to face the gangster that called the city ‘his’, the smile he was previously wearing now nowhere to be found. “Mr. Shelby, I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong, I…”

“Out. Now,” Tommy didn’t want to hear any of what he had to say. His steely gaze was honed in on the man he was going to get out of his pub by any means necessary, if it came down to it.

Daniel didn’t try to continue with his rebuttal. He knew that continuing talking would get him nowhere in this situation. Everyone in Small Heath knew who Tommy Shelby was…they knew that what he says is what happens, regardless of what anyone else thought. He lowered his eyes from the intimidating man and turned to look at (Y/N) again, sending her a look that said “I’m sorry”.

(Y/N) didn’t quite know what he was sorry for. She was flabbergasted by what was occurring and couldn’t even think of anything to say in response to it.

Tommy’s eyes stayed trained on the man he was kicking out, watching intently as he stood from the stool and began walking to the door. Pleased with the outcome of the establishment’s door shutting, he made his way to the snug, leaving the situation without further comment.

(Y/N) had to blink a few times to make sure that what had just happened in front of her was actually real. There’s no way he came in here and kicked that man out for no reason, she thought to herself. The more she thought about what had occurred, the more she began to feel angry at Tommy for how he handled it.

A scowl formed on her face as she made a beeline to the snug’s closed door. Upon opening the door she found Tommy sitting in his usual spot, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette as if what had just gone down hadn’t happened at all.

“What was that out there?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level as the anger continued to bubble up inside of her. She motioned her hand in the direction of the bar to accentuate her point as she spoke.

“What?” he asked for clarification even though he knew full well what she was referring to.

“Why did you treat that man like that?” she happily gave him the clarification he was looking for.

“I didn’t like how he was acting,” he responded with a shrug, taking a long drag of his cigarette after he finished speaking.

(Y/N)’s brows furrowed together in an incredulous expression. “What do you mean you didn’t like how he was acting? What could he have possibly been doing wrong?” she fired off more questions.

“Who’s at the bar now?” he tried to veer their conversation off of its course.

“Harry’s got it covered, now answer me,” she wasn’t falling for it. She put him right back in the hot seat before adding: “if anything he was doing everything right. He has been the highlight of my day.”

Tommy’s expression changed the second he heard what she had to say about the man he’d just kicked out. His lips pursed into a fine line, his eyes narrowing as he stared straight ahead.

It was slight and quick, but (Y/N) noticed it. Her lips twinged upwards as she realized why he was acting the way he was. “I think I know why you’re acting this way,” she began, her statement making his eyes snap to her. “I think you didn’t like the attention that man was giving me…I think you didn’t like the fact that it was good attention.”

In the weeks that had passed since she patched him up after his late night…altercation, both Tommy and (Y/N) had been dancing around the fact that there could very well be some deeper feelings at play between them. Feelings that go beyond the ones that a boss would show to his employee, and an employee to her boss. They kept toeing that line, neither wanting to cross it.

But now it was apparent…Tommy had entered The Garrison and found (Y/N) in a position with another man that she should have been in with him, and he hated it.

He wasn’t going to admit that outright though. Silence hung in the room as he leaned forward in his seat. The smoke from his ciagarette wafted around him as he looked up at her. “You think I’m jealous, eh?” he asked her, his eyebrows raising as he spoke.

“I think there’s got to be some reason behind you throwing that guy out just for being nice to me,” she countered, her expression staying stoic although she was secretly loving the fact that he’d admitted to exactly what she was thinking.

A soft scoff left his lips when he heard her response. He shook his head as he spoke: “you’ve got it wrong, love.”

“No, you’ve got it wrong, Tommy,” she wasted no time in turning his statement right back on him, “you can’t even see what’s right in front of you.”

(Y/N)’s blunt statement was met with silence. She huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, waiting intently to see what he would say in response. His eyes didn’t leave hers, and it was now almost like they were having a silent challenge; seeing who would crack first.

Tommy’s voice broke the silence: “I have the right to kick whoever I want out of me pub whenever I see it fit.” His comment came from way out in left field, and it was one that pushed (Y/N) to her limit. The manner that he said it in irked her even more. He was so apathetic with it, breaking their staring contest to snuff out his cigarette as he spoke.

“Yeah, well your pub now has one less employee…” she snarked back at him, “I’m not going to continue to work here if this is how things are going to be.” She waited for a moment before making a move to the door, watching to see if anything changed in his demeanor. He stayed stoic. She turned to the door of the snug. “I’m done. Flowers aren’t going to get you out of this one, Tommy,” she made sure to get the last dig in, her hand reaching for the door.

“Stop.”

Even though she had every intention of leaving, his voice still stopped her in her tracks. Tommy Shelby just had that power over her…he had that power over every situation; over everything.

(Y/N) just about jumped when she turned around to see what more he had to say. Tommy was no longer sitting in his usual seat. Now he was standing right in front of her. “What?” she questioned him, her brows raised.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead his hands found her cheeks and he pressed his lips firmly to hers. His kiss told her everything she needed to know; told her the real reason behind him kicking Daniel out of the pub; told her that those feelings they’d been dancing around for weeks were real. And she made sure that she kissed him back in a way that told him those very same things.

The kiss left them both breathless, and when they pulled away (Y/N) took immediate note of how Tommy’s thumb felt as it gently brushed her cheek. It was much more rough and calloused compared to Daniel’s smooth skin, and she was instantly convinced that she preferred the former feeling to that latter.

“It’s taken you long enough to do that,” she was the one who broke the silence this time.

Tommy tried to stop the grin from forming on his face as he heard her statement, but he failed miserably. “Would you mind if I did it again?” he asked her, his voice just above a whisper.

“Not at all,” she grinned, closing the space between them to match her lips with his once more. They shared another kiss before she spoke again: “oh, Tommy…” she paused, moving back far enough so that she could look at him, much to his dismay.

“Yeah?” he hummed, his gaze flitting down to her lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss them again.

“Maybe flowers can get you out of this one,” she said with a grin, harking back to her previous statement.

