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trippinsorrows · 9 months ago

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looking through your eyes + ten

authors note: i think ya'll will be pleased with majority of this chapter. as far as the ending scene, let me know what ya'll think roman should do. i have it already planned, but i'm always so curious reading other perspectives. btw, they've been married almost four months, for context.

also, to those who want to know about the subplot of solana's bitch ass daddy plotting to kill roman....it's still a subplot. stay tuned.

passages from 'the courage to heal' do not belong to me.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: violence against women, references to csa, character briefly discussing csa, fluff, angst, language, and suggestive themes

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 10k (no comment)

Learning to be intimate is rewarding, but it is not always comfortable. As one woman said, “I kept myself safe, but I also kept myself alone.” Becoming intimate means peeling back the layers of protection to let someone in. It means going to the place where you’re comfortable and then taking one step more. One step, not twenty.

Solana must read the passage at least half a dozen times, sitting with the words, meditating with them and doing her best to cope with the discomfort she’s experienced at various points while working her way through the book that’s brought an equal amount of questions as it has answers.

She knew right away going into this section, Healthy Intimacy, that it would most likely be the hardest chapter for her. But not even for the reasons that she initially thought, reasons that would have been the case before a certain Roman Reigns entered her life.

Every day that passes with him seems to bring about a new level of comfort, a new slice of happiness, a new type of contentment.

She enjoys talking with him and being around him. She looks forward to his meeting her at the end of work and struggles with endless worry when he doesn’t make it back home until the wee hours of the night.

His touch, whether that’s his hand on her back or both hands on her waist as he holds her against him, no longer triggers an automatic tense, uncomfortable feeling. Somewhere along the way, the need to identify his touch as ‘safe’ waned and was replaced with an automatic knowing. Like she knows that it’s okay for him to touch her, because she’s safe. Because she’s safe with him.

That, along with her continued and also growing attraction, has caused her to think more and more what it could be like to be with someone in that way. The thoughts have been fleeting, far and few over the years, typically followed up with abject horror. But lately….lately she’s been less and less scared and more and more hopeful.

Optimistic that maybe….just maybe, she could one day know what that’s like. To have that experience in a healthy and non-traumatic way with a safe person. With someone who truly desires her in said healthy way.

Someone….someone like Roman.

It’s scary and terrifying and exciting and nerve racking and moving and every other emotion to exist, but on top of all that, for the first time in her life, it’s a possibility for Solana.

And she wants to take that chance, even if doesn’t work out, even if it’s not what she thought it would be. To be able to say she at least tried, to say that she overcame her fears…it would be monumental.

It would feel like the breaking of mental and emotional chains.

And it starts today.

Closing up the book, Solana untangles her legs and marks her spot in her book. She gives Dulce a light pat on the head and walks into the bathroom. Opening up the drawer, her eyes land on the pair of scissors. Nothing fancy. Just a pair of regular scissors.

Solana takes a deep breath and grabs them.

Using one hand to let down her hair from the messy, half-effort bun, she gives her head a good shake. Once, twice, and then a third time. For a brief second, she hesitates, her father’s constant belittling returning to the surface.

“You don’t need short hair. You’ll look even fatter with it.”

Solana shuts her eyes as she thinks of all the times Roman has called her beautiful, has made her feel beautiful. The endless support from Bayley and Naomi. The borderline inappropriate comments form the twins almost every time she sees them.

It all brings an emotional smile to her face as she takes another deep breath.

One step, not twenty.

And she cuts.

________

Samantha can count on one hand in all of the years that she’s known Roman Reigns the times that he’s surprised her with a visit.

Zero.

He’s always always given her a heads up for his arrival or plans to visit, solely for the mere fact that Roman is a man who doesn’t like to wait. When he wants pussy, he wants it then and now. And she’s never been one to deny the Head of the Table anything he’s ever asked for.

So when she finds him sitting at her desk, feet propped up with an unreadable expression, it takes her off guard.

Only for a minute.

“I knew it was only a matter of time.” Samantha is quick to kick the door shut behind her, locking it right as she tosses her purse on the nearby chair. “You can’t go too long without me.” This fact alone is enough to make her cum right then and there. The fact that even with his roster of women he rotates through, she remains number one.

Roman knows where it’s at.

And him coming to her, at her job of all places, just proves it.

Eye dropping to his crotch, she licks her lips at the thought of that thick, beautiful dick in her mouth. Fuck, she’s salivating at just the thought. “You want me on my knees, daddy?”

Samantha starts to kick her shoes off when he finally breaks the silence.

“I want to know what you said to my wife.”

Samantha’s smile drops in under a millisecond. Instantly, she’s scowling. “What?”

Roman doesn’t hesitate to repeat himself, every word perfectly enunciated with his heavy, baritone voice. “What did you say to my wife, Samantha?”

This….this isn’t how she was expecting this to play out, and it shows in the sudden stuttering, “I—I don’t—”

“She came back from that bathroom upset, and I don’t like seeing her upset, so I’m only gonna ask you one more time—” Samantha nearly jumps back into the door when he suddenly bangs his fist on her wooden desk and growls, “what did you say to her!”

Stammering, she answers with a combination of fear and desperation, “I just—I told her the truth.”

It seems to be the wrong answer, as Roman looks 5x angrier. “And what the fuck is that?”

Samantha gathers herself a little better, voice more even as she answers with misplaced confidence. “That she could never please you. Not how I can.” And with foolish bravery, Samantha steps toward him. “That you’ll always come back to me.”

“You fucking bitch.”

That makes her still with her movements. He’s called her all kinds of names when they’ve fucked, and she’s loved it, loves being fucked hard and rough, his preference. But there’s something about this that she doesn’t love.

It’s because he sounds legitimately upset with her.

And that, in turn, upsets her, because he cannot seriously be upset that she said some shit to that little girl.

“Why does it matter? It’s not like she means anything to you.” Samantha has to actually laugh. In no universe can she see someone as strong and powerful as Roman caring about a girl like that. But, it’s when he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t voice some type of agreement that her confidence dwindles a bit. “R–right?” Still, nothing. And it’s with that nothing she realizes with all of the anger and shock in the world why he’s so upset.

“Oh my god. Are you serious right now? Her? You really have feelings for her?” Even saying it aloud sounds ludicrous. “What the fuck, Roman? What the hell is so great about her?”

There is absolutely nothing that girl brings to the table for her to have someone like Roman Reigns interested in her. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense. What the hell is attractive about a scarred, sliced up, fat bitch?

He finally speaks, warning her in an almost menacing tone. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“That girl is weak, Roman. You can’t be the head of the Bloodline and have someone like her at your side. She doesn’t deserve it.” By now, Samantha has moved over to him, her hands planted on his chest, his eyes closed. “You need….someone strong at your side. Look at what you’ve done just by yourself. Imagine…imagine having a queen to rule with you.” She licks her lips, going in for the kill. “I can be that for you. I can give you an heir. Look at how long it’s been and still nothing, no baby. She’s broken, Roman. That bitch—”

Samantha is silenced by him jumping up from his chair as he shoves her against the wall, hand on her neck. It’s not the first time they’ve been in a similar position. She loves to be choked during sex, and he’s adept at doing just enough to get her off without her passing out.

But this time, there’s no pressure, no sexual aspect, no foreplay.

This….this is different.

Because this is the first time she’s ever actually been afraid of him.

“If you ever in your fucking life speak on her again, I’ll kill you.” Samantha’s eyes are wide, hand grasping at his. He’s still not actually applying any sort of pressure, probably more so placement to evoke a level of fear. A reminder that he could end her life in a matter of seconds if that’s what he wanted. “If you ever speak to her again, I’ll kill you. Fucking look at her, and you’re a dead bitch.”

Samantha barely has time to process his threats when he says something in Samoan and steps back, releasing her as she dubs over and gasps loudly from the shock of it all.

Seconds later, she’s on the floor, laying on her side after fucking Nia has landed her big ass foot in Samantha’s head.

Nia is looking down with a wicked smile that promises a level of pain. “You talk too fucking much.” She can’t tell if it’s directed to herself or Roman, regardless, he looks unbothered, outside of staring down at her with disgust.

Samantha has no idea where the hell that bitch came from, but her unexpected blow nearly has her seeing stars. She’s writhing on the floor, on her side, cradling her head when Nia yanks her up by her extensions.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” Nia kicks her a second time, in her side, and Samantha is almost certain she heard the subsequent cracking of her rib from the impact. Tears fill her eyes. “I’ve wanted to kick your ass since we were kids.”

Helpless and feeling so confused as to how he could do this to her, Samantha sets her teary gaze onto him. She does her best to generate as many tears as she can. “Roman, please—”

“You’re fucking delusional if you really thought I would ever make you anything more than what you were to me.” Samantha sniffles, vision blurred and stomach aching from both the physical and emotional impact of his words. “Nothing.”

A sudden anger fills her, meshing with the growing physical pain. She did this. That fucking bitch has taken Roman from her, her Roman.

“You wanna know what she is to me?” He crouches down and reaches for a lock of her hair, answering just as icily as the disgusted look in his light brown eyes. “Everything you’re not.”

Samantha snarls almost, not even angry at his words as much as her mind is trying to navigate any and all ways to make that little troll pay for this. Pay for stealing her man.

But it’s as Roman is walking out, that he barks his last order to Nia. Not necessarily a necessity given the fact that he’s certain she’s dreamed exactly of how this very moment could and should go down. Granted, this is the one symbolic thing he needs to ensure takes place.

“Break her fucking jaw.”

________

Handling the Samantha situation is just one of many things to be checked off of Roman’s to-do list for today. He’s got meetings, contracts to review, spreadsheets to update, shipments to see sent off, and a million and one other things. Most of which he’s far from thrilled about but also know needs to be done, regardless if he’d rather say fuck it all just for today. For just a couple hours, even.

Delegate, perhaps. But these are things that can’t be delegated. He, as the Head of the Table, needs to put his signature on to make it official.

And he’s got his Wise Man fresh on his heel to remind him of such responsibilities.

“And if my Tribal Chief can find it in him, we should also review Nick Aldis' proposal.” Roman’s instantly scowling. He fucking hates Aldis. The bastard is smug and thinks himself more important than he is. That Roman won’t end his fucking life with one snap of his finger.

Roman is halfway listening to Paul when he walks past Alicia who stands up from her desk. “Sir—”

His dismissal is swift and brusque. “Leave me alone.”

“But—”

One murderous look, and Alicia is back in her seat. Roman briefly overhears Paul chastising his secretary for her insubordination when he opens his door and immediately realizes why Alicia was most likely trying to speak to him.

Roman sees Solo standing almost awkwardly in the corner out of his peripheral vision, but his attention is solely on the other unexpected guest.

Focused on the way her almost flesh toned dress hugs every curve that drives him fucking insane sometimes, the way she bites down on her bottom lip in that way he’s learned she does when she’s unsure of something. And he’s especially focused on her hair that’s chopped down to where it lightly grazes her shoulder.

“I tell you, good help is so hard to find—” Paul is silenced as he finally walks in and sees Solana. “Oh, it’s you.” Roman shoots him a look that would absolutely kill if it had any sort of physical impact. “I mean, Solana, what a surprise—”

Roman easily moves back to focusing on his wife who looks absolutely fucking stunning. He directs his command though to Solo and Paul. “You two, out.”

Solo doesn’t need to be told twice, but Paul seems to meander, even as Roman walks over to Solana. And it’s when Roman has his hands on Solana’s hips and the room is still not cleared, he repeats in a calm voice that’s solely because of Solana’s presence.

If not for her, he’d be screaming at his Wise Man.

“I said get out.”

Roman can practically hear the nervous gulp. “But, sir, we have work—”

Solana frowning pisses Roman off in a way he has to keep from showing. But it’s when she finally speaks and it’s an offer to leave that he really has to reel in his rage. “I can go—”

“No.” That’s the fucking last thing he wants. “Paul is leaving.”

It’s not a suggestion, not a request, not a preferred action.

It’s a fucking demand.

And his Wise Man must realize this, because he’s quickly following in line with Solo and finally leaving Roman alone with Solana who seems still unsure about her presence.

“You have work to do—”

“You really expect me to get anything done when you come in my office looking like this?” He motions to her outfit and sees the way her cheeks tinge reddish as she bites back a smile. “Not happening, sweetheart.”

“I thought it looked nice.” The bashful way she says as such, as if she’s unsure it was an accurate assessment blows his mind. She looks down at the dress as if it’s not the woman wearing said dress that has him pushing back unholy thoughts.

“It doesn’t look nice. You look nice, Solana.” Another one over of her curvy body, and he mutters, “more than nice.” He brings his hand to her hair, brushing his fingers against the ends. “You cut your hair.”

She nods, an almost look of determination in her soft expression. “It was time,” is all she says, and Roman doesn’t need to ask for clarification. This meant something to her. Cutting her hair has a deeper meaning than just wanting something new, and whatever the reason, he’s proud she found it in her to follow through.

He hates when she asks him, still unsure, “does it…does it look bad?”

He’s not sure he could ever use Solana and ‘bad’ in the same sentence. Ever. “You could never look bad.”

She smiles, clearly pleased by his compliment. Good. He likes seeing her smile.

“Come here.” Roman takes her hand and leads her over to his desk where he sits down in his chair and doesn’t think twice about guiding her onto his lap. Roman feels her tense for only a couple seconds before she relaxes against him.

“As pleasant a surprise it is to find your fine ass in my office, I know you came for a reason.”

Roman is extremely perceptive. Always has been. He’s noticed the increased comfort Solana has developed and continued to develop with him. The way her discomfort at being looked at too long or even touched in any sort of capacity has shifted into bashful smiles and an almost light in her eyes at being complimented. At someone finding her to be anything but every lie she’s ever been fed.

Her confidence is growing, slowly but surely. And he likes that shit.

So he’ll do whatever he needs to do to keep it growing.

“It’s nothing serious.” It doesn’t have to be. She could come to his office every day if that’s what she wanted. He’d have zero complaints. “I just…I was baking Sopaipillas, and I know you like them and I felt bad because I’m bringing Jimmy and Jey some—”

It’s not until that moment he sees the Tupperware container on his desk. Her thoughtfulness is so unfamiliar but very much appreciated. He chuckles as his fingers carefully tap against her hip. “Thank you, but you know if you keep feeding they asses, they gon’ keep coming over.”

She’s smiling almost, defending them to a certain extent. “They’re really not that bad.” And she’s not entirely wrong. His cousins can be entertaining at times, but beyond that, he likes seeing her comfort level with them increasing as well.

For her to be as comfortable around them as she’s become, especially with them being men, is extremely significant given her trauma.

He’s proud of her for that just as well.

Still,Roman shrugs and calmly points out. “I spend most of my day with them.” Her other hand lays on his chest as he admits, “I don’t want to come home and see them. I just want to see you.”

Solana gives an expected almost shocked expression followed up with a slight confession of her own. Her voice is soft, like she’s unsure about what she’s about to say but is going with it regardless. “That’s why I wait up for you to get home…because I want to see you too.”

He believes this to be true, but he also knows there’s something else to it. “You worry about me.”

She nods, nervously licking her lips. “I’m trying to work on it though.” She’s been working on a lot of things, a lot of difficult, most likely mentally taxing things. And as proud of her as he is, Roman also recognizes the importance of pacing oneself.

He gently grazes the back of his fingers over her cheek. “Just focus on you, alright?”

The corner of her lips lift into an almost playful grin as she asks innocently, “what if I can do both?” Roman studies her, sees and hears the playfulness. It’s unlike her, but he fucking loves it. She squeals and almost giggles against him as he brings her closer to his chest, her hand squeezing his shoulder as he remains mindful of the placement of his hand on her hip.

Growing comfort or not, he still wants to be respectful of her boundaries.

Still wants to maintain her trust.

“I got me. Always.” Her gaze is on him, softening by the second as he adds on almost quietly. “Just need you to be okay too.”

Okay is such a big word, so layered. She’s not sure she’ll ever be fully okay. Too much trauma. Never enough healing. But there may be some level of okayness she can achieve, and it does feel like that’s something that’s in progress. “I’m getting there.”

And a large part of her healing journey is largely due to the man underneath her, staring at her with almost a sense of fascination, like he’s so enraptured by her. Like he’s smitten with her. The person she once believed no one could ever want has a handsome, powerful man like Roman Reigns holding her, looking at her, wanting her.

A line from the book resurfaces to the front of her mind.

One step, not twenty.

With that as a motivating and supportive mantra, she slowly moves her hand from his shoulder to his face, his beard prickling against her skin.

“Solana…..” She’s not sure she’s ever heard him sound so pained. “Baby, you can’t touch me like this and expect me to not want to kiss you.”

The butterflies in her stomach grow exponentially. Baby. She’s not entirely certain, but she feels like he’s called her this before, that he’s referred to her as such on a different occasion. So, it’s not a mistake, not a one time thing. It’s yet another sign that there wasn’t a dishonest bone in his body when he said he wanted her.

That he wants her.

Her heart is beating a mile a minute as she pools together all of the courage in her body and again chips away another tiny section of her wall of protection. “So kiss me.”

It’s not until this moment that Solana sees Roman actually appear genuinely surprised at something. He asks, maybe as if he needs to make sure he heard correctly, but Solana would bet it’s less that and more him ensuring consent. “Are you sure?”

He’s been so good at that. Consent. And it’s meant the world to her. His patience with all of her baggage.

Nodding, she quickly remembers his preference for verbal acknowledgements. “Yes.”

Solana doesn’t really remember her kiss with Roman at their wedding. She doesn’t really remember much from the actual wedding at all, to be honest. It was….it was more traumatic than anything, which is why she does her best to keep it stored away with the other too difficult to sit on memories.

But this….this she is certain she will never forget.

There’s an almost hesitancy when his lips touch hers, a space he’s leaving open in the event that she changes her mind. She’s grateful for that, but it’s not necessary. Her ‘yes’ was as genuine as his apparent interest in her.

And when he picks this up, picks up the fact that she truly wants this, he deepens the kiss, his hand moving up to her lower back as he pulls her closer to him. Roman’s full lips are soft and warm, and the way he moves his mouth against hers is both reserved and hungry, a strange but well balanced thing only he can manage. Like only he can achieve. He kisses her with a passion that she feels is only a fraction of everything he feels toward and for her.

Solana’s hand slides to the back of his neck, her fingers brushing up and across the skin, teasing the strings of hair that refused to mold down. She’s not sure if this was the right move because he makes a sound against her mouth, an almost mixture of a moan and groan, and pulls away. The separation and her subsequent light panting makes her suddenly aware that they’d been kissing longer than she realized. That she’d gotten so plunged in the experience that time seemed a nonfactor.

Her eyes flutter close when Roman brings his lips back onto her, this time peppering kisses along her jawline. Her head tilts back, an unconscious thing that grants him full access to the nape of her neck, which he easily makes his way down to. It’s a different, pleasant sensation that has her nails scraping against him.

“Roman….”

“So fuckin’ beautiful….” He says something else, something she can’t understand because it’s said in Samoan, but it unintentionally triggers something for her. A new level of bravery, an ability to ask something that makes her insides light afire and heart rate exceed what’s probably safe and healthy. But, it’s a hill she wants to eventually be able to get up and over.

And he’s made her feel safe enough to be the one to do it with.

“Roman.” Her voice must give away her need to say something because he pulls away from her and is focused directly on her. She licks her slightly swollen lips. “I want….I want to try—”

“Whatchu mean he busy? Man, you trippin. Uce always got time for family.” Jimmy’s loud unexpected voice is enough of a disruption and mood killer that Solana quickly jumps off Roman’s lap and moves away just enough to adjust her hair and dress. “Soso!”

Solana brings herself to look at her husband’s cousin as he finally walks in the office after dismissing Alicia’s warning. The first thing she notices is the tupperware bowl in his hand and white substance on his fingers. “I hope you don’t mind. When I saw your driver, I figured you had these little sugar things in the back so I just grabbed em’ all.”

If not for the fact that Solana is still trying to settle herself, she’d point out how the other bowl was supposed to be for Jey. But that seems irrelevant at the moment.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Jimmy seems completely unbothered by Roman’s threat as he plops down on the sofa, kicking his feet up on the glass coffee table and asks with all the obliviousness in the world. “So what ya’ll doing?”

When Roman shoots up from his desk and starts toward his cousin, Solana places herself in front of him, hands on his chest. His attention is immediately down, focused once again on her.

“It’s okay. I—I’ve got training with Bay and Naomi anyway.” Swallowing her nerves and pushing back thoughts of how….how nice it felt kissing him, she quietly offers a hopefully acceptable alternative. “We can talk tonight.”

This doesn’t seem like Roman’s preference but something he can live with. “Fine.”

She knows he’s obviously annoyed at being interrupted, and she is too, to a certain extent. But, Jimmy meant no harm, and she hopes Roman can at least recognize as much. Solana says bye to Jimmy and is near the door where she sees Solo waiting for her when an idea, more an urge, becomes too prominent to push away.

She turns back around and leans up, pulling Roman down by his shoulders and kisses his cheek. He gives her a look that tells her he’d be pulling her back for more if not for her cousin, and it makes her stomach somersault all over again.

But, she doesn’t give him the opportunity, just a small smile as she walks out for good this time.

And it’s after she’s gone, the Wise Man back in the room to help minimize the chances of his Tribal Chief killing one of his cousins that Jimmy uses the distraction to pull out his phone and send a text in the group chat.

Group Chat: Operation RoSo

Jimmy: Ya’ll! Code red! Code fucking red!

Jey:?????????

Bayley: Is Solana okay?!

Naomi: ^^^^^^

Jimmy: Man, I just got to Uce office, and good thing I walked in when I did. They acting all weird and shit. Soso just ran out of here but not after telling him they’ll ‘talk’ tonight!!!!

Jey: I’m too high for this shit right now.

Naomi: Babe, how exactly is that a code red???

Jimmy: They was obviously arguing before I got here! And ‘talking’ tonight??? That ain’t nothing but part two!

Bayley: Jimmy, that seems like a bit of a stretch.

Jey: A big ass stretch. Man, leave them two alone.

Jimmy: Naw. We gotta expedite this plan. I can see the writing on the wall. If we don’t move fast, they never gon fall in love. They might even be starting to hate each other now!

Bayley: Now you’re just being dramatic.

Jey: Agreed. How I get out this chat?

Jimmy: I don’t wanna hear it! I’m the master strategist so let me do my thing!

Jimmy: Babe. You and Bayley have SoSo all done up and nice this evening. Make her think ya’ll are going out or something.

Naomi: Why?

Jimmy: Damnit woman, because I said so!

Naomi: 🫤

Naomi: I’m trying to figure out who the fuck you think you talking to. Don’t get your ass beat.

Jey: I’m muting this shit. Ya’ll not gon get me killed. Roman don’t like people in his business.

Jimmy: Just have her ready, and I’ll text you the location and the time she needs to be there.

Jimmy: We gotta save RoSo from themselves!

________

Solana misses the blow from Naomi by only a fraction of a second, but before she has time to think about it, another one is coming, forcing Solana to quickly jump to the side.

“Nice,” Naomi compliments. “Try more offensive positions though. Try to hit me.”

Solana knew that was coming, knew that Naomi would be pushing her today, as she has the last couple times. It only makes sense. Solana recognizes that she’s improving, that she has improved a lot since she started. It seems only natural that Naomi would continue to push her to further the progression of her skills.

“Don’t be afraid, Solana! Naomi can take it,” Bayley encourages from the sidelines, drinking some of her Gatorade.

Solana does her best to not get too distracted, knowing that can be quite literally fatal if this was a real situation.

Naomi lunges at her again, and Solana manages to block it with her forearm but also lifts her foot, managing to kick Naomi away.

“Nice!” It’s such a weird thing to be applauded for. “But remember to retract your foot faster next time. I could have twisted it and grounded you.”

Solana commits that to memory just as Naomi steps back and Bayley walks back over. She then compliments, “I know I said it already, but the haircut looks amazing on you.” She quickly adds in a manner that’s more telling than asking. “Just have to even some areas off.”

