#louis: he’s a little bitch and i never liked him

[fact-dogsarehappiness]

I love Daniel pointing out the contradictions in Louis’s story between 1975 and 2022 and Louis being all “memory changes over time” when we all know that Louis and Lestat were actually in the middle of a fight in the 70s and Louis was being petty about it

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + fourteen

authors note: swear this was the chapter that never fucking ended. it's essentially part one because even with how long it is, i still have a lot to cover. 😩

anywayssss, some foreshadowing, a ton of fluff, and some long awaited moments below.

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

cw/tw: fluff, angst, smut

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

masterlist

words: 15k (sorrows, sorrows, prayers)

“Did they hurt?” The question is asked while sitting on top of Roman’s lap, the default seat for her, it seems, whenever she’s in his presence. Her fingers ghost over his inked skin, slightly fascinated by the intricacies of the design. Tribal. A nod to his heritage and his story.

Like most, if not all things with Solana, he answers truthfully. “Not really, but I have a high pain tolerance, so it’s hard to say.” For some reason, that makes her frown a bit. Was that a natural inherited thing or some level of tolerance built up from years of said pain? “Do you want any?”

She nods, tracing one of the patterns with her finger. “In Mexican culture, Hummingbirds represent many things. Strength. Love. But, the thing my mom always focused on and stressed to me is they’re also messengers from the spirits in heaven. That…they remind us of lost loved ones.” Her shoulders lift a little. Small, sad smile on her face. “Sometimes, I think I’d like to get one tattooed on me. Like…like a tribute to her, but then I think about the needle and don’t know if that could trigger me somehow.”

It could trigger from a couple different angles, but namely her trauma with knives as well as her history of self-harming. But, Solana is certain Roman already recognizes this, thus her not going into specifics. “I don’t know. I’ll….I’ll think about it some more.”

Roman nods, offering, “if you decide to get it, I’ll go with you.” 

It’s a thoughtful gesture, not entirely surprising. Solana is starting to recognize there’s very little the man underneath her wouldn’t do for her. 

Appreciatively kissing his cheek, she murmurs, “thank you.” Biting on her lip, she foolishly tries to see if she can get something else out of him. “Speaking of going….”

Roman chuckles. “I’m not telling you.” He rolls his eyes as she pouts almost, his thumb going to her cheek, the cut almost entirely healed. “You’ll find out in a couple hours.”

It’s been almost a week since the gala, and the temperature has settled tremendously. Roman still doesn’t like thinking about it, thinking about how he lost his fucking shit but mostly at the fact that Solana was attacked. 

He’s about to start having someone with her at all times. Even in the bathroom. 

Roman has also noticed there seems to be some conflicted emotions on Solana’s end regarding what happened in the bathroom. Namely because she caught wind of Wes injuries, injuries that are truly tame compared to what Roman would have done and will do once he gets his hands on that son of a bitch.

But, he is him, and Solana is her. They are very different people. She is gentle where he is hard, so while there is still that adrenaline and proudness she was experiencing at defending herself as well as she did, he can see it’s something that’s bothering her.

He’s tried to bring it up, but she shuts down, so he’s left it alone out of respect.

But, with her birthday being tomorrow and them leaving in a couple hours for their trip, he’s hopeful getting away will be good for her. For them. 

She then asks a bit of a silly question considering who she’s talking to. Roman plans for every little thing, from the most major detail to the thing that most likely won’t happen but still serves as something that needs to be accounted for. “Is….is it at least domestic? I don’t have a passport.” 

“Yes, you do.” He opens the first drawer of his desk, pulling out a small Louis Vuitton passport cover and hands it to her.

Solana looks down with a gasp seeing that she, in fact, has a passport. A brand new, unstamped passport. “How did you—”

An easy answer. “I’m a billionaire, Solana. There’s nothing I can’t buy or make happen.”

It makes sense, but it doesn’t do much to chip away the tremendous amount of guilt and how bad she feels in learning that Roman’s birthday was back in May, and no one said or did a thing about it or acknowledged it.

She can still feel her stomach dropping when she asked a few days about when his is, and he calmly informed that it had already passed. That hurt. Truly. To know what should be a special occasion was essentially treated as any other day.

His explanation made sense. He expressed not liking to acknowledge his birthday because of what happened when he was 10. She can understand that. She does understand that, but it doesn’t make her feel any less sad at the fact that she didn’t even know it was her husband’s freaking birthday. 