“Oh I can give you a whole lot more than flowers, love,” he grinned, hearing her giggle as he closed the space between them to kiss her again.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @succubaby @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @littlepeakydevil @stevie75

@lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick

@dandelionprints @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee

@dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @everythingelseisextra

@little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo

@novashelby @wonderlanddreamer

[mswyrr]

1x08 has some beautiful and devastating character work for Mensah, in the writing and Noma's performance, which all leads up to her yelling at Ratthi and I want to go into that.

First of all, I read this moment as her sincerely (if also in the awareness that it's a bit silly) using the affectionate endearment Ratthi has come up with -- after finding out about the transponder, she's relieved that Murderbot has come through yet again. And NO, it's deeply unfair for her to later think of this bonding behavior as treating it like a "pet" -- that's a teammate with a team nickname! That's Ratthi literally doing *the same thing* he did when he started affectionately calling Gurathin "Gugu"! He's sweet and a bit oblivious but deeply caring and not treating Murderbot any differently as a bot than he'd treat a similar human person.

And then during the surgery, when she cannot help Gurathin, Murderbot steps up -- she's moved and also doubtful (she knows it so well by now! lol)

And then, well -- Gurathin finally found the pressure point to hit with her, the one piece of evidence that would make her feel she cannot continue advocating for Murderbot to remain part of the team. Gurathin is deeply in love with her, subconsciously jealous, and consciously convinced that Murderbot has to be driven away for the safety of Mensah and her people. (This is incredibly stupid and more likely to get them killed than Murderbot hanging around... but emotions don't actually make sense!) And he found it. This whole time, with Murderbot killing Leebeebee, with Gurathin's prior accusations and the team's doubts -- nothing shook Mensah's confidence in the bond she felt with Murderbot and the mutual trust they've shared. But this revelation does.

This is evident in the way she asks: it's not true? And Murderbot cannot tell her what she needs to hear.

Her expressions in light of it not being able to reassure her are heartbreaking

And then they really hit us in the feels -- they do a reversal of the scene from last episode, where she said that it would help if Murderbot put its helmet down so the group could see it as a person who is trying to help -- "because that's how I see you."

And here... she no longer fully believes in it and trusts her own judgment and sees it that way, she doubts that vision due to the evidence Gurathin just provided (intentionally hammering on her buttons -- her guilt and responsibility as a leader -- just as hard as he can, believing that it's right... but it was also cruel).

After Gurathin says his "maybe you're just defective" and always just moments away from killing line, Murderbot focuses on Mensah, hoping for the support she's provided -- seeking her judgment of it -- and it cannot find the acceptance it came to trust would be there. This time *Mensah* looks away. It puts the helmet back up because the person who invited it to put it down and be "part of the team"--whose trust and care it has bonded so deeply with-- isn't issuing that same invitation. It leaves because of *her* reaction.

It's a moment of heartbreak for both of them. But Mensah's leadership responsibilities mean everything to her. If it could truly go off on them at any moment--not in theory, because it is a being with free will, and all beings with free will could technically go of on each other at any time, but because it has a "defect"? She feels she has to put her people first -- she feels foolish and like she took risks she shouldn't have because she was following that deep sense of connection, trusting her feelings.

Even with all that, she's still torn -- and, *SHE* is the first one to say "We can't let it leave." While looking so desperately sad and aching.

But over the course of this conversation she firms her resolve of what she feels she has to do to care for her team. You can watch this happen in her body language and her face (Noma is such a talent!!)

And then Gurathin uses the effective tool he's found and drives it right into her heart again:

Not only can we see the shift in her expression and body language, but then she finalizes her forced resolve by literally *closing the door on it*. She's closing the door on her own heart and the parts of it that have bonded with this strange, moving, kind, dangerous being.

It is out of this emotional place--where Ratthi is actually speaking those parts of her heart--that she lashes out. Not because Ratthi did anything wrong! She's a complex human being, not a perfect Mom, not unable to be worked on and for someone to find a weak spot and crack it right open, as Gurathin did. With the best of intentions. Because everyone here is under tremendous stress -- and nobody has to be a villain for people to wrong and wound each other deeply.

She's yelling at herself more than Ratthi. She's yelling at the part of her heart that she sees in him in that moment (and that the writing invites us to see, beginning with the "Seccy" parallel early on) and that she's trying desperately to close the door on and keep it hammered shut even though it hurts terribly. It's excellent writing (the writers have a really nuanced grasp of psychology and the characters!) and acting on Noma's part. And I'm SO EXCITED to see where this goes in the final two episodes!

[ballsandbabes]

Connection Lost

authors note: I know this is a very sports themed blog, but i recently stumbled about some very interesting Infos for a love and deepspace character, that got me inspired// y/n = your name// not proof read// GIF not mine // Have fun <3

pairing: Luke (LADS) x fem!reader

summary: Well, its pure chaos,but basically Luke has the hots for reader, who is an informant for Sylus. So what happends when filthy thoughts enter Lukes mind, while he still has the link to his brother??

genre: romance, fluff

word count: 9.5k

The N-109 Zone was colder than you imagined.

Not the kind of cold that gnawed at your skin—though the recycled air in the outpost left much to be desired—but the kind that wrapped around your thoughts. Isolated. Quiet. Too quiet.

You were new here. An informant Sylus had handpicked for reasons still unclear. He’d said he needed someone sharp, someone who didn’t ask too many questions—and you? You couldn’t help it. You were curious about the N109 Zone and it inhabitants, especially about the twins.

You failed your Hunter Examn three times and thus exhausted the maximum number of attempts. Now you were banned and would never be able to become a Hunter. But that didn't mean you weren't good. You did things your own way, at your own pace. You needed your rhythm and that fell apart when they tried to squeeze you into the Hunter Guild mould. You were almost broken. And now here you are. In a new city, without a proper job and with broken dreams. In short, the last year just sucked. sometimes you wished you hadn't moved to Linkon to fulfil your dream of becoming a Hunter. You've had all sorts of jobs over the past few months, none of them well paid.