Solana half smiles. She expected Bayley to need to go in with actual shears to shape up some areas given the fact that Solana’s impromptu haircut was literally just her taking some regular scissors and chopping at least five inches off.

But before Solana can say anything else, she sees why Bayley ended her break to get back into the training.

It’s evident by the knife in her outstretched hand.

“This is a Benchmade Bailout. It’s a folding knife. A little bigger than what we’d like you to carry on you, but a good place to start.”

Carrying….Solana hadn’t even allowed herself to think about that part. Of course they’d want her to start keeping a knife on her once teaching her how to use one.

Naomi then advises, “we’re not gonna do any fight training with it today, but we do want you to get used to the feel and weight of it.”

Solana can feel her heartbeat increasing. She can’t remember the last time, if ever, she’s held a knife of this nature. Her left hand is against her shorts, tapping against the spandex, a continued nervous habit.

Bayley sees this and offers assurance. “It’s okay. We just want to go over the basics.”

Solana does her best to focus not on the past, but the present. The here and now. Another recommendation from her book. She also strangely remembers the countless times Roman has asserted he won’t let anything happen to her.

“I’ve got you.”

The safe feeling she has when he’s around. He’s not physically present, but the recollection of his words anchor her.

Taking a deep breath, Solana takes the knife from Bayley, its coolness taking her by surprise. She never takes her eyes off the blade.

Meanwhile, Naomi goes into basic tips and information. “Right off the bat, if you ever need to use it to defend yourself, go for the major arteries.” She then begins pointing to the various body parts as she lists them off. “The neck, stomach, chest area namely. It’s your best bet at getting someone almost entirely immobilized.”

“And this might be graphic, but don’t be afraid to go for it twice. Sometimes people can still be standing with just one hit.” Solana is grateful for the fact that Bayley is trying to be careful with her words, vague to a certain extent but clear enough so she can understand.

“If you just wanna get them away and not potentially kill them, maybe go for the hand or foot, depending on how they’ve got you pinned.”

“But by the time we finish your training, no one will get the chance to pin you.” Naomi gives a comforting smile and squeeze of her shoulder. “Not to mention Roman would never let you be in that position in the first place.”

Solana doesn’t doubt that one bit.

Bayley suddenly clears her throat, almost awkwardly.

Solana frowns, looking lost by the otherwise random in interjection. “What?”

“We’re not supposed to tell you, but Roman is taking you out to dinner tonight.” Naomi’s answer is appreciated, but it doesn’t make sense.

“He what?” Solana is confused because she literally just saw Roman this morning and came straight from his office to the Warehouse to train without him mentioning a word of this. “He didn’t say anything to me.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” Bayley adds, but there’s something almost unsure about her answer. “So, I’ll take you to my salon afterwards to touch up your hair now, and then we can also figure out glam while you’re there.”

“Yes.” Naomi claps and carefully removes the knife from Solana. The knife she completely forgot she was holding. Naomi comments on that. “See? You forgot about it for a minute, didn’t you?” Solana nods. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you there.”

The encouragement means the world to Solana as she offers a quiet but meaningful, “thank you.” They’ll never know how much their support means to her.

Ever.

Bayley comes and stands beside Solana, sliding her arm around her with that infamous sly smile.”You never have to thank us for being your friends, Solana.” Words have never hit so deeply, Solana having to hold back tears. Friends. “Now let’s figure out what the slay is gonna be for tonight.”

________

The minute Solana walks into the restaurant, she realizes that something is off.

And not even in a dangerous sort of way, more so, there’s something she’s not being told sort of way.

It’s a beautiful upscale restaurant that has decor that probably costs more than some people’s mortgage payment.

But it’s barren. Not a customer in sight.

Walking up the three steps that lead to a higher level, she looks around, confused as to the fact that a restaurant that probably requires reservations six months in advance is vacant.

Digging in her small purse, she pulls out her phone to text Roman. Bayley and Naomi encouraged her to continue to play dumb, but this isn’t right.

She needs to talk to him.

“Solana?”

Her head snaps up to see Roman who also just walked up the same steps she did minutes prior.

“Roman?”

He seems surprised to see her, an unexpected expression for someone who allegedly planned this dinner. “I—I don’t know what’s going on.” He walks over to her as she explains. “I was told—”

“Probably the same thing I was told,” he finishes for her and takes in her appearance, Solana’s hands smoothing over her dress. Looking just as captivated as he’d looked at her this morning in his office, Roman ghosts the back of his hand against her cheek. “Sei uno splendore….”

She hasn’t a clue what he’s said, but something tells her it’s a compliment of some sort. Still, Solana asks with that same bashful smile that seems to always fall on her face when she’s around him, “are you gonna tell me what you just said?”

Roman winks and answers, plain and simple, “naw.”

Smiling even harder, before she can say anything else, another voice enters the conversation.

“Soso, girl, what you doing here?”

Both Solana and Roman turn to a smiling Jimmy who's wearing a poorly feigned look of surprise.

“Jimmy?” Solana is genuinely confused while Roman looks like he’s genuinely considering murdering his cousin for the second time today. “What—what are you doing here?”

Roman is completely uninterested in the why and more so on the how he’s going to end the other man. “I’m going to fucking kill him, Solana. I don’t care anymore.”

Jimmy completely ignores Roman and answers her question with an answer that makes no sense. “Ahh, you know, I was in the neighborhood.”

He gives Solana a side hug as she answers his question as well, hoping to avoid witnessing a familial crime. “Bayley and Naomi told me—”

“You know what, it don’t even matter. You here. Big Dog here.” He gestures around them. “Looks like this nice ass restaurant has been rented out by some coincidence. Might as well enjoy a nice dinner.”

Roman closes his eyes, seemingly trying to count off. “I’m literally going to snap your fucking neck if you don’t get lost. Now.”

Solana moves over to Roman just enough for him to reach and gently tug her into him. He doesn’t need to be getting this upset. She naturally lays her head against his chest, fingers grasping the sides of his shirt.

Jimmy lifts his hands in a surrender manner. “Hey. I can tell when I’m not wanted.” Solana smiles at the look she can imagine on Roman’s face at that. “Ya’ll be safe now. Soso, I’ll be at the crib in the morning for breakfast.”

“Why the fuc—”

Solana reaches up and redirects his focus onto her. “It’s okay.” Solana looks over at the table that’s beautifully decorated with a stunning centerpiece. “It’s….it’s sweet.” Her diversion also, thankfully, a long enough distraction for Jimmy to depart, leaving the two of them alone.

Her preference.

Roman’s as well, clearly.

Solana then takes in the situation, a little relieved to finally know what’s going on. It’s obvious she was set up. Roman too. But regardless of the deception, it’s deeply appreciated. Her friends going to such lengths to set up something nice like this.

Roman, calming down a bit, doesn’t necessarily disagree with her, but instead asserts, “they’re interfering, and I don’t like that shit.”

Her smile dims a bit as she offers, “we can leave—”

“No.” He shoots it down immediately, hands on her hips. “Just hate that I finally get time alone with you, and it’s because of fucking Jimmy.” Her eyes shut when he kisses her forehead and murmurs, “been thinking’ bout you all day…”

And the smile is back as she takes his hand and leads him toward the table, Roman pulling her chair out for her.

Having the restaurant entirely rented out is a luxury she’s not used to but appreciates, especially with how catered the service is as well as the fact that they don’t have to wait long for the food. Conversation flows easy between them, more Roman asking questions about how she’s doing, if she needs anything.

He’s always so attentive, and she’s so grateful for that.

Grateful for him.

It’s the same type of attentiveness that causes her to comment after the waiter comes and takes their plates, clearing the table. “You seem stressed.”

And not just because of the date setup.

He shrugs, partially dismissing but not outright denying. “Just a long day.”

It seems to be a recurring theme with him. Solana has noticed for a while now how his early days always bleed into late evenings that sometimes spill over to the next day. It doesn’t seem sustainable to her. “You have a lot of those.”

“I’m the Tribal Chief.” He says it with pride, as he should, but there’s something else there. Something she can’t outright identify. “Comes with the territory.”

And Solana recognizes as such, but as large of a man Roman is—in many different ways—he’s still just a man. “Is it ever too much?” She crosses her arms across the table, leaning forward almost. There may be no other attendees present, but there are still workers, so she’s mindful of her volume. “I mean….”

“Do I ever get exhausted?” She nods. “Sure.” That wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Roman does such an excellent job always wearing that mask of calm, cool, and collected. Outside of his obvious temper, he’s always so well put together. It’s something she envies, to a certain extent. “But someone’s gotta do it, and as it’s my birthright, the responsibility falls on me.”

She sits on his words, understanding where he’s coming from but also wondering just how he manages such a weight. She knows he’d headed the Bloodline for some time now, since he was 18 years old. That’s a large burden to carry at such a young age and for him to do it so long and as well as he has, it’s impressive.

He certainly lives up to his reputation.

Solana nods and does her best to ease into what she’d really like to tell him, to have him know even if he never in life takes her up on it. “You always say that I can talk to you…”

Roman doesn’t hesitate to reaffirm it too. “You can.”

She knows this. He’s….he’s made it abundantly clear that he wants to speak with her, to know what’s on her mind. “That goes both ways.” Something speedily flashes in his eyes, briefly affecting his otherwise neutral expression. “You can talk to me too.”

For a second, she regrets saying anything, regrets second guessing his abilities to handle things. The last thing she wants is to insinuate he’s somehow incapable of taking care of business. But, if he’s insulted by her offer, he doesn’t show it, just says a simple, “thank you.” She offers a small nod when he seemingly changes the subject. “How’s training?”

There’s a bit of a sting at what feels like a slight form of rejection, but she understands better than anyone that opening up can be hard, so she respects his wishes.

“Good. I….I think I like it.” It’s the truth. While initially terrified of being put into such a foreign situation, Solana has found herself growing increasingly content with this new part of her weekly routine. Training has assisted, to a great extent, in her growing confidence and surety with herself. There’s something comforting about learning how to defend herself, how to keep herself safe. “Today was a little hard though. They’re teaching me how to fight with knives. It’s…..uncomfortable, but that’s how I know I need to do it.”

If there’s anything she’s learned in the past couple months, it’s that nothing about working to overcome trauma is easy. That doesn’t, however, make it any less important.

Or beneficial.

“Not if you absolutely don’t want to.” To be fair, Roman wasn’t even informed that this was something the girls were starting with Solana. He makes a mental note to remind them that while they handle her training, the specifics of what she’s taught needs to be run by him at all times. He probably would have shot down the knife training.

Solana was literally present and witnessed her mother be stabbed to death. Solana herself was also stabbed.

That seems almost cruel to make her learn how to wield the very weapon that took so much from her.

“Wes used to use knives to hurt me.” It comes out more quiet than she intended, a natural effect of sharing something so painful. She points to a small scar on her neck, the exact date and nature of how it happened, something she’ll never forget but has little desire to elaborate on.

“And I know….I know you won’t let him hurt me anymore, but….I don’t want him to have that power over me anymore either. He knows I’m scared of them, and he’s always taken advantage of that fact. I don’t….I don’t want him to have that anymore.”

“Then he won’t,” Roman agrees. He can understand her logic, and he respects the hell out of her wanting to take back that power. He supports the hell out of it too. “Not if you don’t let him.”

She gives a sad smile, shaking her head. “As strange as it is, I think….Wes and I are both victims.” Before Roman can press her for clarification, she explains, “my father always kept his contact limited with my mom. He said she would make him weak like she made me.” Just saying it takes Solana back to countless times and occasions where her father would talk down on her mother, talk down on Solana. It’s a weighty memory. “Having my mom…having her love for the time that I did made a big difference for me. Wes never got that, so I always wonder how things could have been different if he did.”

Solana has a big heart. Pure. A mind-boggling phenomena to Roman considering everything she’s been through. “It still doesn’t make what he’s done to you right.” Kind heart or not, it’s imperative she knows there’s never a good enough reason or excuse for anyone to do what he’s done to her.

She nods, “I know.” It’s still a work in progress, Solana learning to unlearn the victim blaming she’s placed on herself for so many years. But, that much, she’s come to accept.

She never deserved any of Wes or her father's abuse.

Roman can see the way memories might be coming back to the front of her mind and moves to redirect again. “You wanted to talk to me about something earlier.”

Oh.

For a second, she wants to lie. To make up something. To come up with a story that’s hopefully believable enough for him to not poke holes through. And then another line from her book resurfaces.

Calculated risks are different—you weigh your chances and step out onto the ice only when you’re relatively sure it’s solid.

Solana is certain she’s never met a more solid person than Roman.

Scooting back in her chair, she feels his watchful gaze around her as she moves around the table and is only inches away from him when he realizes what she's doing and beats her to it, gently pulling her onto his lap. He’s always so careful around her.

Solana moves her arms around his neck as he rests one hand on her hip.

She takes a deep breath. “I was...I was working out of my book this morning, and it was the chapter on…on intimacy and—” She has to pace herself, knowing that if she doesn’t, she won’t get through the conversation. And she has to do this. She almost feels like she needs to do this. “I think I always thought I couldn’t have that because of what happened to me, but…..but I think I can.”

And this has been such a powerful and moving revelation to walk into. For so long, Solana has lived in fear and trauma, haunted by the horrific memories of her sexual assault. It’s inaccurately painted her views of what should and could be something beautiful and special with the right person. She never thought that could be possible for her though, believed that her chance had been destroyed by two sick individuals.

But if the past few months have taught her anything, it’s that there are decent people in the world. Decent men in the world. Jimmy. Jey. Solo.

Roman

She’s still very much nervous, and even talking about it has her pushing back a level of anxiety, but the desire to overcome that trauma, to be able to experience that as a woman, to not be held down by the shackles of her past, is stronger than it’s ever been before.

“And I want to try.” She licks her lips, nervously adding on and explaining as best she can, “but, I can’t do it right away. I need….I need to build up to it, and I know—that has to be frustrating for you—”

“Solana.” His interruption is quiet but firm. “We’ll go as slow as you want.” His finger is moving in slow circles on her hip, an action that provides her a strange sense of comfort. “Whatever you need is what we’ll do.”

Solana releases a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in. Him agreeing isn’t something she necessarily didn’t see coming, she just didn’t realize it’d come so easy.

She almost feels it’s too good to be true.

Suddenly unsure, Solana double checks. “You’re….you’re okay with that?”

He doesn’t miss a beat with his answer. “Only if you’re sure this is what you want.”

It’s a profound statement. There’s a lot of things she’s not sure of that she’s been making herself do, regardless.

But this……

This is something she wants.

Something she maybe even needs.

Solana is careful with her answer. “I’m gonna be 29 this year, and the only sexual experience I’ve had is being raped as a child.” There’s an equal combination of emotion and conviction as she affirms, “I don’t want that to be my story anymore.”

And it won’t.

Because she won’t let it.

Not anymore.

“Then we’ll do this.” She nods, still nervous but also comforted by his support. “You know I won’t make you do anything you’re not ready for, but I also need you to be good about communicating with me.” His eyes move up and down over her, resting slightly longer on her chest, which is understandable given the revealing nature of her dress. “And you also know how attracted I am to you, to all of you, so I need you to stay clear with me on what you are and aren’t comfortable with, okay?”

It’s fair and completely understandable. Roman is still a man. A man with needs, and he strikes her as being an otherwise handsy man, so him wanting and needing to know where her red zones are is important.

“I understand.” And she’ll make an active, concerted effort to be on top of that. To practice saying no and cutting things off when she needs to. “What—what about you?” He gives her a look. “Is there….is there anything you’re not comfortable with?”

Again, he takes her in, head to toe. His tongue leaves his mouth to slowly gloss over his bottom lip. “Baby, you can do whatever you want with me.”

Her smile is bashful as she looks away. Him being so….outspoken about his attraction and desire for her is still a new thing she’s trying to navigate, but it’s not unwanted. Nor does it feel bad to have a man like him want her so badly.

Not at all.

Deciding to continue to stay on the ledge she’s already started to trail, Solana brings her hand to his chest. “So….so if I asked you to kiss me again….”

He chuckles, Solana’s eyes shutting as he brings his mouth to her jawline, “whenever,” her nails claw against his chest as he moves his lips to her nose, “however,” finally he’s teasing the corner of her mouth. “Wherever you want.”

And it’s at the exact moment their lips connect again that a phone ringing once again steals away another groundbreaking moment.

Solana can feel the irritation in his muscular body and smiles against his lips.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” She doesn’t necessarily doubt it as he kisses her cheek before pulling his phone out and answering as she lays her head in his neck. He barks out an unkind, “what?”

It doesn’t deter her as he keeps his grip on her hip, Solana enjoying the feeling of being in his arms. She’s starting to realize being this close to him makes her feel safe. His presence alone gives her that feeling, but this is something different, something almost…deeper.

She doesn’t try to listen in on his phone call, but it’s made virtually impossible not to, given the fact that she’s literally on his lap. However, that’s ended when he switches to speaking in Samoan. Still, it’s not hard to pick up on the fact that he’s growing more annoyed with every second that passes.

He then gives a heavy sigh, switching to English, “I’ll be there in a bit.”

Her stomach drops, a frown appearing that she does her best to quickly push away. She had a feeling the call would end that way.

Before he can explain to her the obvious, she lifts her head and assures, “it’s okay. I should probably get back to Dulce anyway.”

“Damn dog is so needy.” Solana smiles at the scowl on his handsome face. For someone who doesn’t care for dogs, she’s noticed he seems to interact with her puppy more and more as the days pass. He brings his hand to her chin, ensuring she keeps her gaze on him. “Don’t wait up, alright?”

It’s an expected request, one he should already know she’ll do her best to, but most likely won’t, abide by.

“I make no promises...”

________

Having such a small dog means that he or she can be in the most random of places and blend in seamlessly because of said smallness. It’s why in looking for Dulce after getting out the shower, Solana damn near searches every corner and crevice of the first and second floors of the mansion. Outside of a room that’s been locked and closed off the past two weeks, Roman not really giving her a reason why nor has she pushed.

She’d never been in it anyway.

It is, however, out of the norm though for Dulce to not be nearby. She typically likes to stay close to Solana.

Or even Roman.

So for a moment, Solana starts to get concerned. But after searching her room, the kitchen, the dining room, and even the backyard a second time, Solana is finally able to locate Dulce in the least expected place.

Roman’s room.

She didn’t even realize Dulce’s bed was still in there, still in the original spot on the side of his bed.

The side she had slept on that one night.

“Dulce, you can’t stay in here.” Solana knows Roman isn’t a huge dog person, and Dulce being in his room is probably the last thing he’ll want to see when he gets back. But it’s in reaching over to pick up her puppy that something unexpected happens.

Dulce nips at her.

Solana gasps, momentarily taken off guard. That’s the first time Dulce has done that. “Dulce, no.” Again, Solana goes for the grab only for the puppy to plant her bottom and back legs into the bed. Now Solana is just straight up confused. “What is wrong with you?”

Thinking maybe she can lure the puppy with a toy, Solana turns to leave, almost to the door when Dulce’s whimpering and the patter of her little feet stops her. Solana turns around and moves to grab her when Dulce scampers right back over to her bed, plopping her little body down.

It’s when she does that, Solana starts to catch on.

“You want to stay in here?” Dulce’s reply is a bark followed by the wag of her tail. Solana frowns. “We can’t…..this is Roman’s room.”

And yet even as the words leave her mouth, she thinks about that. Thinks about the fact that a part of working up to being intimate with Roman includes being close to him, touching him, in his bed perhaps. And though she still doesn’t remember everything from the night she got drunk, she remembers waking up in his bed and falling asleep again in the same bed with zero issues.

She felt….she felt comfortable.

She felt safe.

“We can stay for a little while.” Deep down, Solana knows Roman won’t be upset with her. If anything, he’ll be more annoyed that she didn’t listen and decided to wait up, but her laying in his bed for a few minutes won’t generate anger.

Solana puts her phone on the nightstand, making sure the ringer is still on. The likelihood of him texting or even calling her is slim to none, but still….she doesn’t want to miss it if he does.

Laying on his bed is the initial plan, but there’s a chill in his room that has her moving under the covers just to provide her that slight warmth. It’s not intended to increase her comfort and definitely not intended to lead to her falling asleep.

But that’s exactly what happens.

It’s also the last thing Roman expects to find when he makes it back home a couple hours later.

Solana asleep in his bed.

He knew she would try to stay up, knew she would end up falling asleep in trying to stay up, but he didn’t know she would end up doing all of that in his room, in his bed.

It’s unexpected but far from unwanted, a strange sense of satisfaction at seeing her sleeping so comfortably, so peacefully in his space of all places.

He’s careful in his movements around the room, gathering clothes to change into post shower. Roman doesn’t want to disturb her, to wake her up, especially since he has a good guess that she didn’t intend to end up in his bed and would be unnecessarily apologetic.

Apologetic for something he’s halfway considering asking her to make a permanent thing.

Roman manages to finish his shower without Solana so much as moving an inch. If only her damn dog was the same, because he’s barely able to open the bathroom door when Dulce is at his feet, whimpering.

Small ass dog with an even smaller ass bladder.

Before she can progress to barking, he’s got her up in his arms, guiding her out the room, down the stairs and into the backyard where she thankfully wastes zero time in doing her business. Roman is grateful, not wanting a second to pass where Solana could wake up, freak the fuck out, and leave.

He wants her to stay right where she is.

And it’s in sliding into the bed with her, moving his arm over her body and gently pulling her into him, he realizes another reason why he doesn’t want her to leave. There’s an unfamiliar almost instant peace he has at the feel of her next to him, like this is how it should be, like she should be with him.

Like she’s supposed to be with him.

But he clearly wasn’t thinking straight when he moved her, because she’s suddenly stirring in her sleep, eyes slowly blinking open.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to wake her up.

Roman’s half expecting her to freak out, to panic at being this close to him, at being in bed this close to him. But she again surprises him with a quiet murmur that’s more an acknowledgment than anything. “You’re back….” He watches as she frowns almost, an indication of worry, asking in a voice full of sleep. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He brings his hand to her cheek, recognizing that even though she’s talking, she’s very much still half-sleep. “Go back to sleep.”

Solana gives a little nod and the moment he pulls his hand away, she inches closer to him. He shifts their positions, so he’s on his back, and she’s tucked safely into his side. In what feels like seconds, she’s fast asleep.

Yeah….

A discussion about her moving into his room is definitely on the table, preferably sooner rather than later. It makes sense to him for a lot of reasons, namely the fact that she’s clearly comfortable sleeping with him in this way but also the fact that she’s expressed a desire to work up to being intimate.

Roman’s had sex in a lot of different places, but there’s no way in fucking hell he could ever have his first time with Solana be anywhere but a bed.

His bed.

He plays around with a few different ideas on how to broach the subject before sleep prevails over him too.

It’s the fastest he’s fallen asleep in years.

And he’s certain it has nothing to do with the long ass day he had but everything to do with the woman besides him.

But his sleep is short lived by the vibrating of his phone on the nightstand. Irritated at the interruption of his sleep, he’s not surprised. Roman’s always been a light sleeper.

He peers down to make sure Solana remains undisturbed in her slumber, and seeing that she’s still sleeping as peacefully as before with her body somehow more over his than he remembered, he grabs his phone.

Paul: Sorry to disturb you so late, sir, but I got the files you requested for Miller. Emailed. As we already know, he’s almost a million in the hole. Has been in debt over the past twenty years. Never in the green. The bulk of it was accumulated in 2005. 500K. Summer 2005. Strangely, in that same month, it was cut in half to 250K. Then mysteriously zeroed out in late 07.

Roman sits on the brief summary provided by his Wise Man. It doesn’t add up. He already knew Miller was in the hole. The man is a fucking idiot when it comes to finances, so him being that deeply in debt isn’t surprising, but him somehow getting rid of a quarter million debt is. The fucker isn’t smart enough to pull that off.

Roman: Who was the creditor?

Paul: Still looking into that.

Roman: Anything significant about 07’?