Solana expresses said concern. “But…it’s….it’s not fair we’re doing all this for my birthday, and I didn't even know yours—”

“Hey—” He interrupts her, his hands cupping her face. “Don’t do that.” He pushes back some of her hair. “My story is my story. Not yours.” She opens her mouth clearly to protest or counter when his eyes take on a mischievous glint. “Besides, seeing you half naked most of the day for a week? Might as well be my fucking birthday.”

Solana rolls her eyes. He has a way of making her feel better in the most interesting and often raunchy sort of way. Blushing and smiling at his suggestive comment, she shrugs, admitting, “there are more bathing suits in my suitcase than clothes.”

“Good. The less clothes you have on, the better.” Her cheeks must be a red mess. Roman taps on her hip, gesturing for her to stand up. He also stands and takes her hand in his. “Come here. There’s something I want to show you.”

Solana looks down at her outfit which is most definitely nothing appropriate enough to leave the house in. “Are we leaving the house or—”

“No.” His answer is simple and to the point that she doesn’t really press him for more information as he guides her through the house. A frown does fall on her face, however, when she sees he’s taken her down the hall where he’d said construction was previously taking place.

It’s only then she finally asks, “what—”

“Close your eyes.”

Solana makes a face. “Roman, what are you—”

He steps towards her, pushing back her hair. “You know I don’t like repeating myself.” If she was anyone else, Solana is certain his tone would be much different. A lot darker, harsher. But, it’s not. Just….strangely calm. 

Blowing out a breath, she relents, realizing there’s not really an option for anything else. “Okay.” Shutting her eyes, she allows him to continue to guide her, stopping for a moment as she hears a door open. He directs her to walk through said opened door followed by a light switch, the presence of that light shining against her closed eyes. 

Solana feels him shift behind her, his arms snaking around her, mouth dipping to her ear. “Open em’.”

Solana doesn't need to be told twice, and as soon as they’re open, a gasp leaves her mouth. Naturally, she walks away from him, deeper into the room that has an open floor plan, walls almost entirely lined with white, empty shelves. Bookshelves. Against the walls and the cutout part of the room. Not to be confused with the other nook that’s occupied by seating, pillows, and anything else someone would need if indulging in reading or writing.

Walking further into the space, she sees another area clearly curated for another purpose. Art. A table to create on, two easels, countless art supplies all perfectly situated near the bay window that allows for natural sunlight. 

The perfect place to create. 

Taken completely back by the surprise of it all, Solana turns to Roman, stammering to ask, “is–is this for me?”

“You know it’s damn sure not for me.” He steps toward her again, gently pulling her against him. “You were outgrowing that space. And your journals are personal. They shouldn’t be kept at work.” His thumb brushes across her bottom lip. “They should be here. This is your home now.”

“Roman….” She looks around again, tears growing in her eyes. 

He continues to explain. “It would have been ready sooner, but when I found out you like art, I had them add that.” He gestures to the corner that has to be any artist's dream. “I’m not smart about a lot of that shit, so just let me know anything else you ne—”

He’s silenced by Solana practically jumping him, angling her body to face him as she wraps her arms around his neck. A hug, deep and sentimental. It takes him off guard for a second, Roman unused to such….affection.

But, the discomfort settles into something that almost feels natural. His hand on the small of her back as he chuckles. “I’m gonna take it that you like it then.” It’s not necessarily a question as much as an assessment. 

She gives a watery chuckle, pulling back and nodding. “I love it.” Her voice breaks. “No…..no one’s ever done anything like this for me before.” It goes without saying this doesn't include her mom, who Roman is almost certain did more for her than anyone ever could. Especially when she needed it the most.

Doesn’t mean he can’t do his part though. 

She swallows, whispering as he wipes away her tears. “Thank you.” 

“What I tell you about that, huh?” He ghosts his lips over hers, reminding yet again. “You never have to thank me for anything.” Roman kisses her forehead, seeing how her eyes shut from feeling content and partially overwhelmed. It brings a small smile to his face. “Happy birthday, Solana….”

________

“Oh my god….”

Roman doesn’t have to be looking up to know what’s caught Solana’s attention. It’s obvious by the way the SUV has come to a stop, shifting into park as they’ve clearly reached their destination.

And she’s clearly looking up at said destination. Well, the conduit to help them travel to said destination.

When he finishes sending out an email, one of the last before he goes into somewhat work blackout—because he never be fully disconnected—he looks up to see Solana still staring out the window. 

“Is that….is that a private jet?”

Smirking, Roman slides his phone in his bag and removes his seatbelt. “You really think I fly commercial?”

It’s not intended to come across as rude, and it isn't judging by her small smile. “They’re bigger than I imagined….”