But when a black letter fluttered through your letterbox, your hitherto dreary life took off again. The mysterious organisation Onychinus had asked for you. In a fit of ‘I have nothing left to lose anyway’, you ventured into the forbidden zone. You had been subjected to a series of tests before you finally met him: Sylus. The head of the organisation. Gangster. Ready for violence. Handsome.

Sylus was loud, unpredictable, often seen with a too-wide grin and a datapad that blinked with encrypted secrets. And then there were the twins: Luke and Kieran. At first you found them totally annoying whenever you handed in your reports at HQ. Stupid questions, sarcastic remarks and just all-round idiocy, you thought. Most of the time, you were just annoyed when they were around.

Everything turned out differently than you thought. One evening, you made your way back to your flat in Linkon, with Sylus' new assignment in your pocket. Over the next few days, you were to shadow a person whose name had only been shortened to MC, a young woman. A Hunter. You had felt like you were being followed the whole time, but you didn't think anything of it, as the crowds in Linkon always increased in the evening. But by the time you turned into your street, it should have been too late. With a loud clang, something metallic hit you on the back of the head.

They had stolen all the documents from you that said anything about MC. The twins had searched for you after your long absence and brought you to the headquater's crane room. You had grown fond of sylus, why didn't you know? But you seemed to remind him of someone he knew. That was also the reason why he had ordered you to live at the base from now on. Before you could say anything about it, your city flat had been cancelled. And that's how you ended up here.

Sylus and the twins had become something like your family. You had lost your father in the war and you no longer had the wish to see your stepmother. You were alone. And to be honest it felt great, to be able to come home to someone, even if it was just the twins. The two of them fascinated you. They seemed to share a brain. Finished each other's sentences and always seemed to know what the other was thinking. it felt like they shared their senses and thoughts, in a sense that they felt closer to being one single entity split in half, than two regular brothers. As you figured out relatively quickly both remained with their own personal tastes and personalities, even though they were pretty similar. You always asked yourself, if that meant that they also had shared feelings.

That couldn't be true for Kieran, he was leaning over the armchair next to you with his head to the floor, reading a book. he was the younger of the two and also the slightly smaller one. He was the calm, reliable, and stubborn one of the two. Kieran didn't seem like the type to share his feelings with his brother.

Luke, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He was temperamental, unpredictable and vigilant. He also had a penchant for cold things, especially ice cream, as you noted. So being around him, felt always colder than the zone you were stationed in—until he wasn’t.

The first time he looked at you, really looked, it was like you’d stepped into someone else’s memory.

___ _ _ _

“Stop staring,” Kieran muttered to his brother one night after you’d left the surveillance room. You weren’t supposed to hear it. But the door hadn’t quite shut.

“I wasn’t,” Luke replied, voice sharper than usual.

“You feel her too. Don’t deny it. You know I can feel your nerves lighting up like a relay. She’s pretty. I get it,” Kieran said annoyed. For his nineteen years, he was sometimes quite altruistic and mature.

A pause.

“I don’t want you in this, Kieran,” Luke finally said, “Not this.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any gravity shift. What was that about? MC, the woman you were supposed to be shadowing? Granted, she really was a beauty. Did Luke fall in love with the young woman while sifting through all the footage? You had to suppress a little laugh. Sure, he was spontaneous and impulsive, but that was a new level of stupidity, even for him.

But at the same moment, that the smile appeared on your face, something else had spread. A kind of sadness. You loved spending time with the two of them, but Luke was your favourite. He always had suggestions for things to do, he took you out of your everyday life, he gave you the feeling of endless freedom. His sarcastic remarks, the silly remarks, they made you smile. You were totally blown away when he knocked on your door and wanted to take you for a night-time ride on his motorbike, in the zone.

But his affections already seemed to be focussed on someone else.

___ _ _ _

Since overhearing the twins' conversation, you had become curious. Could the two of them really read each other's thoughts? The more you researched it, the more you learned. So it was no wonder, that you learned quickly, that the twins shared more than DNA. They were psychic mirrors—linked by something deeper than blood. Thoughts, pain, senses… pleasure. It was said that if one twin dreamed, the other would wake remembering it. It was totally strange. How was that possible???

You started catching Luke looking at you more often. But he never said anything beyond protocol. Never broke rank. Never touched. You were pretty sure that this was a new task for sylus to keep an eye on you. So you thought nothing of it.

___ _ _ _

Until the night, when the rain came—acidic and red, scattering your outpost’s comms and knocking out part of the signal array. The rain in the N109 zone was almost toxic due to the air pollution. If it fell very heavily in the same place, it corroded the surface. Sylus didn't like the fact that you wanted to go out to do your chores. He thought it was stupid and careless, but now was time to shadow your target inconspicuously. So you went nevertheless. And now??

Now you were stranded inside the auxiliary hub, alone, until the door opened with a mechanical hiss and Luke stepped through, soaked and grim-faced.

“I came to check on you,” he said. His voice had an edge—like he was trying not to feel something too deeply.

You smiled, teasing despite the tension,“Sylus send you?”

“No,” he replied.

"Then Kieran send you to check," you figured. The silence stretched. Then, softly, almost like an admission, “Sylus is on duty...Some meeting. And Kieran...he doesn’t know I’m here.”

That caught you, “But… I thought you two—”

“Always,” Luke said, “We’re always connected. Every thought. Every flicker of sensation. If I burn my hand, he flinches. If I close my eyes and dream, he sees what I see.”

You swallowed,“So… right now, he—?”

Luke stepped closer, “Not if I block him. Which I can’t do for long, only a few minutes. But I had to try. He would be so mad if he knew I am here.”

He looked at you then, like you were the answer to a question he hadn’t dared to ask until now.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he murmured, “to never have a moment that’s only yours?”

You shook your head. It must be awful, to share everything. When not even your thoughts were your own.

“I want this. I want the moments we share. But I don’t want him to feel it too,” Luke admitted. There was a fragility in his voice that cracked the shield you’d seen him wear like armor. For once, Luke didn’t seem like the older, colder twin. He seemed… human. Longing. Afraid.