Paul: Not that I can see. Still digging though.

Roman doesn’t like mysteries. Can’t stand unanswered questions. They’ve always driven him fucking insane. It’s why he finds himself unable to fall back asleep, an inconvenient thing given the fact that he’ll need to be up and out of bed in a little under three hours. Still, he can’t get the dates and information out of his head.

How the fuck did a dumbass like Miller clear his ledger to that extent? It’s not unheard of. Roman could have done it. Easily. But, he’s also significantly smarter than his wife’s dumbass father.

Even more, what the hell did Miller need or have done for fucking half a million dollars?

Was he moving product? Weapons, maybe? Human trafficking? Just the thought of that last one makes Roman want to place his fist through the nearest wall.

But it’s Solana stirring on top of him that serves as the unintended trigger that helps him fill in the rest of the gaps.

He’s quick with the text to the Wise Man.

Roman: When was Solana’s mother killed?

Paul: Sir?

Roman: Answer the fucking question.

There’s a brief delay followed by those three dots and an answer.

Paul: 2005. August.

Wheels start turning as Roman begins putting the harrowing pieces together. Miller went into half a million dollar debt in August of 2005 that somehow got slashed in half at the end of the same month. The same month that Solana and her mother were attacked, and only one of them made it out alive.

Half…..

2007….

Roman does some mental math. Solana was born in 95. She’ll be 29 this year. That puts her at age 12 back in 07’.

12.

The same age she was when she was raped.

The same year the largest chunk of her father’s debt suddenly zeroed out and disappeared like it never happened in the first place.

And just like the night he found out Solana was a survivor of childhood sexual assault, the unbridled horror and disgust that filled him in knowing the truth, Roman is starting to wish he wasn’t so good at connecting the dots. That he wasn’t able to put two and two together.

Because the picture is more fucking horrifying than anything he’s encountered in some time. If ever.

Because he’s now faced with the dilemma of just how in the hell he’s supposed to tell Solana that her father is responsible for her mother’s murder but also her being raped.

Because now he’s faced with the dilemma of if he should tell her at all.

Roman closes his eyes.

Shit just got infinitely more complicated.

#roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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iamnmbr3 · 9 months ago

Note

I have read your post talking about how weird it is that dubledore described Tom as hot (i think that was the word you used?) and that it is strange that he said that's the reason Tom was favoured by the teachers.

While i do think that is a possible reading, i want to point out that the text passage states "unusually good-looking", which can be a non-creepy (non-sexual) thought.

I was wondering, couldn't it be that he is simply referring to how humans tend to view people they think are "ugly" as lesser, even subconsciously..like, the opposite effect - as he is pretty, he get's more favour, if he had been ugly, he would have gotten less favour?

Thanks for your long texts, u always enjoy reading them

(Anon is referencing this ask). And yeah. Absolutely you could read it that way - that was certainly the intended reading.

As to whether it's just referring to society being biased towards him because of his looks, someone asked me about this before and you can read my response here (x) if you scroll down to the first addition to the post I added in the reblog.

Just to add on to what I said there tho, we don't see any cases of teachers at Hogwarts favoring (or not favoring) students based on looks or even noticing or commenting on this. I mean, I really can't imagine McGonagall, for example, caring. Not to mention no matter how attractive someone was, any blood purist would still judge them based on their blood status first. So it feels like a bit of projection on Dumbledore's part rather than a reflection of reality. Not to mention this exists in the context of his victim blaming and sexualization of Tom as a young adult in the memory where he is a victim of Hepzibah Smith's unsolicited, unwanted and inappropriate advances and touches.

#asks #cw csa reference #cw assault reference #Harry Potter #Tom Riddle #Albus Dumbledore #cw predatory behavior

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wisteriasymphony · 1 year ago

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sometimes i worry that the divergences from canon i work into my fic come from forces outside of my control. like, some of them are concrete: Adrien has slightly curlier hair and liking jazz makes sense cause I have those things. Marinette's weird behavior comes from my observations of Kpop stans and Y/N tropes, that's another concrete thing I can pull back on

...but one day I just sat up and looked at a picture of Audrey Bourgeois and was like "hm. getting real sex offender vibes from this one"

#wissym makes fun of herself #tweos meta posting #self salting #I mean if anything I gave her a damn good reason to leave for NY #cw references to csa

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tangledinink · 2 years ago

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-> 💫 Gemini AU Masterpost

[ rottmnt sep au focusing on leo and donnie raised by big mama in the grand nexus hotel and performing in the battle nexus-- and, eventually, their long-lost family members. ]

cw: themes of child abuse, self-sacrifice, cults, blood and injury, ableism, emotional manipulation, pregnancy and childbirth, menstrual cycles, sexual assault, and csa. plz be mindful of tags.

General Tag!

Main Comic! (<- Was "Worst Punishment" and accidentally became the main storyline, oops)

Intro Post!

Gemini Headcanon Sheets! Outfits Reference! Playlist!

Mikey Intro! Raph Intro! Splinter/April Intro! Venus Intro! Jennika Intro!

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#gemini au #masterpost #gemini masterpost #and now it's updated yayyyy

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ooihcnoiwlerh · 7 months ago

Text

I'm BACK, my Darlings!

Link to full AO3 fic

Tags and CW for this chapter: murder; rigged gladiator matches; the Baron being the fucking worst; mentions of child abuse/CSA/incest; the Bene Gesserit; mentions of smut/exhibitionism (no actual smut in this one, sorry there will be soon) early pregnancy; Feyd's mommy AND daddy issues; I take a couple of minor liberties with Feyd's birthday arena fight; blink-and-you'll-miss-it implied sexual assault; implied/references sex trafficking; Geidi Prime's culture; mentions of matricide

CHAPTER ELEVEN: HAPPY BIRTHDAY

You reach the box, noting that the more obscure sisters have sat in one section, while Margot and the Reverend Mother sit in the other booth, with room for you in between them. All stand and turn to you when Idrisa announces your arrival.

Behind her veil you can see the Reverend Mother’s eyebrows raise at your dress, your painted-black lips.

“I imagine the na-Baron had a hand in your outfit?” she asks as you all sit down.

“He had an idea for how he wanted me to look on his birthday, your Reverence,” you say.

“Have you spoken with him?”

“A little, your Reverence,” you tell her. “I just finished helping him prepare.”

It’s safe to assume that she’ll be observing you as well as Feyd. You wonder if she wonders how much leverage you’ve truly gotten with him. You wonder if she’ll want the graphic details when the two of you speak in private later.

“How did he seem?” she asks.

“While we haven’t discussed it much, he’s pleased about my recent development. He seemed indifferent to the prospect of the match, however; he’s participated in so many since he turned eighteen I think it’s somewhat routine for him.”

“It’s reckless, sending the na-Baron into the arena when he’s only just secured the bloodline,” one of Bene Gesserit sisters says.

Both her Reverence and Margot glance your way in a silent invitation to explain your husband’s people’s customs.

“He’s in no danger, Sister,” you say. “The na-Baron’s matches aren’t traditional matches so much as they’re executions. His opponents aren’t fighting at full capacity, so it’s impossible for them to have the upper hand.”

“And you’ve seen these executions in practice?” she asks.

“Yes, Sister. Just once, the night before my wedding,” you tell her. It was ostensibly a gift, but meant to serve more as a warning .

“But these other matches…?” she starts.

“Are real,” you finish for her. “The victor gains their freedom, should they survive.”

You explain the figures clad all in black, their faces obscured with headpieces resembling curved horns and armed with long hooks, as Picadors. “They essentially act like sporting referees,” you tell them. “But by and large they don’t interfere in any of these matches; just about everything is allowed.”

And then the festivities, as they were, begin. The announcer’s voice is amplified so loud the echoes of it reverberate in your chest and nearly make your teeth rattle as he gives the name of not each individual fighter but their Houses and planets, succinct enough that anyone can understand, accompanied by the sound of drums. You can sense the distaste from some of the Sisters, the ones who sound younger, as the first match commences. For your part you try to give nothing away, face schooled into a mask of neutrality, and keep silent other than to answer polite questions about your home world and how the cultural differences between it and Geidi Prime. ( “Oh, there are many, Sister. Our culture’s also militaristic and public executions aren’t uncommon but we don’t have arena fights like these.” ) There’s little audience bias from the crowd; they just want to see two men trying to kill each other. The closest it gets is when a non-Harkonnen who’s nonetheless from Lankiveil is pitted against another fighter. For a brief moment you assume that the crowd will favor the Lankiveil fighter.

That moment passes, because throughout the crowd many start shouting something that you’re pretty sure means “ traitor. ” You shouldn’t be surprised that here, Abulurd Rabban’s defection hasn’t been forgiven, and neither has anyone who’s refused to fall in line with Harkonnen governorship in their claimed territories. You wonder what Feyd thinks about that and watch as the Lankiveil man puts in some good offense–before one of the Picadors shuffles closer and catches him in either side of his neck with both hooks, leaving his opponent to finish the job. As the man gurgles, blood spilling from his throat, you hear the loudest cheers so far.

Time narrows down to Feyd’s showing. He’ll be armored by now, dressed, ready to make his first proper public appearance in a month, and even as the cheers die down from the past match and the blood is swept to the ends of the arena, the audience can feel it. Horns sound, and you gasp as you notice what look like bursts of black plasma exploding in the air with splattering noises. Fireworks, or the closest thing Geidi Prime has to it, stark against the plain white sky.

You’ve been practicing the Harkonnen language every day, but you’re far from fluent yet. Not even conversational. You understand only bits and pieces as the excitement in the announcer’s voice ramps up, booming throughout the colosseum.

"Under sljdgkjo our ghiel black sun, we welcome iwelkgnle sljeifgwaln our beloved leader Baron Vladimir Harkonnen,” the voice booms. “His lwkejlw jkslanlwe fjldklwel of blood and honor, pwoerl the holy birthday of our beloved na-Baron, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen!"

You hadn’t realized what the word for blood was a month ago when you saw your first arena match, or that that’s what the crowd was chanting for. You feel a chill run down your spine as you keep your posture straight, your face impassive.

“Do you know what they’re saying?” her Reverence asks. You wonder if she knows the language and just wants to know how much you understand.

“Some, your Reverence,” you say. “They’re introducing him now as the main attraction.”

And when the cheers get even louder, chanting Feyd’s name, you look down and there he is, moving in long-legged, purposeful strides with a blade in each hand.

You take a breath as you pull up your binoculars and watch as Feyd-Rautha takes to one knee, bowing deep in the direction of the Baron.

“He doesn’t bow to you?” one of the Sisters asks. “You’re his wife. You’re carrying his child.”

You shake your head. “He wouldn’t. That’s not how they do things here,” you tell her as you can’t look away from Feyd, who raises his head for a moment, trying to focus in on his face. He looks up not at you, but at his uncle with a cold glare before rising and getting into stance.

As Feyd activates his shields, and you can’t help but think he looks reptilian under the Geidi Prime sun.

“In celebration of our Na-Baron Feyd Rautha, we slheo a lwehfoew tueigh , the alsg three lsgjwoq of House Atreides.”

Atreides . Geidi Prime managed to drag the last of the Atreides military into their dungeons, their fate to be drugged and killed in front of the House that caused their destruction. A straightforward execution would be more dignified than this pretense of a match.

You can’t help the unease, even growing disgust brewing as you watch three doors slide open to reveal three men, all shirtless and wincing against the harshness of the infrared sun, and as Feyd’s eyes slide towards each door with a detached, calculating look.

You can sense the Bene Gesserit Sisters watching you, wondering what you actually think of your brute animal of a husband as you try your best to keep a straight face.

Two of the men are broader and bulkier than Feyd, not like it will make any kind of difference as they trudge forward, stumbling, trying to adjust their grips on their blades.

“Do you… like seeing this?”

You force yourself to stare ahead. “It doesn’t matter if I like it or not, Sister,” you say. “I’m expected to support my husband in this.”

Of course you don’t like seeing this. But from the way Feyd paces, swift in his execution, gnashing his teeth and snarling like a beast desperate for a challenge and still riled up with pent-up energy, it doesn’t seem like he takes any satisfaction in doing this.

He’d seemed like he was getting some amusement out of his last arena showing, playing with his opponents and taking as much time with them as he felt would be entertaining for the thousands of fans in the audience and disturbing for you and your family.

He appears to get no such amusement now as he prowls, frustrated at the utter lack of challenge. Maybe it’s because the chance to slaughter the greatest of his House’s enemies is hollow and unearned this way. He’s an adult and yet the Baron’s been so quick to keep him safe from any real danger other than himself. Maybe it’s finally getting to him that he’s not even expected to be able to beat members of the Atreides army in a fair fight, especially since it looks like the dungeon-masters selected burly, powerful-looking men for the spectacle even as the drugs render them weak and sluggish.

But then there’s the third man. Although he’s leaner and, from what you can tell, older than the first two, as soon as he gets his bearings of the unforgiving Geidi Prime sun he strides forward confidently and with purpose.

That can’t be right , you think.

“That last fighter isn’t drugged,” Margot says, gaze sliding over to you as if to ask, Did you know about this?

“No, it would appear that he isn’t,” you tell her as your heart speeds up and you can feel yourself blanche. “They must’ve been keeping him healthy for this.”

“Do you know why?” another woman asks.

“I do not,” you admit. Maybe Feyd wanted a proper challenge. Maybe he wanted to grace his audience with a real fight this time to show his own merits.

But then you zero in on Feyd and the flash of open incredulity on his face as he tilts his head and seems to realize the situation, when the soldier swipes and evades him with far more ease than the others, gets in a strike to the chest that would’ve killed him without his shield. You’re pretty sure that had he not been distracted with the first two soldiers he would’ve noticed the difference immediately.

Feyd didn’t plan this .

You look, horrified, across the arena into the Baron’s stadium box. The Baron doesn’t notice you, of course, but he smirks as he glances down into the arena.

What’s the purpose of this, you sick, awful man? you want to ask him. Are you trying to get him killed?

You look back down at Feyd, who you realize must’ve been looking at his uncle thinking the same thing before he looks back at his opponent, who he fixes with a smile. The monochrome landscape makes his black teeth look nonexistent within the cavern of his mouth as he acknowledges the Atreides fighter, turns off his shield, and unclips it from his armor for everyone to see before tossing it and his second blade to the ground.

You want a fair and honest fight, you’ll get a fair and honest fight, he seems to tell his opponent, the Baron, everyone in the audience. The two begin to circle one another, reevaluating each other and the best way to strike. The Picadors step in closer.

You inhale, exhale, in the second before their match starts in earnest. He’s been training since he was a little boy; he spars every day. He’ll be fine, you think, as Feyd and the Atreides soldier look each other in the eye. You’ve seen him do drills before; he’s well-coordinated.

You’ve never seen him like this.

He’s fast. He’s good . You’d taken it for granted that of course, he’d be competent with a weapon, but you’ve never seen him properly fight before. You hadn’t realized how graceful and swift he is, a good match for the lean and limber soldier he’s fighting, who goes on offense with the hatred and desperation of a man with nothing left to lose but the chance to take one last Harkonnen down with him.

Feyd looks like he’s having the time of his life.

The smile never quite leaves his face as he counters every move, and you’re sure there’s an excited gleam in his eye that your binoculars can’t quite pick up. He smirks and winks at the other fighter, like this is a fun, improvised dance rather than a fight to the death. Almost like he’s flirting.

Your heart pounds. The Atreides fighter’s undeniably skilled, has all the same strengths as Feyd, and has adjusted quickly to the unpleasant atmosphere and harsh light of the Geidi Prime sun, not to mention the Picadors taunting him with their prowling. No other opponent would do to make Feyd seem like a genuinely credible fighter. You watch as Feyd sweeps the legs out from under the Atreides soldier and go in for the kill, only for his opponent to evade him and get back up to resume fighting.

You wince as one of the Picadors pierces the Atreides soldier’s shoulder blade with their hook, thinking, That will make Feyd look weak. Feyd must be thinking the same thing, because the moment the soldier cries out in pain Feyd snarls and bellows at the Picadors for their interference. Like cockroaches they recoil and scatter, releasing the soldier and leaving just a small piece of metal lodged there, presumably to keep the man from bleeding out before Feyd has the chance to kill him. No interference, no cheating, no advantages. Man to Man .

It’s not lost on you how inhuman Feyd looks, especially against his opponent. You also don’t care; you just need him to win, you think as Feyd disarms the Atreides soldier, only for the ensuing scuffle to land them both in the sandy ground, grappling for the remaining blade.

For a moment they’re both flat on their backs, and in that moment, you realize that the soldier has the blade and the upper hand as they both slowly get up, locking in, equal force and resistance in a perverse embrace.

The blade’s so close to Feyd’s eye; the Picadors encircle them but don’t dare get any closer as he keeps the tip mere centimeters away. You can’t breathe, your sweaty hands shaking as you clench one fist in the skirt of your dress and force yourself to hold the binoculars with the other as you watch Feyd, from his coiled frame to his narrow face and can hardly believe what you see as you flutter the setting in closer.

He’s laughing .

And then he stops laughing as he pulls the knife to the side, past his head, turns it around in their combined grip and plunges it into the other man’s stomach.

The moment lasts for what feels like years, the Atreides soldier’s expression turning from shock to disbelief to growing horror as the light starts to fade from his eyes. You think Feyd says something to him as he gently cradles the man’s face with one hand, as if he’s trying to reassure him even as his other hand has a blade wedged in him, and you’d give anything to know what he’s saying.

And then the other soldier’s dead, finally going limp, and Feyd pulls the knife out, getting up and showing it to all of the arena. The crowd erupts into elated, blood-thirsty cheers that don’t let up as he silently strides away, one arm still raised in victory. The fireworks go into a frenzy as the crowd chants Feyd-Rauth-A! like the beat of a war-drum.

It’s not until Feyd’s returned to the Colosseum's underbelly like a monster that was summoned from it only to return from the bowels of the underworld from whence he came, that anyone in your booth finally speaks.

“Your husband is impressive, indeed” Lady Margot says.

You won’t see Feyd for a while; apparently he is to bathe and change before having a private meeting with the Baron, while you are to speak privately with her Reverence, at least according to the attendant who leads the other Bene Gesserit back to the guest wings to rest before the upcoming celebrations.

Maybe the Baron will provide a decent explanation for surprising his nephew with an opponent who actually stood a shot at killing him .

Idrisa trails behind you and the Reverend Mother as house servants lead you to a room with expansive floor-to-ceiling windows offering an excellent view of the black sun and sky that from the interior resembles a sickly gray. More servants come in with herbal tea with lemon for the two of you and you sit in silence for a moment, the Reverend Mother ignoring her tea as she watches you and you let her, wondering what information you’re giving her in your fixed posture and delicate sip from your cup. You glance over at Idrisa, who stands in the corner with her head bowed.

“Your husband’s showing in the arena was quite revealing,” her Reverence finally says. Even more than your dress .

“I apologize. I had no say or knowledge of the fight. I don’t believe the na-Baron did, either,” you tell her.

“The Baron acted in an unorthodox manner,” her Reverence says.

“I’m sure he must have been confident in the na-Baron’s odds of winning in a fair fight, even if it was...a high risk,” you say, trying to sound diplomatic and keep the anger and desperation out of your voice, “to put him in such a situation. Surely he must know how important the na-Baron’s role is both for the sake of Geidi Prime and for his service to you.”

Her Reverence almost smiles. “We’d prefer to keep the na-Baron alive as long as we reasonably can; he has the markings of a Great House leader, and of course your safety is more intact with his protection, but our main requirement of him is securing a son, and he’s accomplished that.”

Were her words supposed to be comforting? Your hands feel clammy and sweaty as you try not to wring them in your skirt.

“Yes, of course, your Reverence. I agree, I’m safer with him, much as I found that hard to believe at first. We’re,” you hesitate, “more compatible than I think either of us anticipated.” You try not to blush as you say it, can’t quite look her in the eye.

“Even powerful men are malleable,” the Reverend Mother says.

“He and I spend time together outside of the marriage bed as well, so I think he likes my company well enough,” you add.

You can hear your mother’s voice clear as day in your own head, warning you, Think very carefully about what you’re going to say and who you’re saying it to .

You find the words as if sounding them out, “Still, I cannot help but be concerned,” you say, “about the role the Baron will play in my children’s lives, especially any sons I’ll have.”

You realize that she knows what you mean without you having to say it as she hardly blinks. “The Baron’s health has been declining steadily over the years,” she says. “It appears that as of late he hasn’t quite had the stamina to indulge in some of his baser inclinations.”

So you also knew and let it happen? Did Feyd not have a single adult in his life actually looking out for him? Revulsion swirls in the pit of your stomach. “All the same, I don’t want to take that risk,” you tell her.

The Reverend Mother’s gaze grows sharper. “Walls have ears, young one,” she says, and you recoil, briefly. For a woman who must be at least seventy, even without using the Voice on you she intimidates you more than most men you’ve met.

“I understand, your Reverence,” you say quickly. “But if I’m to provide my firstborn son everything he needs to grow into the man he’s meant to be, everything you need for him to serve you and the Empire, then he’ll need a safer upbringing than that of his father.”

The Reverend Mother purses her lips for a moment, and you try not to wince, realizing how transparent and sophomoric your attempt at manipulation is. Still, you’re desperate. She can sense it, and lets you stew in your own juices for a moment.

“Feyd-Rautha’s father was and remains reviled on Geidi Prime,” she says eventually. “Elsewhere he’s seen as a decent man brave enough to distance himself from a cruel House and forge his own path. And yet he was still cut down in his forties, his legacy erased. Much like the Duke of Atreides recently.”

Why are you telling me this? you want to ask. Are you implying that it’s better that Feyd was raised by a pedophile than by a pacifist?

“Tell me this, do you honestly feel you have his devotion?” she asks.

You want to say a definitive yes. You think about how he holds you close at night, remember him nestled against you. You think about how diligently he trains you, insists on eating with you, encourages you learning to speak his language with him when he could ignore you except to come inside of you whenever he so chooses. “I…I think so?” is what you manage, though, when you think of his fervent loyalty to an uncle you’re pretty sure he despises. “I think I’m getting there, earning it,” you add. “I know part of his wedding vows was to keep me safe and I think he intends to keep it. But he is still Harkonnen.” And the Harkonnen who taught him all about politics has devotion to no one but himself .

You expect the Reverend Mother to berate you for your only middling success for a moment. Instead, and whether it’s to comfort you or for her own purpose, she picks her tea up, considering it but never lifting her veil to actually drink it. “The Baron did everything in his power to mold Feyd-Rautha exactly to him. In the mind, anyway. And in some ways he succeeded.” He took a seven-year-old boy and turned him into a bloodthirsty sociopath like him , she doesn’t need to say. “But I’ve heard and now have finally seen it for myself that despite all this, he has a sense of honor. And that comes from Abulurd Rabban, a decent man who loved the family he chose and forged for himself.”

Your throat feels dry as you think about how this woman has shared more about Feyd’s father than Feyd ever has, and yet your tea sits forgotten on the table in front of you. Your heart beats faster. You try and find the words.

“So…if my husband had to make the choice between mine and my children’s safety…and his uncle’s demands…”

“I think you know,” the Reverend Mother says. “The Baron’s time is coming to a close, once he’s served his purpose.”

“And what,” you clear your throat. “What is that, exactly?”

“Laying the groundwork for his nephew’s success,” her Reverence says. “Lady Fenring told you about how we tested your husband.”

“Yes, your Reverence,” you tell her.

Her gaze pierces through her veil as she looks at you. “It’s not just a test to determine pain tolerance, or self-control. It’s a test to determine if someone has elevated themselves above their animal nature. Neither the Baron nor Rabban have ever taken such a test,” she says. “Neither of them would survive.”

You look at each other, an understanding settling in between the two of you.

There’s a knock at the door and you both look towards the door, which opens to reveal two guards and Feyd, who’s changed into long robes that cover him from his Adam’s apple to his boots.

He inclines his head towards the Reverend Mother. “Your Reverence,” he says, the gesture polite but his tone clipped.