“Mine is.” Double entendre, if he really wanted to make her blush, but he keeps it PG. For now. “I’m tall. Need the leg room.”

Roman exits the SUV at the same time the driver opens the door for Solana to do the same. He easily circles back around to her just in time for her to sling her small backpack on her shoulder and adjust her ball cap. In sneakers without any sort of height boost, she looks even tinier than she already is, especially compared to his massive build. 

Taking her hand, Roman asks, “you ready?”

She nods as he leads them over to the descended stairs where the pilot and two flight attendants stand outside, greeting them. The older man, Bob, he thinks, lifts his hat and nods respectfully in their direction.

“Mr. Reigns. Mrs. Reigns. Everything is just as you requested.”

Roman only gives a nod to acknowledge things being exactly as they should. His way.

He motions for Solana to walk up ahead of him, mainly so he can enjoy the view of her ass in the tight ass outfit she has on but also out of manners.

Manners he only seems to be able to find in her presence. 

She loiters a bit near the entrance, moving aide for him to also fully enter but still stands almost frozen, clearly taken back by the interior. 

“This is….”

“The best,” he finishes for her, tossing his bag on the closest beige sofa that lines both sides of the jet. Roman moves over to her, hand palming her ass as he dips his head to whisper in her ear. “I don’t accept anything less.”

She giggles against him, the sound hands down one of the best songs on the soundtrack when they’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

Momentarily considering murder for probably the fifth time today, Roman turns to see Paul standing at the bottom of the steps. Roman literally forgot this man was in the SUV behind them, coming to see them off.

Paul lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, asking with all of the unease. “A word, please, my Tribal Chief?”

The automatic answer would be no if not for Solana turning around and placing her hand on his chest. A frequent gesture he never gets tired of. Any touch from her is always welcomed.

Her smile dips a bit as she asks with the same level of unease shared by Paul, “is—is it okay if I look around?”

Her question makes him scowl. Her asking him permission to do anything feels uncomfortable as fuck. “You don’t have to ask my permission for shit. Anything that’s mine is yours.”

His answer seems to ease her anxiety at least as she nods, kisses his cheek and starts to explore the rest of the jet. Roman’s eyes linger on her a bit before he switches his attention to his annoying ass head council.

Stomping down the steps with all of the agitation, he barks, “talk.”

Paul clears his throat, and Roman’s already regretting his decision to choose his Wise Man over his fine ass wife.

“Sir, I—I understand you wanting to take the girl—”

“Solana,” Roman corrects one time only. Because that was Paul’s one time referring to Solana as anything other than her name or his wife. “Her name is Solana.”

Paul swallows. “Of course.” He’s a quick learner, smartly running it back for a second, correct time. “I understand you wanting to take Solana away for her birthday, but is the timing really great? There’s so much work—”

“There’s always work to do, Wise Man. That’s why I delegated the appropriate tasks to cover the appropriate work while I’m gone.” It was a bit trickier than that as delegation has never been a preference for Roman. His ultimate preference is to always handle shit on his own. And truth be told, he made sure to sign off, approve, create, and orchestrate any major moves that needed to be done before leaving. The remaining tasks were split among Jimmy, Jey, and Rikishi. And he has no doubt they’ll be on top of it. Because as always, when it comes to business, the twins never miss. It’s just any other time they’re bumbling idiots who give Roman migraines from time to time. 

“Of course. Always so conscientious, my Tribal Chief.” Paul’s smile makes Roman want to turn and walk away yet again for the second time in two minutes. Granted, that’s his usual disposition when interacting with anyone other than his wife. “I just—for you to be out of the country for almost a week. Well, it’s just—”

“Wise Man.”

Paul’s eyes light up, and it has nothing to do with the sun that’s shining in his direction. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“How long have I been the Tribal Chief?”

The answer is almost instantaneous, a small smile falling on Paul’s pudgy face. “Since you were eighteen-years-old.”

“How old am I now?”

“My Tribal Chief turned 39 on May 25th of this year.”

“And in all that time, how many vacations have I taken?”

There’s brief hesitation, eyes traveling for a brief second, searching for the answer. “N–none, my Tribal Chief.”

“Exactly.” Roman lifts his shades and sets them atop his head. “So, if I want to take a couple fucking days off to help my wife celebrate her birthday, then that’s what I’m gonna fucking do, and I don’t have to answer to a damn person about it. Because I feel like you’re questioning me, Wise Man, and I don’t get questioned. Is that understood?”

Paul’s fat cheeks are painted an ugly shade of red as he stammers out, “y–yes, my Tribal Chief.”