“What happens if you cut the link?” you asked.

He hesitated. “To be honest, there is no way to to so. But if I had to guess, I would say Pain. For both of us. It’d probably be like slicing a wire that runs through your bones.”

You reached up, fingers brushing his wrist. His breath caught—so did yours,“ I cant imagine what it must be like to not be your own person, but rather two. Then how about we make this moment yours.”

You two had sat down. You asked him if there was anything he wanted to say that was none of Kieran's business. That he always wanted to feel that was none of Kieran's business. And so a short, honest conversation began. Luke confessed that he had once been in love, but that it had been a bad thing that Kieran had interfered. Kieran had been afraid of losing his brother, of having to share and had always beaten the girl up. You had asked him if there had been anyone else after that. He had replied that he couldn't allow you to do that in his situation. Not if it was always under observation. This answer brought tears to your eyes. The idea of never being able to love because there would always be someone else around made you sad. It also occurred to you that it wouldn't be easy to find someone who was okay with this situation.

"There should be moments and feelings that belong only to you," you say, leaning slightly towards him.

Mirroring your actions, he leaned in as well, and you felt the hum of restrained energy ripple between you—like static caught in the air, like the moment before a lightning strike. Something seemed to pull you towards him. And as his lips met yours, a tremor ran through him. A split-second later, a burst of pain flared behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth and pulled away, clutching his temple.

“Kieran...he,” he gasped.

“He...what?,” you asked. He did not answer. He felt Kieran bite his hand, a warning. Luke had felt the pain too. Kieran had done it to remind him that he too would feel the pain and heartache if it backfired.

Luke had almost forgotten about that. If you didn't feel the same as him, it would just be a game for you, both brothers would have to feel the strong emotions of unrequited love.

___ _ _ _

Luke didn’t speak to you for three days after the kiss. Not in the halls of the N-109 outpost, not over the comms, not even a glance when you passed in the mess hall and brushed shoulders by accident—though you were sure it wasn’t an accident. You replayed that moment in the auxiliary hub over and over in your mind. The kiss. The way he’d said “He can’t hear me.” The pain that flared in him before silence fell.

And now that silence was everywhere. It wrapped around you like a shroud. You weren’t the only one who noticed. Sylus cornered you by the diagnostics console on the fourth morning. He leaned lazily against the panel, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in a look that was too casual to be innocent.

“Y/n, did you do something to Luke?” he asked bluntly.

You blinked, “What?”

“He’s been—off. Shut down. Like someone flipped all his switches halfway and forgot to put the rest back,” Sylus explained his point of view.

You gave him a wary look, “Maybe he’s just busy.”

Thats when Kieran felt the need to enter the conversation,a s he entered the room. He snorted,“My brother doesn’t get ‘busy.’ He gets obsessed. If he’s not working, he’s reading reports. If he’s not reading, he’s training. Lately, he’s doing none of that. You’re the variable.”

You tried to shrug it off, “We talked. That’s it.”

Sylus tilted his head, smile thin, “Talked, huh?” Kids these days were something different he thought. Kieran watched you a moment longer, something sharper in his eyes now, “I haven’t felt him lately. He cuts our connection sometimes....he has never done this before. It’s muffled. Like I’m hearing echoes through water.”

Your chest tightened,“You said once you shared everything. What happens if—?”

“If he cuts me out?” leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Then he’s hurting. Bad.”

You didn’t say anything, but Kieran wasn’t stupid. His eyes narrowed as the pieces clicked into place.

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me he—? Ohhh. He did.”

You looked down, voice barely above a whisper, “He said he wanted something that was his. Just for once.”

Kieran straightened slowly, the amusement drained from his face.

“He wouldn’t do that. Not unless…,” He trailed off, then swore under his breath,“He’s falling. That idiot.”

“Falling?,” you echoed.

“In love,” Kieran said bitterly,“Which is exactly why he’s avoiding you now.”

"That would explain a lot," Sylus chimed in. You stared at Kieran, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Kieran ran a hand through his hair, “Oh, it makes perfect sense if you know Luke. He feels things harder than I do. Deeper. He tries to control it, manage it like a system, but if he falls for you—then it’s not just him anymore. It’s me too. I’ll feel it. Every heartbeat. Every ache. Every crack. Every longing.”

You stepped back, suddenly cold,“You’d feel it if his heart breaks?”

Kieran nodded,“Down to the last shattered piece.”

Seeing the shock on your face, Sylus stepped in,"We should probably have told you this earlier.... There is an organisation that is experimenting with the protocores on humans. Luke and Kieran come from just such a lab. They were born twins and orphans. That's why. times chose them, or so we assume. I found them on one of my missions when they were just six. They've lived and worked here with me ever since."

"Both Luka and I each have a piece of the same protocore in our bodies. We don't know where exactly, but it connects us and makes us one person," Kieran explained further.

You couldn’t believe it. Not really, but the tears in your eyes said something different.....This was horrible. You could never grasp what the both of them must have been through.

Not until later that night, when you found Luke standing alone on the northern perimeter of the dome, hands clasped behind his back, watching the storm swirl outside like it could wash away whatever he was wrestling with.

“Luke,” you said softly. He stiffened, didn’t turn.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you tried again. He didn’t answer.

“I deserve to know why,” was your last try.

He was silent for a long moment, before speaking in a low voice, rough with restraint, “I suppressed the link to give you a moment that was mine. Just mine. I thought… I could hold onto it. Like a keepsake. But I underestimated the pain Kieran would feel, if the connection was lost. I cant imagine what it would feel like if I cut him off forever...the pain...”

Your heart twisted,“Then why are you shutting me out? Maybe I can help?”

He finally turned. His eyes were tired—dark circles under them, skin pale under the faint glow of the perimeter lights. His voice cracked like something barely held together,“Because I don’t want to fall in love with you.”

Silence dropped like a blade.

“Luke—,” you were taken aback.