“I trust your meeting with your uncle was enlightening?” she asks as you both rise to stand.

“It certainly was, your Reverence,” he says, and you can sense an unspoken topic simmering under the surface, something you’re not yet privy to. Something they haven’t shared with you yet . But you’ll find out. If you’re to play a part in their greater schemes, all the plans within plans that they make, you need to know what you’re in for.

“I understand your festivities are imminent,” the Reverend Mother says. “So I’ll take my leave.” She practically glides past the servants on her way out.

Before she leaves, though, she turns to Feyd once more. “Oh, and congratulations on winning your match,” she adds.

Feyd shakes his head when a servant wordlessly offers him a fresh cup of tea and looks back at you.

“It’s a shame we won’t be alone for long,” he says. “Uncle wants us in the banquet hall soon for my celebration dinner.”

“Did he provide an explanation for what he did earlier?” you ask him.

Feyd says nothing for a moment, compressing his lips into a thin line. “I saw the look on both your faces,” you tell him. “No one told you about the undrugged soldier; your uncle ambushed you.”

“He claimed it was a birthday gift, the chance to prove to my people that I’m a warrior and not an entertainer.” He seems to hesitate before adding, “It’s far from the worst gift he’s ever given.”

That I very much believe. “You accomplished it,” you tell him.

And then he adds, “The other gift is governorship of Arrakis.”

You do a double take, hoping you heard wrong. “You’re replacing Rabban?” you ask.

“They’ll announce it soon,” he says. “He’s been hemorrhaging both spice and soldiers. It’s embarrassing.”

“Does he know?” you ask.

“He’ll find out soon enough,” Feyd says.

Then you’ll be gone , you think, heart sinking. I don’t want to be left alone with the Baron here . “I’m coming with you.”

“You’re to do no such thing,” he says. “I won’t bring you and our son into enemy territory in the middle of war; it’s too dangerous.”

“The Reverend Mother said herself that I’m safer with you,” you tell him. You feel yourself flush, desperate and angry. I need help. I need protection. Everyone says they’re looking out for my and my child’s safety and yet they deprive me of what I really need . You can hear yourself raising your voice as you say, “No offense, husband, but you’re the only Harkonnen man that I trust.”

Feyd reaches out and you flinch before he can cup your face in one hand, his eyes darting across your face. Your breath comes faster, straining against the straps that barely cover your breasts. You think about the Litany Against Fear and think, no. He needs to know that I’m scared .

“No harm will come to you,” he says. “Not here, especially not after your pregnancy’s announced. The people will be overjoyed to know we’ve succeeded in continuing the Harkonnen line. The first royal birth on Geidi Prime in over sixty-five years.” His hands move to your waist. “You’ll have the best medical care the planet has to offer. I’ll keep in correspondence with you whenever I have the time.”

He leans in closer, gently presses his forehead against yours. “Make no mistake, Y/N Harkonnen,” he says. “I wouldn’t be separated from you if I didn’t think there was a risk.” You exhale, closing your eyes.

“Ever since I’ve come of age I’ve been used for spectacle, ornamentation. Fighting rigged matches with no real risk, used as a mascot and an image and not for what I was made to do.

“But now I get to live my purpose; I get to extend the Harkonnen line, I get to lead my men into battle. For the first time I have real responsibilities and I’m going to fulfill them.”

You listen to his words, hear the conviction in his voice, and think about how there’s a part of Feyd not molded by the most cruel and depraved parts of this planet; an albeit twisted honor code, a sense of loyalty. Perhaps the Reverend Mother was right in thinking it comes from his father, because it’s not his uncle or brother.

“Will I see you again before our son is born?” you ask.

He moves his hands to yours, taking them in his grasp. “I swear it,” he says. “And I swear I’ll never allow any harm to come to you and our children.”

Would you kill the Baron for us? you want to ask, knowing you can’t. Not here, not now. But soon.

Do you have his devotion?

Yes. I’m certain.

“Now,” he says, pulling away. “Tonight, we make our first public appearance as husband and wife since the wedding. You said something last night about your years of training for the political aspects of marriage?”

“We wish to thank you all for attending my dear nephew’s twenty-sixth birthday,” the Baron says, hovering in a manner that makes him loom over even the tallest of heads as all stand, him at the seat of honor and his nephew on his right side and you beside his nephew. Of all the Bene Gesserit guests, only the Reverend Mother and Margot are here for the banquet. You imagine the always-veiled Sisters have to eat in the privacy of their quest quarters. You notice Count Fenring as one of the distinguished guests–he must’ve only arrived today. The age difference between him and his wife is all the more noticeable when you see them together. There are other non-Harkonnen guests--it is a prominent birthday for a member of a prominent House, after all, but for the most part it remains, like in the arena, a sea of bald heads and black fabric.

Before anyone is permitted to sit down and eat, the Baron calls for a toast. Everyone else has wine, and the ruby-red juice in your own wine glass looks enough like the real thing that people won’t ask questions yet. We’ll give it a few weeks time, you think. Stagger the news in between this and when Feyd’s officially given governorship of Arrakis. Wait until a test from a Harkonnen doctor can confirm it and then we can announce it to all of Harko .

“To the na-Baron, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, and to his prosperous future!” the Baron says, raising his glass and taking one long sip as everyone cheers Feyd, and finishes his sip with a flourish before passing his glass to a servant to set down on the table for him. His thin lips are already tinged red as he turns to his nephew, takes Feyd’s face in one hand, holding his chin, and presses a quick kiss to his lips. Feyd doesn’t react beyond a slight twitch of his jaw. You look down to stifle a flinch.

“Now, let us truly celebrate,” the Baron adds, and people cheer again in response.

When you all sit down Feyd turns to you, takes two fingers under your chin and raises your lips to his. It’s not a passionate kiss, probably won’t even smear your lipstick, but it’s a slightly longer kiss than the one he just had from his uncle.

Maybe it’s for show; he wants to pass on the image of obedience. Maybe he wanted to get the taste of his uncle off his lips. You see the Baron look at you with a brief look of distaste before the food and drink can distract him and the courses can start flowing.

Either weddings by design are much more formal and quieter on Geidi Prime than birthday parties or the Baron wanted to show as much decorum as possible towards your House for the one occasion.

The banquet makes up for a small portion of the evening, quickly giving way to drinks and more food passed around as people disperse from tables to either stand around in the middle of the room or lounge on chaises and oversized armchairs that line the walls. The fireworks continue in earnest outside, while inside people feed on delicacies passed around on trays and drink wine out of goblets and harsher liquors out of metal tumblers. You make do with distilled water and sips of the same wine-colored juice from dinner.

Generals and off-world politicians alike toast Feyd both in the Imperial Standard and Harkonnen Battle Language. Once again Feyd stiffens in the presence of Margot Fenring perhaps even worse with the Count present, his interactions with both of them polite but tense on his own end. He never directly looks at her, you notice. Funny thing, she doesn’t seem surprised or uncomfortable at his coldness. Neither does her husband.

( “Isn’t it strange,” you overhear one of the Harkonnen captains say to another, “That they have three daughters together and I hear none of them look like him.” )

You try to file away the growing discomfort of it. I’ll unpack it later, you think, as today’s discoveries have been pretty illuminating towards why your husband claims to dislike the Bene Gesserit. You try not to dwell on it for now, just trying to act the part of the demure and effortlessly poised political wife. With Harkonnens you stay silent, to the side and slightly behind Feyd. With other Houses you engage a bit more, agreeing with the compliments people give Feyd, who for his part plays the statesman rather well. The Baron has, much as you hate to admit it, a level of wit that if he were another man you might occasionally find charming, but it’s always clearly manufactured. While he still carries an intimidating presence, Feyd uses his combination of quick-thinking and brevity to his advantage. He offers the occasional wry quip among the required pleasantries. You think to yourself that, despite superficial appearances, the two of you make a decent-looking couple.

That said, you do catch a few people frowning at your hair, clearly wondering why Feyd hasn’t insisted on shaving it all off.

Yeah, well, not that it’s any of your business, but he happens to love my hair and can’t keep his hands off of me , you think, offering a polite smile and raised brow at one such bewildered-looking Harkonnen man, who quickly looks away to avoid being caught staring at the na-Baron’s wife.

Through it all slaves either mill around or weave in and out silently bearing trays either to serve food and drink or to take away used glasses. They’re discreet, as they’re meant to be, but you can’t help but notice a couple of differences, things you’re certain hadn’t been present at your wedding reception.

Some of the slave girls who stand against the wall are in transparent dresses under which they’re all nude. A few don’t look like some of the attendants you’ve seen; they’re curvier, with distinct markings you can see under the gauzy fabric. There are also a few men, young and fit, wearing only loincloths. Their body types also range in size, some slight and lean, some built with thicker, denser muscle. You glance over as a Harkonnen soldier approaches one of the men with his wife trailing behind him. It doesn’t surprise you that the higher-ranking women only ever approach any of them in the company of their husbands, but that when they do it’s not for one specific type. Women, men, both appear to get used. You glance at Feyd, who seems indifferent to it all; politely accepting congratulations on his arena match and happy birthday wishes. He must be used to the implied debauchery of it all.

After a while it starts becoming uncomfortable, standing around in boots meant more for ornamentation than practicality, and Feyd senses it.

“Come now, wife, I think we’ve earned a bit of a sit-down,” he says, as if you also fought in the arena earlier instead of just standing for a while, and gives you his arm to guide you to an armchair wide enough to serve as a couch.

“Thank you,” you whisper in his ear as you sit down, before he sits down beside you and wordlessly pulls you into his lap. In your surprise you shift, trying to make sure that you don’t expose any more skin than you already have, pulling the skirt of your dress over the slit along your thigh and hoping your breasts don’t fall out of the scraps of fabric meant to cover them. Feyd doesn’t seem to care in the slightest, his hand coming to rest over your ribcage.

You weren’t entirely sure how he’d present you, but weren’t expecting him to have you front and center, silently demanding that all who approach him show their respects to you as well. Maybe if things were different he'd have you kneeling on the floor beside the chair like an obedient dog. Maybe the thought occurred to him; probably, if it occurred to you. You shake the thought loose, wondering something else.

“What’s the informal term for ‘ father ’ in your language? I haven’t been able to find it.” Not that you can quite picture Feyd ever actually playing with any of his children, but the idea of it, the idea of all of you in a reasonably normal family, is a nice one you’d like to keep with you.

“There isn’t one,” Feyd says. “It’s just ‘vasta. ’”

You frown. “Nothing more casual than that? Something a child would use?”

“Nothing,” he says. “It’s either ‘vasta’ or ‘ father .’”

You consider this. “So there’s no equivalent to something like ‘ Papa? ’ That’s what I called my father almost exclusively until I was four or five.”

“So did I,” Feyd says. “But Lankiveil’s different from Geidi Prime. Or it was until Rabban took over and started using it as a Harkonnen outpost.”

You pull back to get a better look at his face. He’s never talked about his father, nor Lankiveil other than the once, and that had been at your prompting. “You did?”

He looks at you as if he isn’t sharing something more intimate about his childhood than anything he’s ever discussed with you. “That surprises you?”

“A little,” you admit. “It’s easy to forget you had such a different life from this once.”

“It is, after enough years of separation,” he says.

You’re not sure quite what to say to that. You think about how reviled the name of his father is on Geidi Prime, how begrudgingly respected he is on other planets. You think about what the Reverend Mother told you, the information she gave you that Feyd never has and wonder if he ever will, or if like in matters of the bedroom, he needs to get to know you better before he shows you that kind of vulnerability.

But then he nuzzles against your hair, the shell of your ear, and you notice that in certain corners, seemingly unnoticed, some couples are getting closer and there are fewer of what you must assume are Fortress pleasure slaves than there were before. Feyd has a tumbler glass of a harsh-smelling amber liquid that might be one of your parents’ birthday gifts in one hand, but the other holds you to him.

You think about that one morning in the Training Halls when he’d fucked you against the wall as everyone had been dismissed but aware of what the two of you were up to. You doubt he will, but it also wouldn’t surprise you if he’s thought about pulling his cock out and having you sit on him for the entire party to see.

Maybe after he’s crowned you’ll do it–not in front of an audience, but in private after the throne’s been thoroughly disinfected you’ll take him inside of you while he sits on it.

He sets his glass down on the side table and lays his hand on your stomach, low on your belly, just where the tight bodice ends. He brushes his thumb along the material.

“I’m glad to finally show you off,” he says, voice quiet enough that no one will hear except anyone foolish enough to try and eavesdrop on him. “The picture of a Harkonnen bride.”

“Even with the hair and eyebrows?” you ask.

“Anyone who has a problem with it has to answer to me,” Feyd says. “You are exactly as I want you; poised, capable, carrying my child.” He slides a hand under the slit in your dress. “Just curious, what sort of undergarment are you wearing under this?”

You feel yourself flush, a nervous laugh escaping you. “About that…” you start, leaving the implication clear. There’s another reason you’ve been sitting and standing so carefully all day.

Feyd’s eyes blaze. “Because you want me to be a gentleman, I’ll wait until we’re in private before I rip this off of you and leave you in nothing but your necklace.”

“Trying to be a gentleman? Is that the only reason why?” you ask, still flustered, trying to keep up. The other bodies inhabiting this vast space are far easier to ignore this way.

“No,” he says simply. “None of these people deserve to see you moaning as you take my cock like the beautiful, desperate cockslut that you are. It’s only a twenty-minute walk to get back to my bedroom. Fifteen if we walk briskly, and that’s about how long I’ll be able to last without being inside of you.” He shifts you in his arms like he means to carry you and another giggle escapes you.

“Leaving your own birthday party?” you ask.

“The party’s become a full Bacchanalia,” Feyd says, the Cupid’s bow of his upper lip turned up in a coy smile. “I hardly think anyone will notice if we slip away.”

You smile back, arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, picturing all the positions you’ll only be able to fuck in for another few months, before you start to swell. You think about your breasts crushed against his solid chest, his abdomen against yours when he kneels and pulls you on top of him.

“Alright,” you tell him. “For the sake of propriety–”

“My apologies, my lord and lady na-Baron and na-Baroness, for the interruption,” a voice says, and you startle away, jerking your head towards an embarrassed-looking man in gray robes–a servant, to be sure, but a higher-ranking one. He keeps his head inclined, eyes on the floor, and you’re certain it’s out of awkwardness just as much as respect. “I have a message from the Baron.”

“What,” Feyd says, looking like he wants to rise from his seat and sucker-punch the messenger in the stomach.

“The Baron requires a private audience with the na-Baroness.”

Why? Your mouth opens in silent question and you furrow your brow. You look at Feyd, whose expression is thunderous. A muscle feathers in his jaw. You turn to look back at the servant, knowing that no matter how much you don’t want to, there’s only one acceptable response. “I accept. When?”

“Presently, Na-Baroness,” he says.

Feyd holds you tighter for a moment. “What was his reason?” he demands.

“To congratulate her on her success so far and inquire about her health,” the messenger says.

You sigh and disentangle yourself from Feyd. The mood had soured the moment the messenger showed up and mentioned your uncle-in-law; Feyd will be able to wait a little longer.

The Baron’s lounging in his private throne room, with what looks like a hookah in one hand and a large goblet of wine in the other. Two guards flank him, their heads downturned, but other than them you’re alone. You curtsy as discreetly as your dress will allow as you acknowledge him and keep your head down. Ostensibly it’s out of respect but you’re honestly grateful to not have to look at him any more than required.

“Congratulations on your new development, young Y/N,” he says after your show of deference. “The Bene Gesserit are most pleased with you.”

“Thank you, Baron,” you say, keeping your gaze on the floor.

“You’ve satisfied my nephew,” the Baron adds, setting both the wine and hookah down on either side of him.

“That pleases me to hear, Baron,” you say, trying to feel proud of how you’re not taking the bait even though you know he’s enjoying his ability to embarrass a woman from a Greater House. You wish you could control the heat burning in your cheeks and ears. I hate you, you think.

“As your condition progresses and after you bear the child, I’m sure he’ll do his best to temper his…biases…against mothers for your sake,” the Baron adds. “Although it runs deep within him.”

You can’t help but look up at him in confusion. What biases? Feyd’s never mentioned his mother once. Never mentioned any of what he’s been through.

The Baron sees your confusion and his smile when he realizes the added power he has over you is truly awful to look at.

“Did my nephew not tell you about his mother? I suppose I can’t be surprised. He must not have wanted to upset your delicate sensibilities.”

You had her killed so you could keep him isolated. So you could keep molesting him without interference. I know you, you sick bastard . And if you’re threatening me I swear on my family’s legacy I will find a way to make you suffer for it .

“He has not, Baron,” you tell him. “He doesn’t speak of her.”

The Baron tilts his head as much as his jowls will allow. “So you know nothing of her?” he asks.

“I know she was a member of the Bene Gesserit,” you tell him. “I know my husband and Rabban were the only children she produced with your brother. I know she took your brother’s surname and was known as Emmi Rabban. I know she’s been dead for nearly twelve years.”

The Baron straightens up a little, eyes glinting. “So you did some research, and yet you don’t understand my comment about Feyd’s issue with mothers.”

“I can imagine the separation from her at such a young age must have taken a toll on him,” you say. Maybe created some attachment issues, you don’t say. You don’t want to offer up any more vulnerability, especially not on Feyd’s part.

“So you know she died when Feyd was fourteen,” he says.

“Yes, Baron. Shortly after his attempt on your life.”

“And what,” he asks, “based on what you’ve read, do you think her cause of death was?”

Your mouth feels dry. He’s trying to provoke you. Try not to let it show that it’s working . “She was killed by Harkonnens,” you manage.

The Baron sits forward as much as his bulk will allow, looking happier than perhaps you’ve ever seen him before. “ A Harkonnen, some claim. One who was young and impulsive and carrying a grudge against his mother for sending him away. But we cannot prove that, since no culprit was ever convicted, so we’ll never truly know, will we?”

You hear your own gasp as if it’s happening from outside of your body. Pressure builds behind your eyes. The words, I don’t believe you , die before they can reach your lips.

The Baron looks downright gleeful now. “I can see why my dear nephew finds you so amusing. You really had no idea?”

You lower your head, mouth opening and closing.

Do not cry. Under no circumstances are you to ever cry in front of this man .

It’s awful. It’s so horrifying it never occurred to you and yet it also makes a sick kind of sense that makes you wish you could vomit out the information the Baron’s just given you, purge it from your mind and go back to several minutes ago, when even with such unexplored territory ahead of you at least you felt a level of safety, even optimism.

“The coroners say she was stabbed in the neck four times,” he adds and that’s the moment he wins and you feel yourself begin to double over, letting out a sob before covering your mouth and belatedly realizing that you’ve wrapped one arm around your belly. Stop. Please just stop, you want to say, and no words come out but tears do.

The door opens and the Baron’s eyes flicker to something behind you.

“Feyd!” he calls out. “What excellent timing. We were just talking about you.”

You slowly turn, not wanting to look at either of them and needing to know. Tell me it’s not true, Feyd. Please tell me that it’s a sick joke .

Feyd inhales sharply when he sees the look on your face and glares back at his uncle. His expression, looking stricken and then quietly furious, is his admission of guilt.

“I must say I’m a little surprised, nephew,” the Baron says and your ears ring as you see that beyond the now-opened door the servant who’d brought you here now lays motionless, bleeding out on the floor. “I’d assumed you’d want to be honest with your delicate wife about your history, even the less savory bits.”

“You try to poison my own wife against me,” Feyd snaps.

“I’m not doing anything that wouldn’t have happened anyway, nephew,” the Baron says, reaching for his hookah again. “She’s not stupid; she was bound to figure it out eventually, even if you were never going to tell her.”

He wasn’t , you think. Would he have lied if I’d bothered to ask? Or just hoped that I’d never be curious?

Feyd looks at you. Neither of you speak. What is there to say? You can’t think of anything. You turn and start walking, needing air, needing to get away. Feyd reaches for your arm as you pass him and you wish you were Bene Gesserit so you could properly use the Voice on him when you scream, “ No! ” All the same he drops his hand, flinching, silent, as you leave the room with tears streaming down your cheeks.

Behind you, distantly, you hear the Baron chuckle. “Make sure you’ve properly tamed your pet before you tame Arrakis, Feyd. Oh, and happy birthday again.”

That is all for now but I am very much back and at close to 100k words.

Tagged: @alexandrainlove @richardslady121 @wo-ming-bai @blazeflays @cavillandevanssandwhich

For anyone else who'd like to be tagged please lmk!

#dune 2 #dune part 2 #feyd x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x y/n #austin butler #feyd rautha angst

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greenfiend · 3 months ago

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The Nested Universes Theory

and the high chance of a very literal bitter/sweet ending…

Yes, Will and Mike will end up together, but their ending may be both happy and tragic simultaneously.

(This theory may explain why the cast and Netflix executives were crying heavily when informed of the show’s ending…)

I'm warning you guys, take care of yourself while reading this. This isn't an easy read.

CW: CSA, sex, drugs, HIV/AIDS, period typical homophobia, death

Framed Narratives/Stories

Framed narratives are basically a story within a story. Common examples of this are the movie “The Princess Bride” and “Titanic”. Both stories have the story of the narrator and the story within.

Another example is Stranger Things itself. When we see the boys playing Dungeons and Dragons, they are creating a story within a story.

Sometimes, framed narratives are nested, meaning multiple layers of storytelling. An example of this would be the movie “Inception”. In that movie there are dreams within dreams within dreams… It’s a complex but fascinating way to tell stories.

Now, I do think Stranger Things is also a nested narrative story. Meaning, there may be a layer of a story that hasn’t been revealed to us yet (or more than one).

Basically I’m saying: the show itself may be a story created by some of the characters.

I’m guessing two characters in particular. Which two characters? The two most associated with creating stories. The writer and artist. Two of the characters that have existed since the show’s inception.

Mike and Will.

Multiple Universes

I do think there are multiple timelines/universes within Stranger Things… but it’s not exactly what you think. It’s not parallel universes/timelines. They do not exist parallel to each other, they exist within each other.

This is the reason for the “memory within a memory”, “play within a play” references.

It’s a story within a story within a story.

While Mike and Will are creating their DnD campaigns, there is another version of Mike and Will creating the story we see within the show.

Let’s break it down:

Inner layer: Mike and Will’s characters existing within a DnD campaign

Middle layer: Mike and Will within the show creating the DnD campaign

Outer layer: Mike and Will creating the story of the show

Mike and Will’s story within the frame (the outer layer) likely does share a lot in common with the story within the show, with one major difference:

There’s no Upside Down, and no supernatural elements. No superpowers, and no superheroes. There are still monster(s) and heroes, but these monsters and heroes are real.

Living on as “Heroes”

Ever notice the association between characters being referred to as “a hero” after facing their demise?

We have seen this time and time again. It’s not a coincidence, it’s a pattern.

Love for horror and escapism

@threemanoperation has a great post on Will’s love for horror.

It makes perfect sense for a boy like Will to enjoy horror. It can be a great way to process trauma and grief.

We also know even from the earliest descriptions for Mike and Will’s characters that they both love to “escape” into fantasy. They do this together, through DnD.

Gods/Puppet Masters/Creators

Within the show, there are many subtle nods to Will and Mike somehow controlling/manipulating things. These hints have lead to many interesting theories about Mike and/or Will having powers. In a sense, they both are absolutely right! But if this theory is correct, their influence over the show is mainly due to them creating it. They’re the authors, so in a way, they’re both “Gods”.

Solving the “Letter to Willy”/Lettergate puzzle

"Letter to Willy" is a song that plays over three different scenes within ST4. Each scene involves regrets, and survivor's guilt.

Max mourns Billy and reads out her letter "before it's too late" aka before she dies too.

Mike and Will have a heart-to-heart and Mike expresses guilt over El leaving, thinking there was more he could have done. This occurs while they are burying a dead man's body.

Dustin tells Eddie's uncle that Eddie died a hero, despite what the town thought.