Semi pleased with the acquiescence, Roman turns around and calls out coldly, “only contact me for emergencies.”

Roman is almost certain Paul will be too scared shitless to risk his wrath with an outreach that’s only subjectively considered an emergency vs Roman’s definition. He’ll probably task Rikishi or the twins with the task. 

Roman would prefer their old man over them. Less antics and constant triggers for his anger.

The head of the table finds his wife still in the main section of the jet, sitting down on the sofa, legs pulled up under her, phone in hand. Hearing his return, she smiles, sharing, “I was just texting Naomi to make sure she grabbed Dulce’s favorite toy.”

Roman chuckles and walks over, joining her on the sofa. “The dog has a favorite toy?”

Smiling, she explains, “it’s the one she plays with the most. Her avocado.” Solana angles her body so she’s facing him more versus the other sofa that lines the other side of the plane. “Do—do you think she’ll be okay? We’ve never left her before.”

To be fair, Roman briefly thought about that. She’s so fucking little and still a puppy, so leaving her could be risky. But, he also knows that damn thing seems to always be hopping on Naomi and Bayley’s lap, so she should be fine.

“She’ll probably sleep the majority of the time we’re gone.”

Solana rolls her pretty eyes, her mouth curving into a small smile. “I’m serious, Roman.”

“So am I.” He sighs and brings his arm around her, pulling her into his side. “She’ll be fine, Solana. It’s not like we left her with Jey and psycho ass Nicki with their bad ass kids.”

Forever the saint, she pouts and lightly scolds him. “That’s not nice. I’m sure they’re not bad.”

“You ain’t met them yet,” Roman scoffs. “Why you think Jey always at our place?”

Smiling cheekily, she gently points out, “you said it’s because I keep feeding them.”

“That too.” Roman trails his finger up and down her upper forearm, her soft skin a contrast to his coarse fingertips. Her perfume, something sweet, vanilla, and gourmand doesn’t help him keep focus on the conversation nor the fact that she’s so close to him, their bodies touching him. His desire for physical contact, of any kind, with her has been heightened a bit in recent days. “That’s why you don’t feed fucking strays. Cause they keep coming back.”

Solana peers up at him, giggling, “you’re so mean to them sometimes.” Shifting her position so that her legs are laid out the opposite side of Roman, her back pressed against his side. His big arm is over her chest, her hands on his forearm. “I think….I think you like them more than you let on.”

“Really?” 

She nods, further explaining. “I don’t….I don’t think you would let them be as close to you as they are if you didn’t.”

Perceptive. Roman pegged that about Solana a while ago, when they first started writing, her previous preferred form of communication. She’s not entirely wrong. As fucking crazy Jimmy and Jey drive Roman, they’ve also been the two best and really only examples of friendships he has. Not to mention they’re family. 

“They’re….tolerable.”

She looks up at him, asking almost nervously, “and what am I?”

Such a good question that’s both simple and complicated. The easy answer is his wife. That’s just fact. Law. But the complex answer, the complex answer is that she’s so much more than that. That she’s become so much more than that. Where Roman finds himself craving her presence. A rarity for someone who typically avoids and shies away from social interactions like the plague.

Dipping his head to kiss her forehead, he answers in a low, steady voice, “my Lo’u Au.”

Her eyes flutter shut a bit as she murmurs, “it’s not fair you say things to me you know I can’t understand.” Roman watches her once again move around, this time sliding one leg over so that she’s sitting on his lap, straddling him. He doesn’t hesitate in moving his hands to the bottom of her ass, lifting her so she’s closer to him, her breast nearly touching his chest. Solana tilts her head to the side, whispering, “Yo siento muy bien contigo.”

Having her like this, so close against him, it doesn’t help that resolve, doesn’t do shit about the fact that his dick stiffens whenever she touches him. Like she is now. His eyes dip to her lips, so soft and full. “And what does that mean?”

Solana also seems to be on the same wavelength, her eyes also dropping to his mouth as she whispers with a small smile. “I’ll tell you when you tell me.”

Eyes shutting, Roman groans and tugs her even closer, her arms around his neck. “God, you drive me fuckin’ crazy.” Roman kisses her. Kisses her with all of the intensity and desire and borderline need he harbors for this woman.

And then she moans. She fucking moans in his mouth. His dick nearly fucking jerks as he stands up with her in his arms, Solana gasping and breaking the kiss to look around. “Roman….”

He needs to have his mouth on her, lips kissing the underline of her jaw as he brings them to the back of the jet, to the bed. He’s careful in how he lays her down, mindful of how she tugs on his shirt, pulling him on top of her and resuming their passionate kiss. 