“If I do,” he said, taking a step back, “you’ll be in every thought. Every breath. And if I lose you… it won’t just hurt me. Kieran will feel it too. He won’t say it, but he will. We’re not just connected—we’re entangled. We always have been.”

He looked down at his hands, as if they were covered in something he couldn’t scrub off.

“I suppressing the link would make it easier. But it didn’t. I still feel everything, more even, I can feel his pain, his anger towards me” he admitted.

You took a step toward him, and he didn’t move.

“Then don’t do it alone,” you said gently, “If you’re scared, I’ll be scared with you. But don’t pretend it didn’t mean anything. It did. To me.”

He looked up, and for the first time, you saw fear behind his usual calm—raw and honest.

“I’m not afraid of pain,” he whispered, “I’m afraid of what happens if you’re the one to walk away.”

You reached out, took his hand, “Then don’t give me a reason to.”

He didn’t pull away. For now, the storm stayed outside.

___ _ _ _

Let it be said: sneaking around a top-secret blacksite base controlled by Onychirus is technically treason. But it doesn’t feel like treason when Luke has his hand on the small of your back and is tugging you into some obscure storage closet between Section 4 and the emergency escape corridor. The lights in here flicker like a bad romance holodrama.

“Are we seriously doing this again?” you ask, breathless from running. Luke’s smirk is all slow, dangerous confidence,“We’re alone.”

“Until Sylus finds us and ejects us into space,” you teased. He kisses you anyway.

Across the base, Kieran groans and slams his datapad onto the table. It bounces, nearly shattering against the steel surface.

“He’s doing it again,” he growls to no one in particular.

The mercenary standing nearby flinches,“Who’s doing what?”

“My brother. My emotionally-repressed genius brother who thinks suppressing a psychic bond is the same thing as disabling it.” Kieran pinches the bridge of his nose,“I’m getting secondhand butterflies. BUTTERFLIES. You know what that feels like? Like indigestion and emotional weakness. In my chest.”

The merc hurries away. Too much family drama.

___ _ _ _

Back in the closet, Luke’s lips brush against your jawline like it’s classified. His hands settle on your waist and stay there.

“You’re laughing,” he says against your skin.

“I’m not,” you say clearly giggling.

“You are. I can feel it,” he smiled.

You giggle anyway and swat at him,“You’re supposed to be cold and mysterious.”

“I’m a liar,” he murmurs, before kissing you again. The whole thing is reckless, warm, and a little awkward—especially when you both bump into a shelf of prototype drone parts and nearly knock an entire crate over.

CLANK.

You both freeze. Luke whispers, “We need to be more careful.”

You whisper, “You’re the one with your hands on my ass.”

“…Noted.”

After the butterfly flew away, Kieran was able to get back to work. He stares at a half-finished data schematic and suddenly drops his stylus. His hand flexes. His heart rate spikes.

“What now,” he mutters aloud. A flash of heat wavers through his body. A shiver of tension. Someone is kissing. He is kissing? No, not him. Not really.

“Luke,” he growls, eyes narrowing, “You absolute idiot.”

"Like its a suprise", Sylus low voice said suddenly, "I want you to finish your work properly, lets go get the two. This needs to end."

And he was right. Kieran hadn't been able to concentrate on his work for a fortnight because his brother's feelings and senses had been transferred to him. Strong ones at that. It practically put him out of action.

___ _ _ _

“Found them,” Sylus announces five minutes later, as he opens the closet door with the force of a judge issuing a death sentence.

You and Luke spring apart like guilty teenagers caught making out behind a gym—which, emotionally, is basically what this is. Sylus stares at the scene in front of him: Luke’s jacket half-off, your lipstick smeared, both of you wide-eyed like escapees from a romance drama.

“You know,” he says flatly, “I may be the leader of a semi-illegal black ops mercenary syndicate, but even I have standards. A closet, really???”

Luke brushes imaginary dust off his shirt. “We weren’t—”

“I KNOW WHAT YOU WERE DOING. I FELT IT THROUGH THE BOND, Luke. I had to stop working because you were ‘probably not being tortured.’” Kieran gestures with both hands, enraged, “Do you have any idea how awkward it is to get secondhand arousal from my own twin? This is emotional WARFARE.”

“Sorry,” you apologized sheepishly.

Sylus turns to you, eyes narrowed. “And now to you young Lady. I trusted you.”

“Wait, what?,” all exclaimed, turning to face Sylus.

He waves you off. “Not really. But still. I had higher hopes.”

“You didn’t have to feel it if you weren’t so nosy,” Luke turned now to his brother.

Kieran makes an exasperated noise that sounds like a dying engine,“You suppressed the bond, not shut it down. You can’t mute a fire alarm by shoving a sock in your ears!”

Luke raises an eyebrow,“That’s not how fire alarms work.”

Kieran groans into his hand,“You know what? Fine. Go ahead. Keep sneaking around like horny civilians on shore leave. I’ll just be here. Being the right hand to a cutthroat corporation. Babysitting my psychically-linked disaster of a brother who keep getting emotionally entangled with his co-worker.”

As he storms off, you and Luke exchange a look.

Luke shrugs, “So… back to the closet?”

“Let’s try the ventilation shafts this time,” you grin, “More plausible deniability.”

In the shadows of the base, Kieran sits in silence, eyes glowing faintly blue. He taps into the bond—just for a second—and feels the echo of your lips against Luke’s. Kieran’s jaw tightens,“…He’s going to get himself killed.”

But there’s a faint smile on his face.

___ _ _ _

Sylus kicked the door to HQ open with all the dramatics of a man juggling a galaxy's worth of secrets in one arm and a mysterious woman in the other.

“Alright,” he grunted, dragging her in by the wrist, “we've got a guest.”

The woman—MC, as she introduced herself—was cold-eyed, scarred, and strangely calm for someone who’d just been pulled out of a top-security Onychirus intel hunt. Her presence was charged. Not psychic. Not kinetic. But undeniably… known.

And Luke, standing across the command deck, barely noticed her. Because you were standing just beside her. You. Hair a little messy from recon. Cheeks flushed from the elevator ride. Laughing softly at something Sylus had muttered.