This all leads back to Mike and Will within the story's outer layer. This also connects with the writer's incomplete letter they posted years ago on Twitter. I'll get back to this.

A father infecting his child

Oh boy. I hate this part but it requires context so…

Hopper admits to indirectly causing the death of his daughter, Sarah. He had been exposed to Agent Orange which led to his daughter developing cancer at a young age. He has remorse and has been grieving Sarah this whole time.

Now, Hopper is a decent guy and father, and is written as an almost “fix it” version of Mike and Will’s own fathers. He isn’t perfect, but he’s a man who strives to grow and improve himself.

Papa, is not a decent guy, and we also see him injecting El and Henry with needles.

So, what I’m saying is that this may be a hint to what happened to Will (in the 99/100 timeline). Lonnie is hinted to be a drug user, and it wouldn’t be far fetched to say he may have used IV drugs. Exposure to IV drugs is a way to transmit diseases, as blood may be exchanged through contaminated needles. Also, Lonnie has been hinted at, through subtext, to be a horrible monster. (<- click that link for a post about him.)

The “1/100” Timeline

The show itself is the 1 out of 100 timeline. It is the only one where Will was not kidnapped by his parent/guardian (Lonnie).

This means, it is the one where none of the tragic stuff ever happened, specifically to Will and Mike’s story at least. They may encounter challenges, but nothing they cannot overcome together, as a team.

1983: The Demogorgon got Will. He survives the horrors done to him in the Upside Down… but barely. He is taken to the hospital and heals from it all, including flu-like symptoms (cough, nausea/vomiting).

1984: Will suffers from flashbacks. He is also plagued with the nickname “Zombie Boy” and suffering from the Mind Flayer’s possession of him. But with the love of his family, and Mike, is able to return back to his reality.

1985: He then begins to struggle with the pressures of growing up, and having to move away. Plus the Mind Flayer returns and reeks more havoc.

1986: He then moves to a pleasant place. Where things are sunny and warm. Things on the surface seem happy and “normal” but there’s a looming threat hidden beneath the surface. Henry/1/Vecna. This opportunistic threat preys on the weak and begins to take over Hawkins.

1987-1989: Will is back in Hawkins and his ties to the Upside Down increase. He can’t shake it off as easily as before. He also can’t shake off his love for Mike, who grows even closer to him. One thing leads to another and they become lovers (they have sex). They eventually are able to stop the contamination of Hawkins, and save everyone. Will also realizes that he has developed superpowers from his time in the Upside Down, through his blood. Mike also develops superpowers, given to him by Will.

Okay… you might understand where I’m going with this but I still must warn you before reading the next part. It’s devastatingly tragic.

The “99/100” Timeline

(I’m probably wrong on some of these details but this is what I theorize thus far):

1983: Lonnie “got” Will (CSA). Will survives the horrors done to him by his father… but barely. He is taken to the hospital and heals from it all and from flu-like symptoms (cough, nausea/vomiting).

1984: Will suffers from flashbacks. He is also plagued with the nickname “Zombie Boy” and suffering from the flashbacks of his father’s possession of him. But with the love of his family, and Mike, is able to return back to reality.

1985: He then begins to struggle with the pressures of growing up. Plus the memories of Lonnie return and reek more havoc.

1986: Things on the surface seem happy and “normal” but there’s a looming threat hidden beneath the surface. HIV -> AIDS. Opportunistic infections slowly begin to prey on Will.

1987-?: Will can’t shake off colds and infections as easily as before. He also can’t shake off his love for Mike, who grows even closer to him. One thing leads to another and they become lovers (they have sex). Will soon discovers he has HIV/AIDS, which he had transmitted to Mike. Devastated by the news, they do everything they can to fight it together. They cope through creating a DnD campaign together to process everything they’ve gone through. They play DnD in Mike’s basement until Will’s condition becomes critical. Will is forced to stay in the hospital, while Mike is unable to visit (strict rules about visitation due to the disease and because they aren’t/cannot be considered legal partners). So, Mike does the only thing he can do: he writes letters to Will and continues the story. Mike eventually loses Will, for real this time. He’s devastated, and plagued with grief, depression, and survivor’s guilt. He didn’t complete their story in time. But his family and friends support him and encourage him to finish the story. To change the ending before his time runs out too. He completes their story himself, and reads his final letter to Will’s grave.

“anyway I think you’ll like [the ending]. sorry I couldn’t get it done [on time] but you mean so [much to me] and it’s been [so hard being without you] hope this is [enough to] last until [we meet again]. Love, [Mike].”

Attached to this letter is the full campaign. The full story of the show itself, which started on November 6th, 1983. He successfully turned back the clock, and changed their ending. They became superheroes within their story, saving Hawkins with their love. Mike dies soon after and we are met with…

Mike and Will reuniting within their own story. Blue meeting yellow at a gate, one final time, that leads “into the west”.

They continue their story and it’s a never ending story… Living on as heroes, forever and ever.

Some thoughts:

To simplify things, I didn’t include other characters much here but they likely all play an important role in the story. Many characters likely only exist within the mid layer (the 1/100 timeline).

I do think their story likely will be published, and this will be done by another character (my guess is Lucas). Their story will impact others profoundly, perhaps completely altering perspectives. This will lead towards positive change, and increase pressure for the development of a “cure”.

Lonnie obviously dies too, but we won’t see it. He’s significant but irrelevant. We don’t need to see him. Perhaps he rots in jail.

If characters like Nancy, Jonathan, Joyce, and Hopper all exist within the outer layer (the 99/100 timeline) in a similar way, they too may be inflicted with HIV/AIDS. Remember, it wasn’t just gay men, everyone was affected by this awful epidemic.

The time period is super relevant in this story. There’s no way that HIV/AIDS will not play an important role. Think about it… it revolves around two gay boys growing up during that time. This epidemic was widespread and terrifying. Had they been born a decade later, there would have been treatments/“cures” accessible to them.

The biggest reason why I strongly believe this theory is because… this is basically the ending of Stranger Things season 1, on a much grander scale. Think about it. Mike changed the ending of the DnD campaign so Will could be a hero, not a victim. This was further established in the comics.

While Mike and Will within the outer layer (99/100) have a tragic ending, Mike and Will within the show (1/100) do not. They beat the odds. Although it is undeniably a tragic end, remember that somewhere out there Mike and Will are still playing DnD and Nintendo for the rest of their lives.

Free Will and Writing your Own Ending

Free will has always been a reoccurring theme within Stranger Things; meaning we can choose our own destiny, fight chance, and beat the odds.

Do we truly have free will though? Obviously, we don’t know. The point is, we should still live life as if we do have it. To take control where we can, and not let external forces dictate who we are and what our destiny is. I think that’s the message there.

#byler #byler theory #stranger things #stranger things theory #will byers #mike wheeler #lettergate

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sarcasticmirage · 3 months ago

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oh my god its an utena reference

okay so i finally watched chainsaw man, its absolutely gorgeous, sometimes even i get tired of my intolerable hipster taste in anime, and it seemed highly likely to be the new gen i would actually enjoy

verdict -- pretty good, okay for now, have the feeling (like utena) its a show that needs to be watched in its entirety to really show its hand

but holy shit are there utena references, in the first ep of csm denji gets stabbed just like utena and look at the animation

even look at the types of swords and positions of the characters...

both of these stories deal with CSA and its clear that directorial choices were made influenced and referencing utena

CW: for depictions of CSA in the read more

both animes, specifically during scenes of sexual assault place the viewer in the perspective of the perpetrator and have very long drawn out scenes taking place before the assault.

It is also during said assault that the perpetrator begins mooing during her speech, almost definitely a reference to the famous cowbell episode where nanami does the same thing

#i knew going in that csm dealt with these topics #but it wasn't till working on an amv for it that i noticed the stab animation being so similar #rgu #csm #revolutionary girl utena #chainsaw man #cw: csa #cw: sa #rgu spoilers

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trippinsorrows · 10 months ago

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looking through your eyes + nine

authors note: i know i've said this before, but this one might be my favorite. there are a few subtle hints spread throughout as well.....

i also listened to the song i named the story after while writing most of this chapter, so maybe recommended listening?

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: fluff, angst, language, inebriation, character being triggered, references to past csa, and suggestive themes

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 12k (i can't be stopped, clearly)

And I see a girl Who is learning to trust

---Leann Rimes

In many ways, Roman is a simple man. The kind that believes obvious gestures, actions, or even lack of inaction should speak for itself. That there are some things that are just so clear as day, it doesn’t make sense for him to have to explain himself.

For him to have to repeat himself.

Well, that’s gone out the window as of recent months, because he’s constantly found himself having to do just that. And his day is starting off no different with a surprising and unwanted guest showing up at his office demanding to speak to him.

Bayley stands across his desk with her arms crossed and an almost glare on her face. “I’ve been texting you.”

The fact that she even has his number is an issue in and of itself, but he’ll tackle that another day. “I’m aware.”

The avoiding of said texts is that obvious thing that she seemingly doesn’t understand the why behind.

Bayley nods, very visibly keeping in a comment she’s at least smart enough to not make to the head of the Bloodline. Friend of his wife, or not. “Well, I would like to talk to you.”

Roman rolls his eyes, moving up from his desk to his filing cabinet to swap out expense reports he was trying to review before her rude, unwanted interruption. “I bet you would.”

“Seriously?” Ignoring her once again is the plan, Roman hoping that’s all it takes so that he doesn’t have to lose his temper before he even has his first meeting of the day. “It’s about Solana.”

And that is what finally catches Roman’s attention. He’s quick to turn around, expression suddenly hardened. “Talk.” She has his full attention. “Now.”

Bayley takes note of how easily it is to gather Roman’s attention with the simple mention of Solana. It’s surprising to say the least and telling as hell to say the most, but she keeps this little observation to herself.

“We’re having a Cinco De Mayo celebration at my family’s restaurant tomorrow night.”

“What does that have to do with Solana?”

Roman watches her hesitate for a second. “I want to invite her.”

For a split second, Bayley thinks she may have hit a stroke of luck when Roman doesn’t immediately shoot down her request. He seems to actually be thinking about it. And then he asks the question she knew would be the nail in the coffin. “Will Escobar be there?”

She’d like to just say no, as it’s highly unlikely he will attend, Bayley unsure if her cousin is even in the country. But, lying to the man before her has never turned out well for anyone, so she answers as honestly as she can. “I don’t know. You know he pops up at random times—”

Roman doesn’t even need to hear the rest. “My answer is no.”

She can’t be too surprised. Bayley wisely anticipated getting Roman to budge would be damn near impossible, if not entirely impossible.

“Roman—”

“Why the fuck would I allow her to be anywhere around that son of a bitch?”

To be fair, Roman’s relationship with Santos Escobar is tamer than most. They’re not allies, certainly not friends, and he doesn’t hate the man. It irritates him a bit how Escobar is a stubborn bastard and refuses to pledge loyalty and allegiance to the Bloodline, but that anger is eased by the fact that Escobar gives an even bigger middle finger to the Nightmare Factory.

His loyalty is to himself and the Legado Del Fantasma. That makes him a wildcard and potentially dangerous.

Roman won’t have Solana anywhere where danger could be present.

“You know as well as I do that while both you and my cousin have this weird ass Qué en es más macho thing going on, there’s all but a ceasefire. You've never attacked one of his men the same way he’s never attacked anyone in the Bloodline. That’s not going to change overnight just because your wife is present at a chorcha.”

Roman isn’t too full of himself to admit when someone has made a valid point, but as this involves Solana, the standards are a bit different. He won’t give Bayley that much. “Why should I even take the chance? You want to do something with Solana, take her somewhere else that’s on Bloodline or neutral territory.”

“My family’s restaurant is on neutral territory.” Bayley is happy to have another point of his she can counter. “And contrary to what the average, ignorant American thinks, Cinco De Mayo is an important part of our culture and our heritage, Solana’s heritage. I think she would really enjoy herself, that it would….that it would help her feel close to her mom.”

Roman is excellent in the way he remains absolutely unreadable even at Bayley’s point that has him seriously reconsidering his prior answer.

He has no doubt that would help her feel connected with her mom, being around reminders and in a space that’s so representative of half of who she is, who her mother was. He can’t see her not enjoying herself, which is something that doesn’t seem to happen a lot in her life thus far.

Just as he continues to mull over the options, Bayley adds on another defense. “I get where you’re coming from with the safety angle, but I’ll be there and Naomi will be there. Between the two of us, no one will touch her.”

Roman easily reads between the lines and identifies her unspoken request. “You don’t want Solo there.”

On one hand, he can understand it. Bayley not wanting his Enforcer there. Solo’s presence could be seen as him potentially scoping versus the real reason of serving as Solana’s personal guard.

Bayley doesn’t seem to be backing down, reminding with all the confidence in the world of her capabilities. “Like I said, Naomi and I got this.”

Roman will give her that. Bayley and Naomi could fight on his team any day. They’re just as brutal as the men, if not more when pushed. He knows they’d be able to keep Solana safe if need be. It’s that realization as well as the concern of depriving her of something that could make her happy that brings him to a revised answer.

“Fine, she can go.” Roman is quick to add on as an ominous warning, borderline threat, “but if anything fucking happens to her while she’s with you—”

“It won’t,” Bayley vows. “She’s our friend, and she’s family to Naomi. We look out for each other.”

Roman believes that. Believes that Bayley has seemingly pledged a loyalty to Solana that matches that of Naomi, and while he’d never fucking tell her this, he’s grateful she has someone like Bayley to talk to.

At his fill of socialization with people he doesn’t like, Roman is quick with the dismissal. “If you don’t have anything else to discuss with me about Solana, you can get the hell out of my office.”

Bayley is actually surprised she made it this long without being kicked out, so it’s under her breath she mutters, “a true gentleman.” She’s halfway to his door when manners get the best of her. “Hey, Roman.”

He’s back at his desk, gaze as irritated as when she first stepped in. “What?”

With a nod of respect and appreciation, she simply says, “thank you.” Whatever his response, or lack thereof, is after that is unknown because Bayley is out the door and on her way to invite Solana to what is sure to be a night of fun.

________

“Man, I tell you every dish Solana makes seems to get better and better.” Jimmy is rubbing his stomach as he places the now cleaned plate on the coffee table. “Where she been at all our lives?”

Once upon a time, Roman had a nice, quiet house that was his and his alone. Now though, it’s shared with a wife who really isn’t an issue, two obnoxious cousins who need to start paying rent at this point, and a dog who’s currently at the sliding door leading to the backyard having a one-sided bark off with a squirrel.

“Why are ya’ll always fucking over here?” Roman’s question is said with all the irritation manifesting in his muscular body. At the same time, he stands up from the sofa to retrieve the puppy he doesn’t feel like yelling at to shut up.

She might piss herself in fear or something.

“Come on,” he grunts, leaning over and taking up Dulce who is almost instantly quiet. “Making all that damn noise for nothing.”

Roman places Dulce in her bed in the living room and returns to his previous seat on the sofa when she hops up and walks her ass right over to lean up on the sofa to stare at him with her unspoken request.

Jimmy is the first to notice this. “I think lil Nacho Libre likes you, Uce.”

Jey chimes in between bites of whatever Solana’s latest dish is that she’s made for them. “She know English yet or Soso still got her only speaking Spanish?”

“Man, the dog can’t speak.”

“You know what I mean, motherfucker. Damn.”

Roman ignores the two imbeciles currently freeloading in his house and relents to just letting Dulce on the sofa. He’s not sure why she’s downstairs with them instead off on the second level where the girls are getting ready, but she’s already here now, so no sense in transporting her.

Dulce seems satisfied with her placement right next to him.

“I still can’t believe we weren’t invited.”

“I can get why they didn’t invite us, but they could have at least given Nicki an invite.”

Jimmy is quick with the obvious answer. “You know Nicki don’t fuck with Naomi like that, or Bayley, and definitely not Soso.”

“Cause she’s fucking psychotic.” Roman has zero issues with his cousin’s wife having little to no interest in getting to know Solana. It’s for the better. As he said, the bitch is psychotic.

“Once again, Big Dog, you ain’t gon keep disrespecting my wife like that.”

Roman is as unfazed by Jey’s threat as Dulce is.

“I gotta agree with Uce on that one. Nicki ass crazy as hell. One minute she love you, the next minute she pulling a Left Eye and burning your shit.” That emits a chuckle from him. His cousin's sneaker collection being burned in the backyard that one year was pretty funny.

“Look, that was during a rough patch. That’s all.”

“Damn bruh, ya’ll must got a whole goddamn quilt then, cause your relationship been nothing but rough patches since we was in high school.”

“So what, you and Naomi never have no issues, huh?” Jey lives up to his hotheaded reputation, jumping into defensive mode. “Ya’ll just got the perfect marriage, right?”

“Of course we got issues, man, but never to the point where she turned into a lil arsonist!”

Completely disinterested in hearing dumb and dumber argue, Roman grabs his phone and shoots out a text.

Roman: You almost ready?

Solana’s reply comes in less than five minutes later.

Solana: Just about…..is Dulce by you?

Roman: Yeah. Sleeping….as always.

Solana: Lol….sorry about that, I meant to grab her before we got started.

Roman: It’s fine.

Roman: I need to talk to you before you leave.

He’s not surprised by the longer time it takes for her to reply. He can imagine she’s reading too much into his text.

Solana: Okay....I can come now?

Solana: I just have to put my shoes on….

Roman: I’ll come to you.

Roman knows better than to ask the bumbling idiots to watch Dulce. Their attention span when they get this heated is almost non-existent, so he opts to just take her upstairs with him, figuring he can deposit her in her bed in Solana’s room and that’ll be it for the night.

One down.

Two more to get rid of.

Roman is standing outside of Solana’s door ready to knock when it’s ripped open, and he’s met with an instantly smiling Naomi.

She’s smiling at the damn dog, of course.

“There you are, Dulce.” Roman has no issue whatsoever with letting her take the puppy, talking to it in that weird ass baby voice everyone seems to use around Dulce. He doesn’t get it, but it’s not something he desires to try to get anyway. Naomi calls out over her shoulder, “I’m gonna take her out to pee.”

Bayley shouts from inside the room, “I’ll come with you.”

Roman also has zero issues with that as well. He wants to be alone with Solana before she heads out.

Naomi is heading to the steps when Bayley walks past him, throwing out a rushed, “tell her she looks nice.”

That’s a given, but he gives her a nod, easily stepping in and closing the door behind him. He looks around the room, eyes settling on the connected bathroom where the door is suddenly swung open.

“Guys, are you sure I should wear—” Solana stops when she sees that Bayley and Naomi are no longer present, just him. “Oh, sorry, I thought—never mind.”

Roman would call her out on her apologies, both in the text and just now, but his attention is on something entirely different.

Solana is fucking stunning.

Her dress is orange, thin sleeved and hugs her in a way that makes his jaw clench and dick stiffen. It’s more low cut in the front than he knows she’s probably comfortable with, but if anything, it accentuates just how fucking nice her chest is. There’s a slight split on the side of said dress that shows off her thighs, thick and soft to the touch, he’d imagine. She also has her hair down, something he hasn’t seen in some time, makeup that covers the scar, and lips painted in a teasing red.

Roman has to catch himself because for a brief second, he’s tempted to completely change his mind. She looks too good to leave the house, especially without him present because there’s not a single doubt in his mind that she’ll turn heads.

She always does.

Finally, he’s able to get words to leave his mouth that aren’t as filthy as the thoughts he’s trying to keep locked in the back of his mind. “Jesus, you look amazing.”

Roman has noticed an increasingly difficult time in restraining himself around Solana, not in the sense where he’d completely ignore her trauma and try to touch her in a way that would trigger her. Never that. More so in the way he fantasizes about her in that way, dreams of having her in that way, solely because of his growing physical attraction.

Granted, it’s always been there.

Anyone could see her beauty even in how she would dress down and try to hide her figure, but now that Naomi and Bayley have been encouraging her to be less conservative in her appearance, it’s increased that difficulty exponentially.

“Thank you.” The makeup on Solana’s cheeks helps to mask her growing blush at Roman’s unabashed compliment. She suddenly looks down, nervously running her hand down the dress. “Is it….is it too much?”

Not at all. He might not want anyone else looking at her, but Roman could see her dress like this everyday and never grow tired. Still, his approval isn’t needed nor should she ever look for it. “Do you think it is?”

“I always think it’s too much.” It’s an honest answer, one that’s followed up with a caveat he’s surprised but pleased to hear. “But….but, I do like it.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Solana’s smile does something to him. She looks even more beautiful when she’s smiling. “Look….” Roman steps closer to her, trying to ignore her perfume, sweet and soft, a dangerous combination that matches her perfectly. “You need anything tonight, you call or text me, alright?”

She nods and asks. “What about Solo? Isn’t—isn’t that his job?”

It’s not a conscious in as much it is a unconscious thing when he steps even closer to her, moving his hand to the small of her back. Roman gently tugs her toward him, and to his surprise, she doesn’t tense under his touch. “You’re my wife, Solana. My job is always to protect you. He just guards you when I can’t.”

She looks like she’s trying to memorize this piece of information, storing it for future use as necessary knowledge. “Do—do you want to come with us?” Solana’s hand resting on his chest is as surprising as her question. “I could talk to Bayley.”

Roman has never been a social person. To say he hates most people isn’t necessarily an exaggeration. So, the thought of being around a bunch of people he doesn’t know or like outside of Solana and maybe Bayley—she’s not entirely awful—is not appealing as well. That doesn’t stop him, however, from considering the question at hand.

He’s tempted to ask her if she wants him to come, because Roman can find it in himself to withstand socialization for a couple hours.

He’ll do it for her.

But, there’s another part of him, a larger part of him that thinks she needs to do this on her own. That she needs to establish a life and something for herself that doesn’t include him. It’ll be good for her.

“No.” Is his final answer, delivered much gentler than if she was literally anyone else. Roman reaches and plays with a piece of her hair. “Not my scene. Too many people.” Not to mention that his presence would draw too much attention, potentially not good attention. He won’t do that to her. Won’t’ risk ruining her night. “Go. Have a good time.” Again, for good measure, he reminds, “but I mean it. Something is wrong. You call me.”

She nods, and he readies to remind her of his need for words when she answers, “okay.” She then adds on, “I already gave Dulce dinner, so she should mostly sleep, but if you could take her outside every so often….”

“I got it.” He’d much rather sacrifice the couple minutes it takes to bring her outside than risk her shitting or pissing somewhere in his house. Granted, he has to give credit where credit is due. She’s doing great with her potty training. Solana takes great care of her, but that’s not surprising. It’s obvious how much she loves the puppy. “You should be back by midnight, though.”

It’s more a strong suggestion than a demand. Solana is a grown woman. He’s not going to dictate what she does and doesn’t do. She’s had enough of that in her life. He had to give his approval for her to go with Bayley because of safety issues, but this, he wants to leave up to her as long as she understands the later she’s out, the riskier things can get.

After a certain time, only bad or not so great things can happen.

“Of course.” She seems to understand this clearly, but he’d also bet that’s her preference to be back earlier than later. Solana grabs her purse and walks towards the door, having to pass him in the process. Roman catches her, arm around her waist.

She looks up, curious, and he makes note of how she again doesn’t tense under his touch. That’s happening less and less, it seems.

He likes that.

“Text me when you get there.”

She smiles, and Roman suddenly feels a layer of his irritation with his cousins melt away. “I will.” Solana gives him one more glance before walking out the room.

Roman scratches his beard, a part of him wondering if he made the right decision to let her go alone. Granted, he knows he would have never even initially agreed if he didn’t trust Bayley and Naomi’s abilities.

They’d defend Solana as ruthlessly and violently as any of his best men.

That helps to chip away some of his second guessing along with the fact that this is something she clearly wants, and he wants to give her that. Give her anything he can that makes her happy.

She deserves that much.

Granted, that temporary peace is short-lived with the shout from one of his cousins who are apparently still present.

“Ayo, Big Dog, did you change the WiFi password again!”

________

Roman needs a new house.

Maybe have Solana let him know what she likes as far as interior designing goes and have something built with an impenetrable wall around it.