Roman’s hands roam her body, but he pays extra attention to her breast, so big and soft, pillow soft under his hand as he kneads them, mindful of the way her nipples continue to harden under his touch.

“Roman….” Solana is breathing heavily, once again breaking their kiss, something he would otherwise be objected to if not for the two tiny words that leave her mouth. “Touch me.” 

His eyes widen a bit as he asks, almost unsure he heard her right. “What?”

Mouth parted, she licks her lips and again reiterates her previous request. “I—I want you to touch me.”

If not for not wanting to insult her intelligence, he’d remind her he is. He's touching her everywhere she’s previously admitted him access to. But, Roman would never do that nor is he stupid. He knows exactly what she’s referring to. And there’s suddenly a part of him that feels bad, wonders if she somehow thought that was the reason for him taking them to the bed. It wasn’t that. He just wanted privacy, wanted to give her that privacy. 

“Solana, I wasn’t—”

“Roman,” she says his name again, firmer, more committed almost to her request. “I trust you.” Three words. Three little words that pack such a heavy, emotional punch. “You’re…you’re going to have to when we finally…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Pl—please.” 

He shuts his eyes, jaw clenching. That one word alone coming from her is such a dangerous thing. Dangerous because it's incapable to say no to.

But, he doesn’t necessarily have to because her hand is on his, slowly moving it down from her breast, traveling down the span of her stomach and the top of her black pants. But instead of remaining there, Solana guides it under her waistband, her tour stopping when the palm of his hand presses softly on her mons pubis, still protected under the cotton of her underwear. Her eyes shut at this contact, but it’s when his fingers flitter near the space between her legs that she gasps.

His eyes snap to hers as he’s quick to ask, “do you want me to stop?”

And she’s immediately shaking her head ‘no,’ explain, “I’m just—not used to it.” She’s already so sensitive to his touch. Roman can’t even imagine what this level of sensitivity is going to look like when they go all the way. “It’s okay.” She’s again reassuring him, even spreading her thighs a bit, giving him better access.

Roman is hard as a fucking rock, but he taps into expert level self-control as he moves his other hand to her waistband, giving a slight tug. “Can I?”

She answers in a soft voice. “Yes.”

Solana lifts her hips as he slides her black pants down her shapely legs, his mouth practically watering to see and have so much of her soft skin exposed to him. He moves his hand to caress the skin of her inner thighs. She sighs, content, and this serves as more motivation to continue his efforts in following through on her task. 

Again, he’s making sure to catch her gaze. “Do….”

And once again, she partially takes him by surprise as she closes her eyes and instead of giving him the approval to remove the only remaining article of clothing keeping her covered from him, Solana takes her fingers to her underwear and pushes down, lifting her hips slightly until they're hooked around her ankles and kicked onto the floor.

Mouth previously watering, Roman feels a sudden, intense amount of dehydration. She’s completely bare and exposed to him, her cunt so smooth and pretty, lips glistening already just from their makeout.

If not for her trauma, he’d have already had this woman more times than he could count.

But, he’d especially already had her in his mouth. Licking his lips, he does his best to keep composure, maintaining the maturity of a grown ass man vs a horny ass teenage boy whose balls haven’t even dropped.

Once more, he asks, “are you sure?”

It might be overkill to some, but one thing’s for certain, he would never go this far without gaining her consent every step of the way. 

She answers, “yes.” 

Roman nods, starting his hand at the top of her belly, gradually teasing it downward until he’s touching her, long fingers gently caressing her lips, the tips of his fingers gathering some of her essence. “How you already this wet for me?”

It’s more rhetorical than anything, but it’s partially fueled with how her stomach caves in a bit just at that initial touch. Her being so responsive to just his hands does wonders for his ego but also fuels his burning to just make her feel good.

Roman uses long, slow strokes along the areas of her vulva, never taking his eyes off her face, mouth dropping open, eyes slamming shut and head craning back. Pleasure. She feels pleasure. That’s what he wants to see. All he wants to see.

There’s not an ounce of discomfort in sight.

“Roman…” Her moaning his name might be his new favorite song. So needy and wanton. It’s got his erection fighting for its life in his boxers. “Shit….”

He smirks a bit. “Must be good if I got you cussing, baby.” It’s evident in the way she becomes swollen underneath his expert touch, eventually exposing her clit. And it’s then that he brings his thumb to her clit, pressing softly, satisfied when she arches against the bed. “That’s it….”