Luke’s jaw clenched. His heart rate spiked. He looked away, hard. Suppress it. Focus.

“...and this,” Sylus was saying, gesturing toward MC, “this is an intruder send by the hunters. Wanted to attend an auction but merely was desguised. Beginners mistake. But there are also some good news, the hunters know a lot. Maybe shes someone who knows how to sever and reestablish twin psych-links.”

Silence.

Luke’s head snapped up so fast Kieran looked over, alarmed.

“Sorry—what?,” Kieran asked, crossing his arms, stepping out of the shadow like a very irritated backup drive.

MC nodded slowly. “I, myself have a protocore in my body, therefore I read your neural sequencing. You’re "broadcasting" on an open shared frequency. Crude but stable. With the right focus node, it’s possible to turn the link off temporarily… and back on, without psychic recoil.”

Sylus blinked, “You're telling me these two could—what—toggle their brains like Bluetooth?”

MC just smiled,“Basically.”

Luke forgot how to breathe. MC handed Sylus something, “The calibration protocol’s inside. Use a neuro-sink, boost frequency buffering, and you’ll get privacy.”

Privacy.

Luke made a noise that was halfway between a cough and a desperate prayer.

Sylus didn’t even look up. “I swear to the void, if you two start dry-humping across my air vents the minute you get emotional autonomy, I’m going to jettison myself into space.”

And thats, how all of you spend the afternoon. You tested it. Neuro-sync chamber. Calm lighting. A quiet hum. MC guiding Kieran and Luke through mental alignment, then detachment.

Luke stared. He felt the link to his brother loosen. He stood up. Kieran blinked at the sudden action,“You good?”

Luke walked right past him. You were still in the hall, besides the little room MC, Kieran and Luke tried to disable the link, when Luke emerged, and it only took a look for everything to combust. He walked straight to the hall. Straight to you.

“Are you—?,” you began to question. And then he was on you. Mouth crushing against yours. Hands gripping your hips, pulling you into him like you were the only solid thing left in the universe. You gasped into his mouth. He groaned.

“Oh my stars—,” Kieran’s voice echoed from the comm system. “Were not fully detached.”

MC coughed politely in the background.

“Can they breathe?” she asked.

“They’re young. Let them burn it off,” Sylus said, sipping from his thermal flask,“They’ll pass out eventually.”

___ _ _ _

By the time you and Luke emerged in the dinner hall—clothes slightly rumpled, hair an arguable disaster—Sylus was reviewing MC’s data, waiting for dinner to be served and Kieran had fully committed to pretending you didn’t exist.

“Are you okay?” you asked him.

He scowled,“Your boyfriend’s psychic horniness just leaked through the backup link and I got a vision of a janitor’s closet that I wish I could unsee.”

Luke didn’t even pretend to be sorry. Sylus sighed deeply, not looking up from the display,“If you break anything while making out, you're both getting reassigned to waste-processing in a Nebulon outpost.”

You saluted. Luke smirked.

Luke had you. His head was clear. His brother wasn’t screaming. And teenage horny chaos reigned supreme.

[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. 

[katerinaaqu]

I was reading some of your Odysseus's analysis and I love how you brought up his religious facet because I really think is a big part of who he is as an person and how it affects his decisions, specially during the war. To me Odysseus had always been the king of Compartmentalization; he is the one that is able to push his emotions down in order to act accordingly to whatever he thinks can please the Gods at any given moment, and thus save himself and his allies at the process- the problem is that he is human and Compartmentalization can only bring you so far so ofc it would eventually come to eat on him... that is essentially what a big chunk of the Odessy is for. Particularly when he was with Calypso- like OBVIOUSLY the constant abuse played a huge role on his dumpster fire of an mental health but the fact he was completely stagnant without the capacity to jump from one task to the other couldn't had helped matters either....

☝️☝️☝️ THIS MY DEAR ANON SIMPLY THIS ☝️☝️☝️

For starters I am really honored that you liked my analysis and that you saw exactly what I wanted to convey with that potential of Odysseus and that part of his character that everyone seems to forget; his religious nature and how he is literally living his life in the religious piousness

And I couldn't have said it better myself! Yes he does push his emotions down, suppresses them even, when gods speak. When gods demand, humans should shut the fuck up and respond accordingly, that seems to be Odysseus's motto in life. The gods demanded Iphigenia, the gods should have Iphigenia, no matter how bad Odysseus might feel or not feel so his emotions of sorrow or regret come second before his need to obey the gods. Then the gods demanded that they stop attacking the walls of Troy? Odysseus would turn the heel around and run! It doesn't matter if Diomedes is there. If he chooses to disobey the gods is his problem and his choice. Circe demands this price to set his men free? Yeah he would sell his body to get it. Calypso had to have him in order to secure his survival? Yeah Odysseus would do it. The gods demand from him to do a trip to the ends of the world to repent his hubris? Odysseus will damn well be on a new ship and sail there or walk there for all the world is concerned he has to see that thing through no matter what.

This is why he did what he did in the times before or during the war. This is why he chose to stay behind for retribution sacrifices to the gods and why he came back for Agamemnon even if he desired nothing else than go home with his fleet but is also this blind faith that has him being beloved by the gods like Athena or Zeus.

However like it happens with someone who has way too much religious zeal obviously the results can be catastrophic to yourself and to others in a practical manner. I mean Odysseus too paid the price for he was always hated secretly by his peers for his behavior to please the gods because in the eyes of everyone he did it just to get glory or just because he is who he is. Odysseus might have had some ulterior motive about himself or the others but it seems that his religious beliefs play a huge part in the way he conducts himself in regards to the interactions he has with others which is another reason why I am sad that I do not see more people talk about it or representing in their stories and work or that makes me happy when more people see the potential of!!!