That seems to be the only thing that will keep his annoying ass twin cousins from being at his place so much.

Roman just knew that when the ladies left, they’d leave too. But no, that’s too good to be true, because they’ve been gone almost an hour, and their asses are still here.

Even Dulce is sleeping peacefully like the unemployed bum that she is in her bed kept in the living room.

And as always with them, they’ve been talking damn near the whole hour. One would think Roman straight up ignoring them as he works on his laptop would be a clear sign they need to go the hell home, but that would be too much like right.

He either needs an Excedrin or for his cousins to leave, the latter being preferred most. It’s especially needed when they seem to be watching whatever dumb ass Tok or Reel video over and over again.

“Wait. I know that song,” Jey announces, face scrunched up as he tries to recall the name. All Roman knows is that it’s in Spanish and repetitive as hell on top of being played on repeat. Annoying as hell too. “That lil freak from Miami I used to mess with used to have this shit playing at her crib all the time.”

Jimmy sucks his teeth, asking. “What happened to her?”

“Man, she moved.” Jey shrugs. “She went to go be a freak in Cali.”

Finally, Roman snaps. “Would ya’ll use some damn headphones or something?”

Jimmy is the first to speak. “You might want to watch this, Uce.”

“I don’t care.”

Jey slaps Jimmy on the arm, knowing how to get his cousin’s attention. “Yeah, why would he want to see a video of Solana?”

At that, Roman lifts his gaze.

Jimmy smirks knowingly. “Naomi sent some videos. Check your phone.”

That would explain it. Why Roman was out of the loop. It wasn’t from Solana.

He’d selected a specific text and ringtone notification for her, so he wouldn’t be unnecessarily checking his phone. Hence why he hasn’t checked it since she text that they’d made it to the restaurant.

Opening up the thread that has himself, Naomi, and the twins, he sees the set of messages and videos.

Naomi: Having a blast! Solana especially. I kinda feel like the odd one out cause clearly I don’t know none of these dances 😩 I kinda got the Bachata one, but Merengue and Punta are killing me.

Naomi: Bay and Solana keep trying to teach me, but it’s not going well lmao

Roman watches them all. Every video shows Solana smiling and laughing as she dances with Bayley and Naomi. One of the videos shows her and Bayley trying to instruct Naomi who seems to be failing miserably at learning what he’d guess are traditional Hispanic dances. There’s even a clip of her trying to help a little girl learn whatever dance they’re doing, and she looks just as patient as he’s seen her with the kids she reads to at the library.

She looks fucking gorgeous and happy.

He likes that for her. After everything she’s been through, she deserves all of the happiness.

But, it’s in watching the last video with the song that he kept hearing on loop from his cousin’s phone that he understands why they have it on repeat.

It’s a different kind of dance Bayley and Solana do together along with other women he doesn’t know or give two fucks about. What he gives a fuck about and focuses in entirely on is the way Solana’s hips and ass move, rhythmically, teasingly, drawing out an uncomfortable tightening in his pants.

Fuck.

Roman does his best to push his erotic thoughts away, still trying to figure out how to balance his sexual desire for Solana with the knowledge of her sexual trauma. It almost feels wrong, to feel and want her in that way when he knows how traumatizing that subject is for her. It doesn’t stop the desire though.

“Damn, I knew it had to move, just not like that.”

“Like water.”

It’s probably a combination of his pent up usual, general and sexual frustration, but the dangerously slow way Roman lifts his head and equally slow way he sets his murderous gaze on his cousins is all they need to see to know they’ve gone too far.

And they know it.

Jimmy is instantly on damage control. “I meant—Bayley—you know, cause she—she’s also thick.”

Jey coughs awkwardly, hitting Jimmy on the arm. “I think, uh, we should—we should head out.” And Roman is just as slowly rising from the sofa when the twins literally almost trip over their feet and make a mad dash for the door.

It takes a couple minutes for him to calm down, and he too suddenly finds himself watching said video, casually commenting to Dulce, “about time they fucking left.”

Dulce barks in agreement.

________

Solana laughs along with Bayley and Naomi as they plop down in their seats after an almost four minute song of full out merengue. All are reaching for their respective drinks as Bayley playfully nudges Solana.

“Aren’t you glad you came?”

Just then, Juanita Escobar walks over, Bayley’s mother who carries the same dimple and friendly disposition. She places her hand on Solana’s back, reminding in Spanish, “you must come back and see us again!”

Solana smiles, agreeing, “I will.” She then looks over at Bayley. “If that’s okay?”

Bayley waves her off. “Are you kidding? With how soft and girly you are, you can come be my replacement any time”

Juanita glares at her youngest, muttering to Solana, “maybe you can rub off on my Bay, hmm? Never wanted to do girl stuff. Always wanted to fight with the boys.”

Bayley chugs back some of her drink. “Hell yeah.”

Solana thinks she’d prefer the fighting too. Maybe then she could have defended herself better. Defended her mom even.

Juanita shakes her head, looking at Solana. “Yes, come again, child. You look so much like someone, but I can’t put my hand on it. I’m sure my husband would know. He knows everyone.”

That doesn't necessarily make Solana want to come back, meeting someone, a man specifically. However, if he’s anything like Bayley or Juanita, maybe…maybe it won’t be so bad.

And maybe…maybe she could ask Roman to come with her. That’d make her feel moderately to significantly better. Safer, even.

Juanita is soon pulled away from the table by a customer at the same moment Solana’s phone rings.

Roman: You good?

Solana: Yes.

She bites down on her lip, contemplating if she should hit send on her message. It feels like a risky thing to say, but it’s also how she feels.

And he’s always telling her to be honest with him.

So she is.

Solana: Kinda wish you would have came.

Her fingers nervously tap against the table as she wait for his reply that ends up coming almost immediately.

Roman: That’s your world. Not mine.

Roman: Do you not feel safe?

Solana: No, not that. I guess…...Nvm.

Roman: Tell me.

Again, more hesitation, and she’s not entirely sure where this desire to be honest and almost vulnerable with him comes from, but she does her best not to push it away, almost welcoming the slight discomfort that comes with sending such a risky text.

Solana: Idk, I feel better when you’re around.

He doesn’t reply after that.

Bayley and Naomi share a knowing expression, having watched Solana quietly for the past few minutes. Naomi ends up being the one to lead the conversation. “So how are things going with Roman?”

The question takes her off guard, Solana trying her best to think just how to handle said question.

Roman no longer confuses her. Not nearly as much as her feelings about him confuse her.

She wasn’t lying. She does feel better when she’s around him. And it’s not even that she feels unsafe currently. It’s just that he makes her feel safe in general. That’s such a foreign concept. One she hasn’t experienced in such a long time.

If ever.

Because the truth of the matter is that while Solana felt an indescribable amount of happiness with her mother, there was never really safety. Not with her father’s wrath always waiting around the corner.

So while this is new and unfamiliar, it’s also nice, and she finds herself enjoying his presence. She likes being around him beyond the safety aspect. The way he talks to and with her, like he genuinely enjoys their conversations. When he meets her for work and asks how her day was or finds her in the house to see how her day was, it makes her feel like he actually cares about what she has to say.

Like he actually cares about her.

It’s such a stark contrast of how she sees him interact with others. Always on edge, it seems.

He’s never made her feel that way though. Maybe at the beginning, but that’s starting to feel less like anything he’s done and more like her own trauma.

Trauma….

That’s also been an interesting experience. For the past few weeks, she’s worked out of The Courage to Heal, reading every page as instructed. And it’s been….an emotional time, to say the least. Definitely tears. A lot of them. Mostly shed in the middle of the night when she can’t sleep or on the bathroom floor as she sits against the tub, reading and writing, Dulce right beside her, offering that unspoken emotional support.

It’s been therapeutic and challenging and awful having to confront her demons but also freeing in a strange sort of way. Especially the poems. The words of other victims who express so eloquently and hauntingly beautifully what she still cannot.

One of the things she’s really latched onto and tries to remind herself of is that there are different kinds of touch. Because of the assault, her brain has naturally associated any kind of touch as dangerous, which isn’t always true. Especially in the past few months.

So, there’s been a conscious and active effort to remind herself when Naomi and Bayley hug her or playfully bump her, that it’s safe. That she’s safe.

Especially….especially with Roman.

Especially with how touch between them has seemed to also increase over the past couple weeks. Or maybe less increase in levels and more in frequency. She’ll find his hand on the small of her back, or him taking her hand in his, and sometimes, if they’re close enough, Solana also finds herself reaching for him, for his hand, her hand on his chest.

It’s all so innocent in presentation but something much deeper for her. A level of comfort she’s developed with him that she never had in any prior relationship.

She likes it.

She likes him.

“Solana.”

Jumping at being pulled from her inner dialogue, Solana remembers the initial question being posed.

She clears her throat, finally answering, “umm….good. It’s—it’s good.”

“He’s not being an ass to you, is he?” She asks, almost protectively. “I mean outside of the natural ass that he always is.”

Immediately, Solana is shaking her head, almost feeling a duty to defend him. “No. No. He–he would never. He’s….always nice to me.”

Bayley nearly spits out her drink. “Nice?” She coughs a bit, also shaking her head. “Are we still talking about Roman here? Roman Reigns? That man has never been nice a day in his life.”

Naomi shrugs. “I mean, she has a point. I don’t think I’ve seen him be cruel to her.”

Cruel….Solana also could never find it in her to use that word to describe Roman’s disposition towards her. Maybe others, but never her.

Bayley sits on Naomi’s point, suddenly sharing to the table, “you know what, now that you mention it, when I went to go ask him if I could invite you tonight, he was ready to bite my head off for bothering him. But, the minute I said it had something to do with you, he was all ears. Like an instant switch.”

Solana is also all ears, slightly intrigued. “Really?” Doubt and insecurity creeps in as she weakly suggests, “he was probably like that with Samantha too.”

At that, Bayley and Naomi laugh aloud, Naomi nearly in tears.

“Now that is funny. Solana, Roman don’t give a fuck about that girl. Not outside of sex.”

Solana must look unconvinced, so Bayley points out, “think about it. She’s been around for years, and it’s not her he took down the aisle, so…..” She then adds, “arranged marriage or not.”

The girls bringing up their points takes Solana back to her run-in with Samantha in the bathroom and Nia’s jaw-dropping information.

An idea appears, and Solana is instantly torn on whether to pursue or pop it. Something tells her it’s a bad idea, that she should take his information to the grave, but there’s also that side that feels like she can trust Bayley and Naomi to keep it between the three of them.

Sitting forward, Solana decides to take a risk. “Can I—can I tell you guys something?” Nervously, she stipulates, “but it has to stay between us.”

They look expectedly worried. “Solana, if it has something to do with your safety—”

“No, no that.” Solana almost feels confident enough to say that she’d go to Roman if that was the case. She trusts that she could talk to him if it was something like that.

“Of course, then.”

“Solana, you can tell us anything.”

And for some reason, she knows this to be true. It’s why she battles against her trepidation to open up. “It’s—ummm. I….I found out that when….when Roman was…..having sex with Samantha, he….” There’s a pause caused by the discomfort of such a discussion, but Solana manages to push through. “He said my name.”

Both Bayley and Naomi wear shocked expressions, the former of the two whispering harshly, “holy shit, what?”

Bayley then asks, “wait, how do you know?”

“Nia told me.” Solana has zero desire to wholly revisit that night in the bathroom with Samantha, so she only provides the important part. “She said that Samantha told her friend, I guess. T something?”

“Tiffy.” Bayley rolls her eyes. “Makes sense. That girl can’t hold water.”

“I don’t get it then. He obviously was imagining it was you and not Samantha, so why go fuck her and not you?”

Naomi’s question makes all the sense, but Solana doesn’t really know how to tackle it. This conversation is already difficult enough for her.

But her face must give it away, Bayley seemingly putting two and two together.

“You two haven’t slept together…..have you?” Solana simply shakes her head, unable to verbally confirm and slightly mortified that it’s reached this level of detail.

Solana is certain they must have a million thoughts floating around their head, starting with the how and why. That part…..that part she doesn’t know if she is ready to discuss.

An ironic thing considering she’s just started the chapter in her workbook on sharing her story with trusted people.

The irony.

But instead of invasive questions that heighten her anxiety, Naomi places a comforting hand on her arm.

“Look, I’ve known Roman my whole life, and the guy has been a dick the entire time. He would never hurt a woman, I know that, but he’s also never given a fuck about any of them either. So for him to be the way he is with you when you two haven’t even had sex……there’s something there, Solana.”

“I agree,” Bayley cosigns, saying what Solana has struggled to admit even to herself. “I think he really does like you. In his own Roman sort of way.”

Solana can’t deny the fact that it’s getting increasingly difficult to push away that possibility, even if she still can’t understand the why.

Just what has she done to deserve him liking her?

Maybe it’s not like. Maybe he just tolerates her better than he does others for some reason. Whatever it is, she can’t negate the fact that it must mean something if Naomi, who’s known him her whole life, believes that something is there.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Solana just needs to get away. Just for a couple minutes. This conversation took a turn she wasn’t expecting, and she needs to settle her emotions.

Bayley seems cautious. “Want me to come with you?”

“No.” The rejection is paired with a kind smile. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

And before she can get any pushback, Solana makes her way through the dancing crowd and to the back restroom that she’s grateful to see is vacant. Closing and locking the bathroom door, she goes straight for the mirror.

Despite the unexpected amount of dancing and slight sweat, she still looks relatively the same.

The same….

Same.

Even with the makeup and tight little dress, she’s still the same person. She’ll go home tonight, take off the makeup and remove the dress to find the same damaged, scarred girl who can never have something like what Jimmy and Naomi have.

Even if Roman does like her, it won’t last.

She can’t please him.

She could never make Roman happy, could never truly satisfy him, satisfy his needs.

She’s too broken for that.

It brings tears to her eyes.

Unable to withstand the sight of herself, Solana grabs a couple napkins to blow away her tears, tosses them out and heads out the bathroom. Instead of heading back to the table, Solana makes a beeline for the bar.

She’s only had white wine, but white wine isn’t enough. She recognizes where her emotions are taking her, and it’s nowhere good.

Solana refuses to ruin this night for Bayley and Naomi.

The bartender is a young girl, pretty, early to mid twenties. She asks in a friendly, deeply accented voice, “what can I get you?”

Solana is naive to this, to the great array of alcoholic options that litter the counter before her, so she answers the best way she can. Thinking back to the few events she’d be forced to attend with her father and brother, the drinks she always heard people order before getting drunk.

“Vodka and Gin, p—please.”

________

Meanwhile, Bayley and Naomi sit at the table still partially stuck on this unexpected news. But also not entirely surprising. With how sittish Solana can be at times, they have a good, albeit depressing guess as to why sex hasn’t happened between them.

It does bring up a valid question though.

“Wasn’t the whole marriage for the purposes of giving Roman an heir? How is that—”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Naomi murmurs. “But, I think we both know it’s obvious Solana has some trauma. Touch is clearly hard for her.”

“I know.” Bayley frowns. “I guess I’m just surprised Roman of all people has been so….patient with her.”

“You and me too.” Naomi blows out a breath before again reiterating what she said to Solana. “He must really like her.”

“It’s just hard to tell with him. He’s so damn stoic, but….I think you’re right. I think she likes him too. She’s just…..scared.” Fear is also something Solana deeply struggles with, though Bayley and Naomi both can recognize the progress she’s making towards overcoming those fears.

With a gasp, Naomi grabs her phone, directing Bayley. “Get your phone.”

Bay is confused but follows suit just as Naomi says, “I know who may know.”

Less than a minute later, Bayley’s phone dings with a text notification from a new group she’s in that includes herself, Naomi, Jimmy, and Jey.

Naomi: Sooooo, Bay and I were just talking, and between the four of us, how do you think Roman feels about Solana?

Bayley: And please be honest.

Bayley quickly ensures. “We’re not going to tell them what Solana said, right?”

“Hell no. We could never betray her trust like that.” Bayley is relieved but also not surprised.

Naomi values loyalty just as much as she does.

Jey: Man, I think he really like ole’ girl. Bruh got her a dog, seems to drop whatever he doing when she needs something, and I don’t think I ever heard him say nothing bad about her.

Jimmy: He was definitely annoyed at first when Soso had her lil breakdown at the Warehouse, but that didn’t last long at all.

Bayley: Plus Roman is always annoyed with something or someone.

Naomi: Except her 👀

Jey: Why ya’ll ask?

Naomi: We think Solana really likes him too but is scared to push on it because of her past and just don’t want to encourage her to give it a chance if he’s just gonna hurt her. Ya’ll know how Roman is.

Bayley: A certified ASSHOLE. And a hoe.

Bayley: But, it seems like that’s not the case with her.

Jimmy: I would say he definitely likes her too.

Jey: I mean they are married so….

Naomi: It was arranged. That doesn’t count.

Bayley: Do we know if he’s still fucking around? Primarily with Samantha since she’s been his go-to the past couple years?

Jimmy: I don’t think so. Matter of fact, I guess she said some smart shit to Soso in the bathroom on NoC and Big Dog wasn’t having it.

Jey: He’s apparently planning to pay her a lil visit….with Nia.

Naomi: Oh my god, is he finally gonna let Nia kill her?

Jimmy: Naw, just fuck her up real good, I think.

Naomi: Damn.

Bayley: That’s wild for him to cut her off like that after all this time. Def sounds like he likes Solana to me too…..

Jey: Ya’ll really think he about to admit that shit though?

Naomi: No more than she is. He’s stubborn, and she’s so insecure.

Jimmy: Ya’ll thinking what I’m thinking? 👀

*Jimmy changed the group chat name to Operation RoSo*

Naomi: Bae, what is this damn title?

Jimmy: It’s our latest covert operation. We gotta get Roman and Soso to admit they like each other!

Jey: And just how the hell is we supposed to do that? Like Bay said, Uce is an ass sometimes.

Bayley: All the time unless you’re Solana….

Naomi: I mean, not to be vain, but if you look like Roman, you can kinda get away with being an ass. To some extent.

Bayley: You’re not wrong. He is gorgeous. 😮‍💨

Jimmy: He alright, I guess. His ears kinda big.

Naomi: Bae, I love you, but let’s not lie. Your cousin is an asshole, yes, but he’s also fine as hell.

Bayley: That’s not the only thing said to be big…..

Naomi: Girl….

Bayley: They can’t all be lying.

Jey: ANYWAYS!

Jey: What if they’re coming together at they own pace and we should just leave shit alone?

Jimmy: 😐

Jimmy: That’s about the dumbest fucking thing I done heard all day. What next you gon say, huh? That they just magically gon fall in love on their own too? No! They clearly need our help!

Naomi: Maybe less help and more a shove in the right direction?

Bayley: A gentle push!

Naomi: Yes!

Jey: All I know is if shit backfires, I’m not taking the heat for none of ya’ll asses. Ya’ll gon have to deal with Big Dog.

Jimmy: Then we’ll just put Solana in front of us. He can’t hurt us then!

Jimmy: See…..I’m smart with this shit. That’s why Imma be the brains of this operation.

________

“What do you mean she’s drunk?”

Roman’s night suddenly went from uneventful and quiet, his preference, to unexpected and infuriating, all with a walk from upstairs to downstairs where he finds Solana awkwardly standing in the living room. Bayley and Naomi wait at the bottom of the steps with nervous expressions.

Good.

They should be scared shitless, because one glance at Solana, the gloss over her eyes, and he can tell she’s all but wasted.

“You were supposed to be watching her.” Roman is fucking irritated. He knew it was a bad idea to leave these two in charge of Solana.

Bayley, however, seems unbothered by his anger. “She’s not a child, Roman. Were we supposed to stop her from drinking too? We had no idea she asked for something stronger.”

It’s an excuse, and Roman doesn’t do excuses. “What happened?”

Naomi answers this time around. “We don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” One. They’re lying, and Roman hates liars. Two. They’re lying, and Roman has literally killed people for less. Three. They’re lying, and he wants to know why. “You’ve both got less than a minute to give me the truth—”

“Look, we talked about some things, and we promised to keep it between the three of us, so I’m not telling you what exactly it was, but I can tell you she’s not in danger.” Bayley is smart. She must know that he’d literally torture the information out of her if it had anything to do with Solana’s safety.

“It was just…some stuff about her past. I think it may have been too much, and she decided to get drunk to not think about it.” Naomi’s suggestion makes sense and pans out, but Roman can’t stop thinking about just what she shared with them.

Was it the rape? But why? He remembers her terror in the locker room that day, the fear and pain in her eyes and voice as she pleaded with him to not make her talk about it. It doesn’t make sense why she would suddenly share it.

Even with how close she seems to them.

“Just leave.”

Roman will deal with them later. Right now, his priority is getting Solana settled.

They seem to know better than to push his patience, asking that he at least keep them updated on how she’s doing in the morning.

He neither agrees or disagrees. It’ll heavily depend on how fucked up Solana is.

Once they’re gone, Roman walks into the living room to find her laid on the sofa, eyes glazed over from her drunkenness but that same beautiful smile on her just as beautiful face.

“Solana.” She’s so gone that it makes him wonder even more again just how upset she must have been. “I need to get you to bed.”

He needs sleep too, feeling the length and weight of the day starting to take a toll.

She’s protesting almost right away. “I’m not t–tired.”

“Maybe not, but you will be tomorrow.” Roman knows she’s in for one hell of a hangover.

“I don’t—I don’t want to sleep.” She’s almost pouting, brows caved together as she stumbles through more words. Solana suddenly stands up, and he naturally moves closer to her, noticing the almost sway she does onto the floor. “I just—have bad dreams and—and you’re just—just gonna leave once I sleep anyw—way.”

“What do you mean by that?” He asks. Getting answers from a drunk person usually isn’t the best or smartest thing in the world, but something tells Roman that Solana is the type of drunk person who ends up spilling secrets. And he’s certain there’s a lot she’s probably still keeping in.

She then issues an unexpected accusation. “You—you’re—you’re gonna go be with Samantha—that’s who you want.”

Roman finds her question slightly ironic considering he’s been letting Samantha think she got away with whatever disrespectful shit she said to Solana on the Night of Champions. He’s letting her think she’s safe and waiting for the right moment to set her ass straight, Nia tagging along to deliver the physical message he can’t.

“Af–after all.” Solana continues, surprising him with her openness that’s most definitely fueled by her inebriation. “Why—why would you want me?” She points to herself, voice taking on a softer, vulnerable tone. “Why—why would anyone want me?”

He’s silent for a good minute, sitting on such a heavy question. “Is that really what you think?” It’s asked in a low voice, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s more him thinking aloud or if he genuinely wants to know if that is how she really views herself.

She shakes her head, nodding in a way that further signifies how drunk she is. “It’s like you said, I’m mentally u–unstable.”

For a second, Roman’s confused, but he quickly thinks back to their wedding night, to his hurtful words to her. Words he’d give anything to take back now.

With an almost frown, he acknowledges his fault. “I was wrong to say that to you, Solana. You are not that.” Truthfully, with all she’s been through, even if she was, he couldn’t fault her.

With a family like hers, she never had a fucking chance.

Solana seems almost confused by his apology, taking him back with the next thing that leaves her mouth. “Is it—is it true you—you said my name when you were with S—samantha?”

He definitely wasn’t expecting that, has no idea how she even knows that. Is that what Samantha told her in the bathroom? Why would she? It does nothing to make her look good. Regardless, drunk or not, Roman sticks with his word that he won’t lie to her.

“Yes.”

Even drunk, he can tell how shocked she is by his admission. Shaking her head, she says either to herself or him—he can’t really tell. “I—I don’t get it.” Before he can say anything else, she starts on this train of self-hatred. “She’s pretty and—and—skinny and—she’s not—broken like me.”

That does something to him, Roman moving closer to bring one hand to the small of her back and the other to her face. “You’re not broken, Solana.”

“Yes–yes, I am. You don’t—you don’t know what—what happened to me.” Her bottom lip trembles as she shakes her head, hands on his chest. “I can’t—I can’t do what—what she does—can’t—give you t–that.”