Such light touches, not a finger entered into her yet, and she’s already so wet. Largely due to sexual deprivation and being touch starved. Of that, he’s certain. To be almost thirty and have never been touched as such as a woman seems almost criminal. He wants to give it to her though. Give her that experience. Give her all of the experiences. 

He works his thumb around her swollen clitoris, small circles, her growing wetness all the lube and slip he needs to work her good, in the way she deserves, in only how he can have her.

“Oh my god…” She’s starting to squirm against the bed, and he fucking loves it. Loves seeing how worked up he can get her. It makes the anticipation of actually being inside of her that much better. He plays around with different touches, different techniques, studying closely what seems to evoke the strongest physical reaction. A sort of a game, a way for him to learn her body, to learn what she likes. But also, for her to learn what she likes.

“You okay?” He checks in with her, seeing her nod ‘yes’ almost frantically. If not for the fact he can see speech is a bit difficult right now, he’d press her on actual words. But, he can extend some grace. “So fucking wet….” She’s a wet, soaking mess, pussy soaking his fingers, her thighs, and the bed under her. Not that he gives a flying fuck. Seeing her like this is better than he could have imagined, just a taste of what it’ll be like to be inside of her. 

But, it’s when he teases a finger near her opening, so wet and sticky that he clenches his jaw. Just that slight probing, and he can already tell how tight she is, can imagine that tightness gripping the mess out of his dick.

Roman carefully enters one finger and observes the way she tenses, whimpers, the way her cunt clenches against him. “Relax….” He coaxes her, talks her through it, allows her to adjust to the unfamiliar stretch while his thumb continues to play with her clit, never once stopping her pleasure train. 

And when she’s adjusted, he enters another finger, stopping there, not wanting to push her too far, recognizing how big this is for her. But when she shifts again, almost rocking against his fingers, Roman responds to her, moving in sync, staying along with her song and dance. He works with her, making the hitherto motion while his other fingers continue to rub and caress her into that higher room, that place of ecstasy. 

Roman can see it coming, can see her coming, see the way she starts to grip the sheets, the biting of her bottom lip.

“I’m—I’m—”

“Ride it out, baby. Let me see how pretty you look when you come on my hand.” His words of affirmation seem to take her over the edge, damn near her entire upper half arching off the bed, her body writing as she gives into the bliss, staying on that train to euphoria. 

Roman keeps his fingers inside of her just long enough to feel that fucking amazing sensation of making her come yet again, and he can’t help himself as he brings his soaked fingers to his mouth, tasting and licking off every bit of her. His eyes shut at her taste, just as fucking sweet as he imagined. 

God, he can’t wait to have this woman. 

Coming to, Solana sits up on her elbows a bit, looking down, becoming aware of just how messy things got. And she seems a bit embarrassed, offering what’s surely the start of an unnecessary apology. “I–oh my—I didn’t.”

Roman says nothing, just gets up and moves to the bathroom, grabbing a towel off the rack and bringing it to her. He’d clean her up himself, but he doesn’t necessarily trust himself to not try for take two.

Letting her handle it is the safest route, but he can work to dissuade any thought or feeling she might have that makes her think she did anything wrong.

“I’ll buy a new fucking mattress every damn day if it means I get to make you come like that.” 

Solana has cleaned herself and the bed as best she can as she reaches to slide her underwear back on. Roman has to push away his disappointment. She has such a pretty pussy. 

Her cheeks are red, partially because of what just occurred but also her naturally shy personality. “You’re really good at that.”

“I’m good at a lot of things, Solana.” He has every intention on eventually showing her just what those remaining things are, but time and place. 

He’ll be as patient with her as she needs. 

After Solana is all cleaned up, returned to a semi state of being adequately dressed, they fall into a sense of normalcy where she lays in bed, reading and writing a bit while he finishes up some work tasks on his laptop right beside her before she drifts off into a sleep that lasts longer than he was expecting.

He’s tempted to wake her when they start to descend, partially wanting her to look out the window at the clear, blue waters that he can admit are impressive looking. But, he decides against it, waiting until they’ve landed and are ready to exit the jet.

Gently shaking her shoulder, he stirs her, “Solana, wake up.” She does so relatively easily, pretty brown eyes blinking a little in confusion as he explains. “We made it.”

Those three words help bring her to a full state of consciousness. He smiles a bit seeing how she moves quicker than what’s probably necessary to get out of the bed and slide her shoes on, looking back at him and reaching for his hand.