As for the last part I am actually very intrigued by this interpretation indeed!!!! And if I am allowed an addition, it is also why he is desperate. He is paying the price, he is pleasing the goddess...and yet he cannot escape. As you said he remains stagnant. Unlike his case with Circe where he receives her trust and her knowledge and later her help with Calypso he just receives his survival for another day. The price he pays will not get him anywhere and that is definitely NOT a good thing for his already crumbling psyche indeed and it COULD be another reason why death seems his only way out at that point.

Because nothing he used to go by in his life works anymore

His piousness was stained by hubris. His decisions to please the gods did nothing for him (or so it seemed to him) and his unpleasant sacrifices brought the fate upon him. He is desperate and he is alone. If I dare use the parallel "he opened his legs for her" and has nothing in return out of his situation. And he has no way out. His brains, his wisdom, his tactics or even his schemes are not doing anything for him and neither are his prayers or his sacrifices and attempts to please this goddess work! It DEFINITELY has a lot of potential as a line of thought and adds even more confusion to his already confused mind!

Thank you Anon for this great addition!

[the-lonelybarricade]

We have water maintence guys from the council who come by maybe once a month to take readings from the sewage box in our garden.

Our garden has a surrounding hedge so it's quite private, though the previous owner did put in an access fence for the water maintence people to be able to easily get to the box. There was a storm that blew it open a few weeks ago, so we put some brick on the other side to stop Beans from escaping.

Cut to today. I'm making Bean's breakfast, she's out in the garden doing her morning business. I'm not wearing pants. I consider putting some on before going out to get her, but think, Oh it will be okay, it's not like anyone will see.

I go out into the garden with her bowl, in a t-shirt and underwear and fluffy socks. I don't see Beans. I do hear the bricks on the other side of the gate moving and I think oh no, she's dug a hole under the hedge and is escaping!

So I panic and run to the fence at the same moment two of the water maintence guys open the fence.

I see them. They see me.

Beans runs out from the other side of the garden where I guess she was the WHOLE TIME and she's very excited about the new friends.

IM NOT WEARING PANTS.

I have to - while pantsless - wrestle an overenthusiastic puppy with one hand (because I'm holding her food bowl with the other) away from these poor, moritifed men. I am also mortified. Beans is having the best morning in her full 8 months of existence.

She also isn't wearing a collar because I, stupidly, took it off last night to put it in the wash. So I have nothing to give me leverage in one-arm wrangling 55 pounds of extroverted determination.

They tell me it's fine to let her go, so I let them fuss over Beans while I retreat in shame back into the house. I hear one of them comment that they should come around more often 💀

So tl;dr, I'm never showing my face in public again

[good-ju-ju]

Tough Guy

John Shen x Sick!GN!Reader

TW: minor sickness

“You should really eat”

Those are the first words spoken in the apartment since John left for his shift last night.

Those words also happen to be the first thing you wake up to, aside from a pressure in your sinuses that could rival a shaken up soda can and an itch in your throat that has graduated to sandpaper just like he said it would.

One silent slow raise of your head shows you that he can hear your raspy breathing, smug bastard.

John stands by the door, a pair of your discarded jeans decorate the carpet by his sock clad feet.

Still dressed in black scrubs and holding a steaming mug that explains the clattering in the kitchen that lasted longer than your pounding head can deal with at the moment, his presence is calm as ever and smirking in the face of a challenge like always.

It’s more than enough for you to face plant back into the pillows with a cough and one quick glare.

“Don’t look at me like that, I just want you to not waste my hard work in that ghostmart you claim is a kitchen”

The timbre of his voice gets closer as he nears the bed, one of your thrifted soup mugs being set down on the night stand to your right as the bed dips and you are pulled from possible suffocation to fight your congestion laying on your side.

He huffs a laugh at your limp movement when he catches another glare, pulling you up to a sitting position despite your clear agitation.

“Seriously, I don’t even think your kitchen has seen a meal without ‘just add water’ instruction written on the side of it since you moved in” he continues to prod at your living space as he keeps you upright against the headboard with one hand and searching your bedside drawer with the other

“J, quit it. I just got comfortable” your voice croaks out quietly, crackling before sending you into a spin of coughs that has him laughing now as he shows his other hand to hold just the instrument he was looking for

He holds you steady as he checks the reading with a faux calm and a smile “Stop all that whining, I’m just tryna check your temperature tough guy”

You indulge him keep yourself up right, clamping the uncapped thermometer under your tongue with that sweaty scowl on your face until he removes it.

“No, you’re worrying yourself over a head cold” a few more coughs rattle through your chest and throat as you lay back down, cheeks flushed with a fever as you try to crawl back to the blankets

His hands pull the thicker top layer of blankets from you as he puts the thermometer aside, said hands quelling your irritation as they sit cold on your face and dried out from hours of re-sanitization

“That would hold more weight if your version of a head cold didn’t last two weeks every time it happens. Now sit up again or I’ll hover over you”

The mug, no longer steaming, is back in your line of sight as you follow orders even while groaning “John, I’m serious. I just wanna sleep. I need to be able to work work tomorrow”

“And I’m serious too, you gremlin.” He stares you down before slowly bringing the soup to your lips, a quick and light chicken broth slowly filling your mouth in measured sips.

His enjoyment is clear as he gives a satisfied hum, taking the mug away when prompted and looking into your eyes “Your body needs nutrients and medicine, those spreadsheets won’t disappear if you take a day or two to be able to look at a screen without going cross eyed”

The words, although caring, do little to sway you mentally but a cold hand on your overheated cheeks has you leaning on him

“You laugh but my spreadsheets would eat your night shift for breakfast, pretty boy. That emergency department has no respect for a good house inventory” you mumble, eyes barely open and fluttering around a few more slow sips of broth while laughter rumbles through his chest

“Alright, Well you can do me a favor? Maybe put down the human-eating spreadsheets and lift your head so I can at least get some Tylenol and water in you before you doze off?”

[namelessgoose]

Travel related headcanons for the papas! ✈️🌴

I started these when I had down time traveling a while back and I just remembered I did that so I finished it up and yeah!! This is my first time writing out something like this to post so … be nice 😅

Nihil:

- He throws a bunch of random things in his bag with no sense of organization and then needs someone else to fix it for him and will complain about how they organize it because “he had a system” (there was no system)

- He takes his sweet time in the TSA line, no sense of urgency at all. If his bag gets stopped he immediately starts arguing.