He shifts his hand to the back of her head, forcing her blurry gaze to stay on him. “Baby….” It tears him the fuck up hearing her acknowledge the lingering trauma he’s certain she’ll always carry to some extent, but even more to hear how lowly she really thinks of herself. “I don’t—”

“I can’t—I can’t because—” Her voice cracks, her eyes focused everywhere but him as she almost comes to this heartbreaking realization that her drunkenness briefly helped her escape these thoughts that have now returned. “—b–because they r–raped me, and now I don’t—I don’t know how—how to be with anyone.” She gasps and sniffles, shaking her head. “I should—should have f–fought h-harder—”

“Don’t you ever fucking say that, you hear me?” Roman’s voice somehow contains all the conviction yet gentleness he can muster. Hearing her even think that makes him feel something he can’t fully describe. It’s heavy as fuck though. “You were a child, Solana. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You were a kid.” He has to say it again, because that’s the hardest part in all of this, knowing how young she was. “You should have been protected, and you weren’t, and I’m going to make sure every son of a bitch involved in what happened to you pays for that shit. I promise you that. The same way that I promise with my life, I’ll never let anyone ever hurt you again.”

She’s clearly taken back by his words, by his vow. “I don’t—I don’t—understand w–why? Why—why would you do that?”

Roman isn’t sure he has an answer for that specifically, but he does have something else he can provide her, a small part of him knowing, hoping maybe, there’s very little from tonight she remembers come tomorrow morning.

“Because someone needs to protect you.” Roman swallows, adding before he even realizes what he’s saying. “Because I don’t want Samantha.” He brushes his thumb over her cheek, intentionally wiping her tears. “I want you.”

And suddenly, it’s so much easier to say it aloud, to voice to her what he still doesn’t entirely understand, why he feels drawn to her in ways he doesn’t understand. There’s a connection almost, a connection of mutual loss that’s formed some sort of bridge Roman is unsure just when he started crossing

She looks more stunned at his admission than anything else he’s ever said to her. Still, she seems to try to discredit him. “But—but she—”

“She’s not you.” His voice unintentionally softens. “No one’s like you.”

Selfishly, he hopes she doesn’t remember much or any of this conversation, less painful for her, more time for him to figure out what it is about this woman that he feels so deeply drawn to.

Again, she tries to downplay her worth. “I can’t—I can’t—give you what you need.”

And somehow he knows exactly what she means. What she’s referring to.

“I don’t need that from you.” Truth be told, he doesn’t want to need anything from her. Needing anything in general has never been his thing. He just knows that, for some reason, he wants her around.

He likes having her around him.

She’s blinking again and places her hand against her head, sharing, “my h–head hurts.” It’s not an intentional deflection, he’s certain, but it’s appreciated.

This is a much deeper conversation than he anticipated having tonight.

“You need to get to bed. The sooner you can start sleeping this off, the better.” He eyes her skeptically, asking, “can you walk?”

He should have already known the answer, because the minute she tries to pull away from him to walk, she sways almost immediately, Roman going right back to holding her. “Come here.” He expects her to tense up as he moves to lift her up bridal style, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look confused, clearly overwhelmed with all of her emotions.

Roman doesn’t say anything as he carries her up the stairs and doesn’t think twice about taking her to his room instead of hers.

He needs to monitor her tonight, and that’s easier done with her in his room.

She looks around still confused but doesn’t say anything as Roman lowers her down on the edge of his bed. Naturally, he’s on one knee before her.

“I’m gonna take these off.” He refers to her heels which could largely be a contributing factor for her to inability to walk. She nods, and he quickly unstraps and tosses the heels to the side. “Do you want to change?”

She nods and then adds, “I don’t have—my clothes….”

Roman is at his dresser, pulling out a shirt that he reaches to her. “You can wear this for tonight.”

She accepts it from him, turning to walk to the bathroom, Roman relieved to see the removal of her heels helps her to at least make it without falling.

While she’s changing, he heads back downstairs to get Dulce.

He knows she’s used to sleeping with Solana and will probably throw a fit or spend the night crying if that doesn’t happen, so a small sacrifice is made as he also brings up Dulce’s bed from the living room and places it on the side of his bed.

One night of her sleeping in his room won’t kill him.

It’s then that Solana walks out the bathroom, changed out of her dress and her face free from the makeup.

“I washed my face….hope that was o–okay.”

“It’s fine, Solana.” Roman is half expecting to have to instruct her to lay down, but she again stays with the theme of surprises tonight and walks over to the bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in.

He’s again ready to explain that he’ll be in the guest room across the hall but will be available if she needs anything. He’ll still be checking in on her occasionally, regardless.

But, before he can explain as such, she asks in the softest, most vulnerable voice, “will you lay with me?”

It’s an extremely unexpected question with an easy answer.

Roman’s answer is to move into the bed with her, half expecting her to freak out in one way or another. This close proximity is so unlike her, a complete contrast to what she’s usually comfortable with.

However, what he doesn’t expect is the way Solana moves her body close against his, pressing herself into his side, arm over his stomach and head on his chest.

In a switching of roles, Roman is the one to initially tense. This is more physical contact than they’ve ever had, and there’s not a doubt in his mind that if not for the alcohol in her system, she’d have a fucking meltdown touching him this much.

But in her drunken, highly intoxicated state, that’s not an issue. She wants to be close to him, wants to be pressed up against him.

She’s looking for comfort.

And truthfully, he wants it too. Roman likes the feel of her next to him, actually uses his other arm to tug her closer, noticing how she adjusts her head on his chest.

Her hand is planted against his chest, and he starts to tell her to rest, to encourage her to sleep this off. But, she once again beats him to it, asking yet another question.

“Why—why are you doing this?”

To be fair, Roman only answers her truthfully because he’s betting on her being so close to the edge of sleep that the chances of her remembering this rare shred of vulnerability are slim to none.

“Because—because I know what it’s like to not have anyone.” There’s a sense of hesitation and discomfort as he verbalizes what he’s never once openly discussed with anyone. “Because I didn’t just lose my mom when I was ten. I lost my entire family. My parents. My aunt. My uncle. And all of my siblings. I—I was the only one who made it out alive that night, and I spent years not knowing why, why I was left alone.”

Roman doesn’t want sympathy, doesn’t want people feeling fucking sorry for him. He never has. But the way Solana lifts her head to look at him is a look of something else, something that likens understanding and compassion.

The latter of which is almost an unfamiliar concept.

“I didn’t—I’m sorry.” She lays her head back against his chest, moving even closer. She then murmurs into him, almost reassuringly, “you don’t—you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Roman doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn’t.

He says nothing.

________

Waking up in Roman’s bed wearing only his shirt is the last thing Solana expects along with the fact that the minute her eyes open, she’s hit with instant throbbing of her head.

She winces, confused about so many things as she forces herself to sit up, mind immediately wandering to a single question.

Where is Roman?

Her question is easily answered when she spots the notebook on his nightstand. She reaches for it, squinted eyes reading over his words.

Solana,

I’m sorry I had to leave. I have a meeting with the Elders I, unfortunately, can’t miss. I’ll be back right after.

If not for that, I would have stayed with you.

You most likely won’t remember last night, but you got drunk. Very. You’re gonna wake up with a nasty hangover. Take the Aspirin. It’ll help.

I gave Dulce her breakfast and took her outside. She should be fine.

I also let your job know you’re not coming in today.

Rest.

Roman

There’s so much to process in such a straightforward letter. What did he mean by stay with her? Did—did they sleep in the same bed?

For some reason, that’s not as anxiety inducing as she imagined it would be. She doesn’t know the why or how, but it doesn't bring that heavy weight on her chest.

The drunk part triggers brief memories of the night prior. Bayley and Naomi. The celebration. Dancing. Fun. Happiness.

A switch.

At some point in the night, her mood shifted into something else. Solana remembers asking for a drink, but she doesn’t remember much after that. Glimpses. An almost sympathetic look from Roman. His arms around her. Him holding her.

It makes for a confusing story she doesn’t really have the wherewithal to deal with. She instead reaches over and swallows the Aspirin.

And she goes right back to sleep.

________

Roman finds himself completely bypassing his office, clearing his schedule, and moving his phone’s status to Do Not Disturb.

He’s not in the mood to deal with any of that shit today. At least not for a couple more hours. He needs to make sure Solana is situated first.

Thinking about her resurfaces his earlier level of anger at how the meeting with the Elders ended.

“What of the girl?”

This was the part of the hour meeting that caught his attention the most. Everything else was trivial and, in his opinion, a waste of time. But, it’s when Elder Aleki brings up Solana that Roman’s focus is recentered.

“What about her?”

He’s not stupid. Far from it. Roman knows exactly where this is headed. It was partially expected. What he didn’t expect was the anger that’s already brewing at just how Solana was referred to as ‘the girl.’

Aleki is bold with his questioning, jumping straight to the point. “Is she still not pregnant yet? It’s been almost four months.”

Roman’s jaw clenches, and he finds himself squeezing the armrest of his chair as he does his best to keep his voice somewhat subdued. “I’m aware of how long it’s been.”

Another elder, Sione, decides to join in on this conversation that Roman is about to shut down in less than a minute. “Perhaps she should have another medical evaluation. By one of our doctors—”

“The hell she will.”

Rikishi shoots Roman a warning look, quietly, muttering an equally pleading, “language, Uce.”

Roman straight up ignores him. Rikishi still adheres to those outdated traditions that just because someone has more years on this earth than you that they automatically deserve respect. Fuck that. Roman gives respect when it’s earned, and Aleki and Sione have been on his shit list for years.

He’ll never forgive them for their behavior after the death of his family, their questioning of Roman’s birthright to the throne.

Aleki releases a heavy sigh, and Roman has to restrain himself from not bashing the old man’s head into the table. “All we’re saying is if she is incapable of producing a child to continue the Bloodline, then we have no use for her and should seek to find you a better—”

That’s when Roman has enough. To suggest Solana be examined again. which would no doubt be triggering as fuck for her, is one thing. But, it’s an entirely different thing for them to have the unmitigated gall to suggest he get rid of her.

Over his dead fucking body.

Roman shoots up from the chair. “My wife isn’t going anywhere nor is anyone at this fucking table going to make her do shit.”

Rikishi shoots more than just his subtle warning this time around. “Roman, please—”

Roman’s not trying to hear that shit from him, though. He’s not trying to hear shit from anyone.

“Our marriage is nobody’s fucking business but our own. That includes when she gets pregnant. We’ll share it when we want to.”

Truthfully speaking, this isn’t something Roman has thought much about, an intentional thing. The fact that the marriage was originally and solely arranged so that she could give him an heir is irrelevant to him right now, regardless of what they think.

That’s not a priority.

“You may be the Elders, but I sit at the head of the table.” The Bloodline has always been successful and profitable, but it’s no doubt exceeded any and all records and expectations since Roman became the head. That’s an indisputable fact. “Don’t fucking forget who made this table what it is today.”

The ending of the meeting is still playing in the back of his head like a bad song on repeat. If not for his semi level of respect and acknowledgement of their standing as Elders, he would have put a bullet in their heads the minute that disrespectful shit started leaving their mouths.

In no fucking universe is anyone taking Solana from him. He doesn’t give a flying fuck whatever the original reason was for their marriage. She’s his now, and nothing is changing that.

Roman makes active efforts to calm himself before walking back into the house. After last night, the last thing she needs is to be unintentionally triggered.

He finds her on the sofa, writing in her journal, Dulce right beside her sleeping peacefully without a care in the fucking world. Roman halfway expected her to be out back on the patio, a seemingly favorite spot of hers.

But the sunlight would no doubt exacerbate the remnants of her hangover he’s certain she’s still battling, so it makes sense she’s indoors. It’s when she looks up, noticing his presence that Roman also realizes she’s still only wearing his shirt.

For some strange reason, he likes that. Likes seeing her in his clothes.

“Hey…”

“Hey.” Roman sits on the sofa opposite from her. He takes her in, watching her set her journal to the side and as he notices her hair is pulled up. “How you feeling?”

She shrugs, making a face that suggests some level of discomfort. “My head still kinda hurts, but I guess—that’s to be expected.” He starts to ask her if she’s drunk enough water, recognizing the importance of staying hydrated a night after heavy drinking, but she’s suddenly pleading with him almost. “Please don’t be upset with Bayley and Naomi. It’s not their fault.”

To be fair, he hadn’t thought about them until now. “They were supposed to watch you.”

“They did. I—I got back fine.” She seems almost worried for them, for their safety. He would never actually kill either woman. He’ll just probably never trust them to take Solana out again in life. But no murder would actually happen. Still, it’s the part where Solana says she got back fine that irks him. He does his best to mask that irritation though.

“You weren’t fine last night, Solana.” She was far from it, more emotional than he’s seen her in some time, if ever.

Her shoulders drop, almost in shame. “I don’t—I don’t remember much of it.”

He’s thankful for that. For the both of them. “You were upset.” It’s not a lie nor is it specific. It’s just the truth.

She then asks with almost hesitant curiosity. “W–what did I say?”

Roman shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t like being dismissive towards her, doesn’t like being dishonest, something he swore he wouldn’t do. But, she was an emotional wreck last night, and the last thing he wants is for her to go through all of those emotions yet again.

He doesn’t like seeing her upset.

But then she looks at him, studying him almost, a sad, almost tearful chuckle leaving her mouth. He watches as she brings her legs up to her chest and rests her chin against her knees. She asks, volume barely over a whisper, “I told you last night, didn’t I?” Roman realizes it’s less a question and more a heavy realization. “That—that I was raped. Didn’t I?”

It’s a bit of a lose–lose situation. Either he tells her no and risks her feeling bad for sharing something she didn’t have to or he confirms what she already knows and still feels not great.

They’re both shitty options, but he ultimately goes the route of honesty. “Yes.”

“It’s weird. I—” She looks away, eyes shutting for a minute before she unexpectedly explains, “I’ve been—I’ve been working out of this book for people who were…assaulted like me, and I’m–at the part where its recommended I tell at least one person because—because it’s not healthy to keep it to myself.”

Roman knows exactly what book she’s talking about. It was the key that led to him figuring out just what happened to her. That still fucks with him. Still makes him fill with silent rage at her piece of shit family letting that happen to her.

“You’re now the first person I’ve ever told.” Roman hates that even more.. Hates that someone like him is who she ended up breaking her silence with. He wishes it was either Bayley or Naomi. They’re much better at this sort of thing. The feelings thing. “I don’t—I don’t like talking about it.”

“You don’t have to.” He isn’t sure he’d be able to control his anger hearing details, hearing anything about it to be honest, not coming from her. His rage would be intractable.

She nods, almost appreciatively. “That's why sex is—it’s hard for me.” He fully understands that, and a small part of him hates how he tried to initiate that with her on their wedding night. He figured her nerves were because of her naturally anxious personality. Never once did it cross his mind that it was because of something much darker. “And it’s not—it’s not like I don’t think about it sometimes, about being close to someone like that, I do.” This piece does surprise him, but he works hard not to think too much about it right now. He wants to be in this moment with her. “ I—I have. But, every time I try, I just—I get flashbacks, and I can’t.” She ends on an almost whisper, Roman’s stomach tightening as she quickly wipes at a tear.

He doesn’t like seeing her cry.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Solana.” Not him or anyone else, for that matter.

She doesn’t say anything for a good minute before asking, “what happens now?”

That’s a great fucking question, and he almost has the same towards a lot of things. He’s curious though what she’s specifically referring to. “What do you mean?”

Solana seems almost frightened as she asks, “are you—are you gonna send me back to my father?”

Yeah, he could have never in a million years guessed that. “Why would you ever think I would do that?”

And he suddenly hates asking, hates seeing the way the emotion builds back up. “I’m not—not a virgin, and—” Her eyes close, her grip around her legs tightening. “You….you only married me because—”

“I don’t care about that.” This is his second time today having to face some level of this discussion, but this round is significantly gentler. Roman does his best to illustrate the conviction in his voice while also being mindful of her emotions. “What do you want, Solana?”

He has no idea what she’s going to say, but he does know for a fact he would never send her back to that hellhole. It would be like sending her to her own death.

She seems to really think about his question, think about something he’s certain she’s never had a lot of.

Options.

Finally, after what feels like hours, she answers. “I want to stay here.” Roman’s unsure why he feels a small sense of relief at her answer, like anything other than that would have made him uncomfortable or upset. Solana wets her lips, continuing, “I like—I like living here.” And in an even smaller voice, she adds, “I like being with you.”

He doesn’t say anything, and neither does she. Roman is certain it’s because they’re both trying to process and register what this may mean, what this new piece of information means for them moving forward.

Roman sits forward and motions with his index and middle finger. “Come here.”

He sees it instantly. The initial hesitation, the brief flash of fear, but it’s gone before he can offer reassurance. Solana lowers her legs and walks over to him, Dulce remaining sleeping and unmoving. Not once does Roman remove his gaze from her as he takes her hand, giving a gentle tug to guide her down on the sofa next to him. He slides his arm behind her, holding her body against him, his tattooed forearm across her stomach.

Roman watches the way her eyes close, recognizes that she’s trying to manage her emotions. He sees the little nod she gives herself, as if assuring herself that she’s safe. And he swears he sees her mouth as such.

Mouth the word ‘safe.’

Solana moves her hands to his forearm, as if holding onto him for some sense of comfort.

He does his best to reassure her. “Relax…”And it seems to do something to help her, offering such a simple yet strong form of solace. “I’d never send you back there. Ever.” And that’s a fucking promise. “You’ll stay here. With me.”

“I’m—” Her voice is less emotional than before. It’s still there, but he can tell it's waning with each second that passes, her comfort level growing. “I’m supposed to give you an heir. What if—what if people start—”

“I’ll take care of it.” And he will. He already started with the Elders earlier today, but she doesn’t need to know that.

She angles her head up to look at him. “But—”

Roman brings his hand to her face, gently palming her cheek. “I’ll take care of it.” He moves his thumb over the apple of her cheek and part of her scar. “Alright?”

Solana nods with her acknowledgement but says nothing else as she lays back against him. He notices the absence of tension and discomfort. She’s fully relaxed against him, and Roman acts more out of instinct than anything as he presses lips against her temple for a brief kiss, still mindful of her comfort level. “I’ve got you…”

Everything happening in the past few minutes has been both unexpected and confusing, but there’s nothing confusing about the way Solana suddenly turns her body into him, laying her head on his chest. He watches her eyes close, signifying another layer of fear being peeled back.

He sits there for who knows how long with her, holding her, noticing the slight rise and fall of her body against his, a sign that she’s fallen asleep. He lets her sleep, lets her rest, lets her stay close to him, under him, with him.

Roman thinks back on his question to her about what she wanted. He’s not sure what he would have said if she said she wanted to leave, because the truth of the matter is that Roman’s starting to think that he couldn’t let her go.

That he can’t.

Even if she wanted to leave.

#roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns #arisnotebook #roman reigns x black!reader

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sammyycain · 11 months ago

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Sam Winchester and Themes of Sexual Assault, Bodily Autonomy and Impurity

Sam Winchester from the hit 2005 CW show Supernatural is a much overlooked character, by fans and the story itself. Despite being one of the main characters in the show he and his problems are often sidelined in order to make room for more popular characters like Dean and Castiel. This leads to a lot of his problems not being taken seriously and played as jokes by both the show itself and the fandom. Sam’s entire story is deeply routed in themes of bodily autonomy, sexual assault and the resulting feelings of impurity. However these themes are often sidelined and played as jokes due to him being a man. 

The theme of sexual assault is shown very early on in the show, staring with Sam’s encounter with the demon Azazel (often referred to as “Yellow Eyes”). In the show Sam and Dean’s mother, Mary Winchester makes a deal with Azazel in order to bring her husband back to life, thus giving him “permission” to do what he wants in 10 years. This choice culminates in a 6-month old Sam being fed demon blood by Azazel, thus starting the pattern of Sam being groomed in one way or another by almost everyone in his life. Mary walks in on Azazel and Sam, leading to her death which sparks John Winchester into his obsessive hunting for the demon that killed Mary. The implications of this scene are made abundantly clear in the later interactions between Sam and Azazel where the latter refers to what happened between them as “their little secret.” Azazel also implicates Sam in his mother’s death through the line “she walked in on us.” This line is a blatant innuendo and forces Sam to place even more blame upon himself than John did. Sam’s attitude towards this whole encounter is one of clear disgust and shame which is shown when Sam says “So he could bleed in my mouth.” This line especially implies CSA (child sexual assault) as it shows just how little agency Sam has had over his life.

These themes continue throughout the series as both Sam and Dean have suggestive remarks made towards them by various supernatural creatures. One example of this in the first episode when the woman in white attempts to force herself on Sam in order to make him become unfaithful to Jess. While this is brushed off very quickly in the show, it sets a precedent for the tonality of the show regarding sexual assault towards its main characters and Sam in particular. This comes up again in a scene where the demon Meg has both of the brothers tied up but focuses specifically on Sam, making suggestive comments towards him and touching him inappropriately. He looks extremely uncomfortable throughout this entire exchange. Sam is then possessed by Meg in a later episode, with possession being used as a metaphor for sexual assault throughout the show, especially in relation to Sam, she then uses Sam’s body to harm his family and friends, making suggestive and threatening comments to them while doing so. In fact, most of Sam’s romantic and sexual interactions with female characters are non-consensual on his end. While these are all played for laughs because of Sam being a man, they are horrifying when looked at through any other point of view. An important example of this is the character Becky Rosen and her interactions with Sam; when Sam asks Becky to stop groping him it’s played entirely for laughs despite Sam looking immensely uncomfortable. In a season 7 episode Becky drugs Sam with a love potion, strips him half naked and ties him to her bed. This is often referred to as a funny episode both in the show and by the fandom, further cementing how the show refuses to acknowledge Sam’s trauma.

The themes of impurity due to CSA and grooming reappear during season 4 when Sam is in a relationship with the demon Ruby. She, in a way heavily reminiscent of Azazel encourages Sam to drink her blood in order to gain powers or so she tells him. To me, this entire relationship had the opportunity to explore Sam’s trauma in a creative and interesting way, and despite not doing this, Sam and Ruby’s relationship still portrays many interesting themes such as addiction being used as coping mechanism and the desire to take back agency after being assaulted. Through Ruby’s encouragement of Sam’s consumption of demon blood, he forms an addiction and starts to associate demon blood with sex, something that had the groundwork laid for it when he was a child. This plot line is especially interesting to me as it seems to be heavily reminiscent of the way many trauma survivors seek to have the same or similar experiences on their own terms as a way of taking back control from their abusers. Throughout Sam’s relationship with Ruby he is being groomed into opening Lucifer’s cage and letting him, thus giving way to the next important theme in Sam’s story: his lack of bodily autonomy and feeling like his body is not his own.

Themes of bodily autonomy play heavily in season 5 when Sam is pressured by everyone around him into giving up his body to Lucifer in order to bring about the end of the world. Eventually he does do this, using the last of his mental power to throw Lucifer back into the cage, thus resulting in both of them being trapped inside. Sam’s body is then brought back to life, leaving his soul to be tortured in the cage by Lucifer. It’s heavily implied that Sam was also raped during this year with Lucifer. When Sam’s soul is reunited with his body, he beings to hallucinate Lucifer and being back in the cage, with the only way to stop these hallucinations being to cause himself pain. This is once again played as a joke by the show, making Lucifer a funny and charming character, subsequently meaning that the fans perceive him as a likeable character, once again causing everyone to sideline Sam’s trauma. Another instance of Sam’s bodily autonomy being ripped away from him is when Dean helps the angel Galadriel trick Sam into letting him possess Sam. I’m in no way attempting to apply blame to Dean as he was also tricked, however he also trivialises his brother’s experience in a particularly shocking exchange after Sam managed to get Galadriel out of him. Sam says that Galadriel left some of himself behind but Cas fixed everything up, Dean then makes a joke saying that it sounded like an episode of teen moms; this conversation further displays the way that no one in the narrative takes Sam’s trauma seriously.