Roman closes his laptop and does the same, taking her hand, guiding her out the jet. They’re both instantly met with an intense heat and radiating sun shining in their direction. They’re also met with the staff and security he made sure to have lined up and ready to go upon their arrival.  He walks out first, watching and taking her hand again as she follows him, face turned up in expected confusion. 

But, before she can ask anything, one of the men offers what may be a genuine smile. Not that Roman cares about that.

He flicks his gaze between the two of them. “Welcome to Isla Mujeres, Mr. and Mrs. Reigns….”

A loud gasp next to him is unsurprising, Solana almost spinning to look around, trying to process that she’s really standing on Mexican soil.

She eventually turns to him, eyes wide and then softening into something so warm and appreciative. “Roman…”

“It’s the only way I could get you to myself and away from my annoying ass cousins—” Once again, Roman is cut off by Solana throwing her body against his for a hug that results in him easily picking her up, her legs around his waist.. Similar to the embrace at the home library one. Emotional. Grateful. Happy.

She’s laughing a bit, even with tears burning her vision. “Thank you.”

Roman doesn’t correct her this time, just murmurs a ‘you’re welcome’ and kisses her temple. He  lets her back down, hand moving to her ass. “You’re gonna have to translate while we’re here though.”

Solana shakes her head. Such a small thing in exchange for such a major act of kindness. “That’s fine.” She holds onto his arm as the staff move to take their bags from the jet while security directs them to the SUV.

Solana is looking out the window almost the entire ride, captivated by the scenery, the landscape, the beauty of it all while he’s just focused on the beauty sitting right beside him.

She asks the driver something in Spanish, the answer putting an even bigger smile on her face. She turns to him, asking, “how long are we here for?”

“A week,” Roman answers, noticing the way her eyes light up even more. “Still think we shouldn’t have come?”

She rolls her eyes and playfully shoves her body against his, grabbing his arm and laying her head against his shoulder. “I just….I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You could never inconvenience me. I do what I want. You know this.” His lips linger near her hairline. “And I wanted to do this for you.”

“Well, I’m appreciative. So much. You….you don’t know how much this means to me.” 

He thinks he has an idea. 

The ride from the airport to the house is approximately twenty minutes, and just like the moment Solana stepped foot off the jet, she’s got that same look of marvel painted all over her pretty place at the property.

Roman, meanwhile, is just satisfied the pictures didn’t lie. If anything, they didn’t do it justice. 

She’s almost like a child on Christmas as she asks with excitement, “is this where we’re staying?” Before he can answer, she’s indirectly apologizing. “Roman, you didn’t have to spend so much money on this place. We’re only going to be here a week. We could have just—”

“I’m rich, Solana. I only do ownership.”

Her jaw drops again. “You bought this?” He nods. She scoffs, looking around, trying to process the fact that she’s technically standing on her property. “So….so we could come back?” 

“I don’t know how often I could come with you, but you’re welcome to come and go as you please.” It goes without saying she’d have hefty security detail as well as either Bayley or Naomi attending, but beyond that, Roman could never see himself denying her this. Denying her the opportunity to connect more with her maternal side since the paternal side has only ever caused her nothing but heartache.

Here, there’s a chance to rewrite the chapter. 

She walks over to him, holding onto his forearm, asking almost tentatively. “Can I look around the house?”

“How about we do this instead?” She looks genuinely curious as he explains. “If it’s regarding your safety, you ask. If not, you just do it.” Roman’s unsurprised by her unsure expression. “I don’t get to decide how you live your life. That’s all you.”

“Unless it could present a safety risk?”

“Exactly. Cause in that case, the answer is probably no.” A part of him dislikes having a caveat, but in the world they live in, with him being who he is, he can’t take any risks. He won’t take any risks. Not when it comes to her.

Ever.

Solana nods as if she understands better now. She slides her hand down, taking his with hers as she lightly tugs on his arm. “Come with me.”

It’s an easy request. There’s not much she could ask he’d say no to. If anything. 

Solana is just as amazed by the inside of the house as the outside, especially the kitchen, the first thing she gravitates to. Naturally.

“We have to go shopping,” she shares. “So I can cook.”

“Solana, you’re not cooking while we’re here.” She frowns, a pout almost on her pretty face. “We’re celebrating your birthday. The fuck I look like you making you cook on something that’s supposed to be for you? I hired a chef for us.”

Her frown softens a bit as she lays her hand on his chest. “You’re not making me do anything. I—I like cooking. You know this.”

“I know you do, but I want you to relax and enjoy yourself while we’re here.” His hands move down to her ass. “Starting with the pool in the back.”

A small smile grows on her face. “There’s a pool?”