- On the actual trip, he cannot stick to a schedule, he’s the least punctual person in existence.

Primo:

- He’s very preplanned and organized without having to put in much effort. He’s able to pack right before he leaves and packs pretty minimally.

- His bags get through TSA easily, that’s not to say that he doesn’t have anything illegal on him. He has his ways. Don’t worry about it!

- HATES airports. Too many loud people who can’t figure out how to do simple things.

- He doesn’t do anything on the plane. He just sits there. What’s he thinking about? Who knows.

- His trips are generally for business only, he doesn’t enjoy traveling very much. Though, he will stop to see the nature of the area if there’s some.

Secondo:

- Secondo is absolutely an overpacker, but denies it completely. But not in the “i’m bringing 10 pairs of underwear just in case I shit my pants every single day” way, no. Like he’s bringing 5 different kinds of cologne and way too many outfit choices (thinking about that one picture where he’s in that very eccentrically decorated room that was scrapped from Papaganda i believe) And he is able to give serious rationale for everything he brings.

- Hates airports just as much as Primo. His bag gets stopped at TSA every time without fail for absolutely no reason.

- I don’t think he travels much outside of clergy duties BUT if he has to go on a trip for business, he absolutely makes the most out of it… he might get a bit distracted and not fulfill some of the business duties.

Terzo:

- Terzo is packed and planned WELL in advance. He knows exactly what he’s wearing everyday and has alternate outfits depending on the weather. He has all of his essentials and his bag is well organized. He always makes reservations with timed out schedules, but isn’t afraid to deviate from the plan to do what he feels like at that moment.

- Though, he really doesn’t like planes. Not that he’s scared of them, the elevation just gives him a headache. He brings a book to read to try to distract himself, but it usually doesn’t work very well.

- Even if a trip is technically for business, he’s able to make the absolute best of it. I think he’d like to travel for pleasure as well. Honestly, I think he would be the best to travel with.

Copia:

- Unlike Secondo, he is definitely the “packing 10 pairs of underwear just in case i shit my pants every single day” type of packer. Overpacks because you never know what could happen. And even with his overpacking, he definitely forgets something essential and has to get it overpriced at the airport. He also procrastinates packing until the last minute which doesn’t help either.

- Doesn’t like sleeping at hotels. Hell, he has trouble sleeping at home. The cold and unfamiliar hotel room is definitely not going to help him out in that regard.

- He only travels for clergy business, so it’s all planned for him. He tries so hard to adhere to what he’s supposed to do that he stresses himself out. He’s able to get it all done though, despite the chaos.

- His ghouls make sure he lets himself relax and actually enjoy the trip at some point when there’s time so he’s not just overworking himself.

Perpetua:

ngl i don’t have a great grasp on his character yet, i can’t wait until i see him at my ritual!!!

- He seems like the type who comes off very planned and put together, but is totally just going off vibes.

- I have a feeling that those claws aren’t getting though TSA easily

Wow you made it to the end! I’m not really anticipating anyone really reading this lmao BUT if anyone wants any of these ideas developed some more or if you have any of your own travel related hcs for them, feel free to drop something in my ask box :3

[twicedone]

SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE TLT SERIES (SO FAR) READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!

Okay so, I saw a post on about TLT a while ago and despite my best attempts I cannot find it again. Essentially, it went; "Does Gideon finally have what she wanted, are women throwing themselves at her in the Cohort, does she even care?" It got me thinking like... how would Gideon even handle that in her current state? She's the CHILD OF GOD, she was right, her Father is the most important person in the world and he's finally claimed her. Is it all she ever wanted? Does any of it mean anything to her, without Harrow? We get a tiny glimpse into how its been affecting her through Nona's eyes in the last bits of Nona the Ninth (ie, saddest girl in the world and her lies about Harrow.) so obviously she hasn't been having the greatest time... but that's coming from Nona, who's able to notice the tiniest details in body language and speech. How well as Gideon been hiding her despair from everyone? Does Ianthe know how deeply Gideon fell for Harrowhark (she probably does.) How have her "father" (John was hardly even a sperm donor, he doesn't deserve the title tbh.) and Ianthe been twisting Gideon this whole time? How well do Gideon's lies work on herself? There's so many fucking questions!!!! Anyways. When I think about "THE BIG HERO KIRIONA" (and all her titles that I don't remember atm) there's two scenarios that play out in my head. There's the Kiriona that tries to bury her pain in hedonism, taking full advantage of her position as THE EMPEROR UNDYING'S DAUGHTER to indulge in everything she ever wanted. The second is more plausible (both based on my reading of Gideon's character, and of how Tamsyn has treated sex and intimacy so far.) Kiriona throws herself into the work the Emperor gives her, she fights like a woman possessed for the Cohort, and seeing as she's essentially invincible - takes suicidal risks. I think any sign of intimacy would enrage her, both of the women whom showed her ANY kindness (those women being Cythera and Harrowhark) both "betrayed her" (although only Cythera actually did, but Gideon sees Harrowhark's lunatic act of love for her as a refusal of her entirety.) and would push away anyone whom tried to truly engage with her. We see that Gideon and Ianthe are somehow "friendly", but she also lies and lies and lies to Ianthe the entire time they interact in Nona!!! How much of that friendship is REAL?! I think both Gideon and Harrowhark have an up-mountain battle to fight if they want to truly be together (and FUCK you, they do.) But I think that they'll do it, I think they'll suffer all the agonies of their love to be able to stand side-by-side with one another again. I don't think they'll be making out with each other by the end of Alecto the Ninth, but I think that with Tamsyn's words on the subject at hand (that there WILL be hope.) that we'll be leaving them to work at it until they can. tl;dr GRIDDLEHARK BABY, WOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! sorry if this was scatterbrained, I just wanted to sit down and write out my thoughts. <3 ty for reading!!!