In conclusion, Sam Winchester constantly has his bodily autonomy taken away from him in many different ways throughout the show. He also has his struggles and feeling of impurity trivialised and played for laughs by the writers, actors and fandom. He is referred to as a freak and abomination due to his trauma and never has any of his problems resolved in any meaningful way. Sam Winchester could have been a much better character if he was not so overlooked and joked about.

#supernatural #supernatural sa #spn #sam winchester #castiel #dean winchester #destiel

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wickjump · 5 months ago

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HELLO INTERNET AND WELCOME TO [wickjump]: REDUX ...again

My name is Wick (she/they/star/it), also known as Wickskip (TikTok), Wickjump (Tumblr), or Hopwick (AO3*).

On all platforms my content centers around Undertale and the Undertale Multiverse, however I’ll also sometimes reblog/post about a few other fandoms.

PROSHIP DNI.

What I post and reblog can contain themes of violence/abuse, mental illness, whump/grimdark/dead dove/fictional gore, suicide/self harm, suggestive themes, and more. For those reasons, this blog is intended for audiences 16+ in age. I write and enjoy grimdark content, keep that in mind.

Reblogs that may contain these themes often go untagged!

🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️ TRANS CROSS CANON 🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵

information zone /ᐠ - ˕-マ｡˚ᶻ 𝗓

[⁉️] byf/dni:

dni: pro/com/dark (i do not support harassment or doxxing), xvials, TERFs, zionists/pro-isreal, anti-semitics, bigots. aka obvious assholes

byf: i will sometimes post/reblog things of a suggestive nature, but none of said posts will be graphic nudity. nsfw content may be discussed, but not in detail. i will also post whump content which can include gore, torture, conditioning, dehumanization, etc.

i will occasionally talk about or reference my experience in being groomed, abused, formerly proship (and now against it), a victim of csa, or other traumas of mine, but posts containing those themes will always be tagged appropriately. i use 'cw' instead of 'tw' when tagging warnings!

to not see my whump posts, filter out the tags #evil wick hours (for general whump posts/reblogs) and #evil wick writes (for more graphic/explicit whump or writing snippets)

*my ao3 account is not intended for those under 18.

yes nsfw/18+ blogs can follow me i really dont care given i have one of my own

[⚠️] boundaries:

do not tag me in posts containing themes that apply to my dnis or general discomforts. that includes grooming, pedophilia, incest, proship content, bigotry, etc.

do not tag me in posts that are centered around the harassment of another individual or group of individuals.

don’t flirt with me or make sexual/romantic comments towards me, regardless of age or relationship status, including jokes!!!! conversations with graphic sexual themes are generally uncomfortable for me and i’d prefer not to have them. conversations about sex or sexual themes is fine as long as you’re 18+ and not being weird towards me (or in general) about it.

don’t drag me into fights/start them under my posts!!!!!!! id like to be informed of the base of what’s going on, but not included.

sometimes i can be wrong about things. if i am wrong about things, tell me so i can improve!! i never mean to make anyone upset because of something i said. on this note, also send an ask or dm if i reblog or mistakenly support a not-good person, it would be much appreciated!

aint a boundary but itd be appreciated if you didn’t use starself, only star/star's. not for any important reason it’s just a grammar pet peeve of mine

i am in a relationship :)

[⭐️] faves:

things that are bolded are my current hyperfocus

aus: xtale, handplates, dusttale, reapertale, aftertale

au sanses: cross, epic, reaper, lust, dream, passive!nightmare, dust, error, sci and fresh

canon ut characters: chara, frisk, asriel/flowey, toriel, alphys

other au characters: xtale alphys, xchara, xfrisk, xtale toriel, uf!toriel, uf!flowey, reapertale chara, handplates gaster, starlo (ut:y), clover (ut:y), outertale grillby, core frisk, storyshift chara, storyshift asriel

ships: crepic, kross, lustblue, hypersomnia, mtt + crepic poly, epickross/krepic, epiciller, mtt + cross poly, mtt poly, drinkberry, errorink, afterdeath, classicsci, kustard, dustard, etc. but im not a picky shipper :3

tropes: devotion, friends -> lovers, hurt/comfort, opposites attract, soulmates, whump

color, animal, movie, book: pink/red, cats/wolves/foxes, the little prince (1974)/the lion king, the forgotten warrior (wc)

coffee order: >60k word slow burn friends to lovers whump recovery fic rated M PLEASE

[🕯] other assorted info:

still no twitter, discord, or insta :(

cross is my liege and he is the focus of 90% of my posts. i also gore/whump him the most

i don’t have kids, but i have cats. two of them. but they might as well be my biological kids with how they act. i post about them like theyre human biological children and often dont clarify it's a joke in the tags. please get used to this

every time i talk about ink in a relationship it is always queerplatonic on their part, even if i don’t clarify!! i personally don’t ship them romantically.

i have diagnosed autism, adhd, anxiety, ptsd, and some others but that’s my personal biz. if i come off as awkward, ‘trying too hard’, unable to realize when a joke’s ended, or just weird/unlikable, that’s why. i’m seriously bad with that stuff but i’m trying my best!! don't be mean to me i'll cry

i’m a cupioromantic acespec lesbian (i love women) and non-binary :3

mapleshade chara and toriel #1 defender

[🐇] links to thingz:

Undertrap Sans/Milkbone Sans <- my son

Sona Reference Sheet <- me

Strawpage (carrd but cooler + u can submit drawings?!??!?!?!)

Ao3 / TikTok

18+ Sideblog <- pretty inactive mb

(pride divider by aquazero, cross stamps by lazyartost, error/dream/cross & warrior cats dividers by sister-lucifer, undertale graphics by e-resources, no clue who made the eeveelutions one lol)

#third time's the charm #i guess #sighs #if this dies im just #quitting intros. i think. anywya.#once again rip my intro post notes #gonna reblog this tagging myself for me later #JUST. IN CASE. IT HAPPENS AGAIN.#tumblr whyyyy

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nightcolorz · 2 years ago

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Unhinged Sybelle and Benji tangent (cw references to abuse csa trauma etc)

yeah so Marius’s turning of Benji and Sybelle isn’t about whether or not that was the right decision to make and isn’t made better by their contentment living as vampires in late canon. Benji and Sybelle’s relatively happy lives as vampires are irrelevant to me. The cruelty of how he did it is made worse by the hypocritical nature of turning a kid into a vampire after so firmly insisting that turning children is morally abhorrent and smth he should’ve never done, yeah, but that’s only a small part of it.

It was so awful and upsetting to me bcus of the deliberate stripping of Armand’s agency. See, we have a whole book where Armand tells the story of how throughout his entire life and childhood he was forced into the role of submissiveness and/or dependency. whether that be his childhood religious devotion that would eventually lead to his being buried alive for God or being sold into sexual slavery or Marius’s mentorship of him that ultimately intended to teach him to stay loyal and dependent on Marius’s authority to Marius’s relationship with him sexual and otherwise to the cult indoctrination, up until Lestat comes along and tilts his own view of submission and devotion as his only way to survive and function in the world onto its head.

He gives him a theater and then he gives him Louis. Armand floats around, tries to find purpose without devotion through using Louis and Daniel as tools to understanding the modern age. The modern age to Armand is possibility and independence, things he’s never had so much access to and doesn’t know exactly how to apply to himself until the devils minion chapter when he’s like ah ok I get it, life without devotion is something I’ve always been familiar with—it’s what Marius taught me! I Am The Master now with my excessive indulgence and my Boy and my sea side paradise.

But Armand is a Void™️ with no concept of self besides a collection of concepts and experiences and people he’s been exposed to throughout his existence, so rlly he’s kind of a fraud. Internally he’s still a saint who yearns for a God to follow, he’s no Marius, and this all comes to a head in Memnoch the devil when he throws himself into the sun for Jesus etc. and so TVA Armand is mixed the fuck up, he’s lost everything he’s been building for himself, he’s like an open wound, like red and gold sand art shaken around until it’s sludges of brown.

Armand believes himself to have no coherent narrative of a life, no coherent and consistent sense of self, just a collection of unrelated sequences that he draws from to occasionally preform personhood, and at the beginning of TVA he is very much just that. No thoughts only colors and pain. But he’s trying to rebuild himself as best he can, he has these young humans who he’s caring for, and through caring Armand finds meaning.

These humans are very much reflections of himself, or who he used to be, and seeing a personhood reflected back at him through these two gives him insight into his own value as an individual, as someone who is inherently worthy of having a life. So with Benji and Sybelle he tries to rebuild his own sense of personhood by giving them what he would want in there place. The conclusion he reaches at the end of his story to David is that after everything ultimately he is learning and rebuilding, gaining fulfillment and individuality he’s never had before through his empathy and care for these two people in his life. Benji and Sybelle are representative of Armand’s healing process!!! They mirror him bcus they are him!! He’s literally nurturing his inner child!! And with that there comes self care and self love etc etc. but then the book doesn’t end!!

Then after all that trauma and all that healing everything that Armand was tenderly attempting to build for his new life is stripped away ! When Marius turns Benji and Sybelle it doesn’t matttttter that they like being vampires. What matters is that when Armand finally gained agency and individuality Marius decided to take that from him! Marius decided that he actually knew better then Armand, and if Armand would just allow him to do what’s best for him then everything would be so much better and so much easier. And when Armand starts sobbing and screaming and fighting him that’s just justification to Marius that Armand isn’t capable of independence or self sufficiency, that he’s a child throwing a tantrum who can’t make his own decisions, that he should just be dependent on Marius like he used to be and trust that other people know what’s best for him.

That’s why it’s so tragic! That’s why it’s so frustrating and so sad. Armand was on the road to healing but then Marius stormed in like the symbolic representation of his past telling him that no matter what he does or the progress he makes he’s still Armand in the catacombs, Amadeo on the red sheets, Andrei waiting to be buried alive. So I don’t really give af if ultimately Benji and Sybelle are fine! It’s great that despite being a child vampire Benji is able to function independently and contently as an adult with minimal body dysmorphia and existential dread, but you know who’s not able to do that? Armand 😭😭

#tvc #the vampire chronicles #vampire chronicles #vc #armand #interview with the vampire #iwtv #the vampire armand #benji mahmoud #sybelle tvc #Tvc meta #iwtv meta #VC meta #armand le russe #armand iwtv #armand vc #This was meant to be like a paragraph of rambling wtf happened #Sorry if my tone comes off as condescending I’m just very excited about armand #And I don’t agree with the assertion that Benji and sybelle’s good lives as vampires diminish the impact of their turning

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ooihcnoiwlerh · 8 months ago

Note

About the "send me a ship and one of these and i'll write a mini fic" you reblogged 🤭

I was thinking about the "things you didn't say at all" one (I think it was prompt 5) and about your Feyd x Reader fic 🤭 the latest chapter and it's first segment, Feyd being subby...

How about a small Feyd POV, things he didn't say but thought during this scene?? ♥️

Absolutely no pressure, I just saw the reblog and my mind went wandering hehe 🤭

*Breaks fingers* Let's do this!

TAGS/CW: Subspace!Feyd; sub!Feyd; dom!Reader; first time topping; mentions of switching; riding; service bottom Feyd; overstimulation, masochism; knifeplay; nipple play; multiple orgasms, creampie, oral sex (M+receiving); body worship; come eating; mentions of past self-harm; mentions of past dubcon, mentions of past noncon/CSA; mentions/fantasies about smothering kinks; references to Feyd's prescience; Feyd and the Reader matching each other's freak

ADULTS ONLY/UNDER 18 DNI

Link to AO3 fic here:

Link to previous chapter on tumblr here

Thank you so much @peggyao3! I hope you enjoy it!

Y/N leans down and kisses him, slow and languid. I want to keep you inside of me until you get hard again, and then I want to ride you again until I can’t anymore, she’d told him with utmost confidence as she sat astride him, and it won’t take long to make that first part happen. He’s been transfixed since she pressed his own dagger against his chest, since the crack of her palm against his cheek.

Oh, had been his only thought, the heat flooding to his dick during his struggle growing stronger, still covered at the time as it pressed against the apex of her thighs. He’d never gotten such a good view of her naked on top of him as he did when she sat, stunned, furious, and a fucking glorious vision of a woman.

Go on, he’d told her. Take your reward, and she had. It didn’t quite surprise him that she’d been aroused by the time she’d gotten his pants off–he’d felt her damp heat through the fabric of them, and she sank with slick ease onto him as she’d started at first holding his own blade against his collarbone, as if he wasn’t exactly where he’d wanted to be.

You wanna ride me? he’d asked as she’d gasped and shuddered, moving on him.

Is that what this is called? she’d asked, delighted and triumphant, and it had made him smile.

It didn’t surprise him that she’d take to riding him like it was what she was made to do, that she drove them both about out of their mind like this. Didn’t surprise him, except that he still hadn’t felt fully prepared for how quickly and easily he sunk into the feeling of not only being used but loving every moment of it. It’d been a long time since that had happened.

She’d come twice on top of him, exhilarated from their scuffle and from the power he was giving her–even as he’d felt himself slipping, stunned at how she’d fucked him and touched him and looked so unbearably beautiful doing it, he could see how thrilled she was at the power she had over him.

She holds it now, still straddling his hips. It feels like something tangible that settles between them in the combination of ease and excitement building in his chest as they kiss, waiting for him to stiffen inside of her again, content to caress her sides, her thighs, her hair, but aching to feel her moving on top of him again. It’ll happen; he’ll give her whatever she wants. He gives a soft sigh as she trails her mouth just below his ear, along the junction of his jaw and neck, and waits as she pauses, seeming to consider something.

He realizes what she’s about to do a second before she does it–takes the knife he’d had pressed against her throat not twenty minutes ago and makes a slow, shallow cut above his heart. He gasps at the sting, thinking, Oh yeah, that’ll do it, cock twitching and fully coming back to life as she laps up the beads of blood that well up, as she dips her head lower to scrape her teeth against his nipple. He hadn't allowed her access there before tonight, not so much because it was forbidden but nearly every time he’s been inside of her he’s taken her from behind or been just above her, where she didn’t have such easy access to him. He’s been so impatient to taste and touch and tease her that other than the times he’s guided his cock as far into her mouth as she can handle he just hasn't afforded her the same chance.

She takes it now, and he gives it freely, fascinated by her own fascination with him. She’s never been fucked by anyone else, that much he’d learned on their wedding night. Probably never even had another person touch her nipples or play with her clit except for herself.

Feyd’s train of thought is cut short as Y/N then sits up, her fingers collecting the thin trail of blood as she briefly rests her hands on Feyd’s chest, only to bring those same fingertips to her lips and lap them clean. A smear of blood remains on her lips as she breaks out into a slow smile, rocking her hips, readjusting to the movement and the angle, before she gives a small, stunned laugh. She’s captivating, the way she seems to revel in a new way to take him inside of her.

The last time anyone got him in this position…

He doesn’t want to think about it; how through that box of pain the Gesserit whore had reduced him to a trembling mess so aroused he was leaking precome through his robes, how her voice had invaded the deepest recesses of his mind, how she’s pushed him onto his back as soon as he withdrew his hand and perfunctorily pulled her skirts up, pulled his cock out, and sat on him with a grimace.

He doesn’t want to remember how he’d thought, helpless and trapped in a way he hadn’t felt in years, that she reminded him how his body didn’t truly belong to him, that it was only ever on loan, to be used by whoever needed him. He thought he’d kill her if he ever saw her again, watching her wince as he came inside of her despite himself and she got up, leaving him wrung out and burning with shame.

He doesn't want to think about it, and tonight it's easy to forget, because his wife’s riding him with shameless, unabashed enthusiasm as if there's nowhere else she'd be, and she's not taking anything that Feyd’s not happy to give her in spades. She can do whatever the fuck she wants with him.

“I–oh, fuck!--I could ride your fat cock all night. Would you like that, Feyd?” she asks.

I’d love it. I want to watch you come undone around me all night, he thinks, unable to manage more than a groan. He watches, rapt, painfully aroused, as her pert, pretty tits bounce along with her movements, dazedly realizing what a good idea it is for her to move his hands from her hips to her breasts. He'd mourn not being able to see them as clearly but that he enjoys touching them even more. He doesn't think about it, just fondles them how they both like it.

He stares, enraptured, as she comes undone around him, his hands still fondling her, her own hands braced behind her on his sweaty thighs. His cock pulses and he wants to follow her but also doesn’t want it to be so soon, especially since even as she shudders and clenches around him, her moans high and desperate, the part of him still capable of thought knows that she’s not truly finished with him yet.

I’ll be good. I’ll hold on, he thinks as she continues to rock her hips, barely catching her breath and riding her out of stubbornness to see her exhaustion through. He’s so fucking impressed with her.

“Don't come yet,” she commands him, voice thick. “Not until I come again.”

He groans. Couldn’t have picked a better woman to subjugate me if I tried, he thinks, every muscle clenching, back arching, trying to breathe normally, while he’s increasingly unraveled. Most of the past month he’s been married to her he’s felt half-out of his mind with desire every time they were alone together, but not quite like this. Not quite so excited to see how she can own him.

“If you want to come, then make yourself useful, Feyd,” Y/N adds, her lust and confidence a heady cocktail that set his nerves ablaze.

Yes, ma’am, he thinks immediately, spitting on his thumb and bringing it to her swollen clit. She must be aching. Going on four now; he realizes. He hasn’t gotten her that far before. Remnants of his spend leak out of where he’s buried inside of her, and still liquid from the heat between them.

And then clever, wicked Y/N smirks, moves her hands back to his chest, and pinches cruelly. He’d love to know if she’s still smirking when he cries out and bucks his hips, nearly spilling inside of her, but he shuts his eyes when he does it. She’s not merciful, and he’s all the more delighted for it.

“Look at me, Feyd,” he hears Y/N say and his eyes snap open as he reminds himself that he has a job to do, although he supposes it can’t quite be a job if he’s enjoying it so much. She’s so beautiful like this, natural in an element she might never have pictured inhabiting. He works her clit faster, presses down a little harder, shifts his thighs slightly to make his hips the right bridge to rock onto, and then she comes hard. It’s not the breathless moans and whimpers when he’s fucking her from behind; it’s a guttural cry from within Y/N’s chest that’s the sound of a woman who’s taken everything she’s wanted and she trembles, clenching around him so hard Feyd abandons his post rubbing her clit to grab onto her hips.

So will you let me come with you? he wants to ask, in awe of her and unsure what look she’s seeing on his face if she sees anything. She’s not drunk, he knows, but there’s a glazed-over look in her eyes as she stares open-mouthed down at him when he tries to center himself. The moment she gives her permission he can’t help it; he relishes her overwrought moans as he bucks up into her, fucking her from below, squeezing the supple flesh of her hips and ass as he comes so hard he sees stars–stars that don’t even fucking exist on this planet.

There’s a moment before he can really soften but while he’s too sensitive to keep moving, he realizes that she might still be able to ride him again. He’ll get hard again if she wants him to, if she gives him enough time. He’ll gladly let her use his mouth to grind on until then to get her over five, six, seven times. She’d take to it just as well, holding his head in place as she rides his face with enough fervor that he’d just barely be able to breathe, head swimming all the more for the taste of her, of the two of them mixed together and her shaking thighs bracketing his face. Dazed, he thinks about how there would be worse ways to go out than with his face buried in her cunt.

Next time he’ll let her collar him, use a chain to guide his face between her legs. He’ll gladly kneel for her, he thinks as he closes his eyes and pictures it, her leading him on a leash to a place he already loves visiting.

“Hey,” he hears, voice gentler this time, like he’s underwater and her voice is just above the surface. “Look at me.”

He does. She’s smiling down at him, her expression fond rather than mischievous or aroused or deliciously cruel. She strokes his face and he can’t help but tilt his face into it. His heartbeat is slowing down, his cock has softened again, but he’ll bring it back to rise, if she tells him to.

But she doesn’t. She slides off of him, letting him slip out of her, and leans down to ghost her lips over his neck, scrape them over his teeth, and a part of him, spent but eager, realizes that this touch and exploration isn’t really for him; it’s for her. He brings his hands to the sheets below him before she can ask.

��Yes, that’s good,” she assures him before going lower, licking and nipping at the muscles in his abdomen that clench and flutter at the contact. “Keep them there.”

Take whatever you want, Y/N. Everything I have, everything I am is yours, he thinks as she licks his spent cock, as she drags her tongue lower for the first time, exploring his body still as if he’s something beautiful and fascinating.

He pants and moans, hips twitching, cock not quite getting hard again, not yet, but that doesn’t appear to be what Y/N is even after. She just seems to want to touch and taste him, seems to enjoy it just as much as she enjoyed using him as a human dildo, not that he expects her to know what that is.

Is this what you like,Y/N? he wants to ask. Is getting me soaked and licking me clean something that makes you feel good? He groans and spreads his legs a little more. He feels dazed.

She asks him about his scars. Clever girl deduced that they were done on separate occasions. When he tells her how he got them, she nuzzles and licks at them. He'd almost forgotten how sensitive his inner thighs are. It's been a long time since anyone's touched them. Racking his brain, he’s hard-pressed to think if he's ever allowed himself to be laid out and thoroughly enjoyed like this. And she does enjoy this, he thinks, wanting to laugh. She nips and bites at them once she knows they come from a place of desire. A part of him, a part he quietly shelves away for later, can appreciate that she knows to tread lightly with his scars, even when he’s spent and malleable like this; she knows how the ones on his back got there. He doesn’t say it, doesn’t press the issue, wondering what she has planned next, when she comes back up, face to face, and kisses him slowly. Tenderly. It’s warm, affectionate, but without the same heat as before.

She’s done with him tonight, it seems. Or at least, she’s done playing with him, as she sets the knife on her nightstand and finesses getting them under the covers. When he’d ambushed her with a surprise drill the sheets and blankets had been kicked down to their ankles.

Her reflexes are good; she thinks quickly; she’s adaptable. And deceptively powerful, he thinks, imagining the possibilities of how much further they can keep going. He could show her how to put a cockring on him and use him for even longer. He will.

But apparently not tonight, as she turns onto her back and he turns to lay on her, first nestling the side of his face against the space between her breasts and then lower, to rest his head against the soft skin of her belly. It'll probably be around three months from now that she starts showing.

“Is this what you need, husband?” Y/N asks, stroking his back. He deflates, finally grounded. He nods. He exhales hard. He can hear the small smile in Y/N’s voice as she continues stroking his shoulders and the back of his neck while saying, “In a couple of days we’ll find out if life is growing in there.”

Feyd doesn’t think about it before he says, “There is. A boy.”

Y/N laughs above him, but Feyd doesn’t mind. It’s not like she’d know, not like he’s told her, and so he does, in not so many words as he’d normally manage if he didn’t feel drained. “I saw him. Dreamt about you giving birth to him,” he tells her.

Maybe at some point he’ll tell her about how the second night they were married, he’d dreamt about her in labor, pushing out a healthy baby boy, flushed and screaming so loud he practically vibrated. Feyd dreamt about her, exhausted and hairline damp with sweat but a smile on her face as she nursed their son for the first time.

Maybe at some point he’ll tell her how he’d dreamt about her a few times before they’d ever met.

Between when the Gesserit witch took his seed and when that coven told him their marriage plans of him, he’d dreamt of a young woman who whimpered and moaned as he lapped at her slick cunt, who’d cry out and wrap her legs around his waist when he was inside of her. There was never a clear picture, just flashes that would wake him up stiff and close to rutting against his bed, but they all made sense when he saw his bride-to-be, with a face he’d never seen in person nor in pictures but knew, even as he was far from really knowing her.

He can’t confirm it, won’t be able to confirm it for another couple of days when the Bene Gesserit witches arrive, but he knows, as certain as his own pulse, that their son is already growing inside of her.

That feels really nice, he doesn’t say. You smell good, he also doesn’t say. I want to have you and treasure you and break you and make you whole again and have you do the same to me, he doesn’t say.

He can’t help the enormity of what he’s feeling. He’s still only just getting to know the shape of her soul, and he wants more.

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