He nods, imagining that sexy body of hers clad in one of those skimpy two pieces he told Bayley and Naomi to make sure she purchased plenty of. “I told you. Half naked, baby.” She giggles as he squeezes her ass and lightly pushes on his chest, separating them.

“Where’s our bedroom?”

He has to think about it for a minute. “Down the hall. Should be the first or second room on the right.” Again, she grabs his hand, guiding them based upon his directions. Directions that prove correct, Solana once again taken back by the luxury of it all. The room is damn near bigger than some apartments and provides direct access to the back of the house which houses the pool and hot tub.

“This is all so beautiful…..”

“Hmmm.”

Solana briefly turns from looking out the door when two of the guards bring her and Roman’s luggage into the room. She thanks them, while Roman just seems to glare at them to get them to leave immediately, which they do.

Once alone, she turns to Roman, “can we—” He doesn’t even have to correct her. She does it all on her own. “I—I want to go see the beach.”

He smirks. Assertiveness looks damn good on her. “Then let’s go to the beach.”

________

Roman is both surprised and unsurprised when Solana walks out the bathroom, a cover up partially preventing him from seeing whatever bathing suit she picked. And his disappointment must show as she murmurs, “I’ll take it off when we get there.”

Feeling like it’ll help her feel a bit better, less self-conscious, he informs, “it’ll just be us. I had the beach….cleared, if you will.”

Obviously confused, she wonders aloud, “how….how do you clear a beach?” Solana gasps, lowering her voice as she asks in an almost scared tone. “Did you….did you kill anyone?”

“Not today. Not yet, at least.” The way her eyes widen a bit makes him chuckle. “I’m Roman Reigns, Solana.” He walks past her, adding with all of the arrogance that he can without a doubt back up, “I always get what I want.”

Solana says nothing. Not that she needs to say anything. However, she notices then what Roman was messing with on the bed before she walked out the bathroom. “What is this?” She walks over, reaching for but not touching the camera. “You bought a camera?”

“I’ve had that for years.”

Curious, she less asks and more makes a simple statement, sharing, “I didn’t know you were into photography.”

He shrugs, almost indifferent. Dismissive. “It’s an interest. Haven’t really done much of it in a while.”

“You should,” she encourages. Solana would love to see and support him embrace a side of him that isn’t so deeply embedded in his work that seems never ending. “Especially while we’re here. It’s all so beautiful…”

“I could photograph you and get the same result.”

She smiles, looking away while admitting, “I—I don’t really like having my picture taken.”

“Too bad.” She looks back at him, Roman explaining. “That’s also an insecurity thing. I told you. I’m not letting you feed your insecurities.”

A part of her is grateful for that, grateful for him. Appreciative that he always seems to remind her of these things that she still struggles to notice or believe about herself from time to time. Like the fact that she is beautiful.

“Okay,” she relents, partially knowing it’s not like Roman will give in anyway. “But…but you can’t show them to anyone.”

“Solana, I don’t like sharing you with anyone as it is. You really think I’m trying to share some pictures?” It’s a fair, valid point. “No, I won’t show them to anyone.”

Pleased with the acknowledgement, the two finish getting ready and are out the door in less than 20 minutes. Given the fact that the property is more or less on the water, they opt, more Solana, asks to walk versus driving. Roman isn’t opposed. The beach is cleared, security is roaming the property, not to mention it’s a beautiful day.

Plus, he enjoys intentionally lagging a bit behind to enjoy the jiggle of her ass as she walks ahead of him.

Truly a win-win for all.

The minute she steps foot onto the sand, enters onto the actual beach, there’s a bit of a shift. Nothing negative. The complete opposite. Roman can sense her emotion growing, the reality of finally being in her mom’s home country truly settling in. 

He’s partially surprised by just how quickly she moves to the actual water, standing in the space where sand and ocean meet.

“My mom was right….” His gaze falls on her. “It’s so beautiful.” She steps forward a bit more, wind pushing the water closer as it grazes her feet. “I want to go in.” Another slight surprise, but not entirely. A part of the reason he’s been having her get in the pool was for this very moment, to lessen and minimize her fear so she could truly embrace this experience for all it can offer.

He nods but gestures to the camera bag. “Pictures first.”

She scowls a bit, and he chuckles, pulling the camera out. “Roman…”

“Non-negotiable, baby.” And she knows this, knows he’s not letting up when it comes to building her self-esteem and demolishing her body insecurity.

“Okay….” It feels a bit strange at first, posing as Roman snaps photos of her. She’s more than certain the first set of photos look just as awkward as she feels. But as time passes and with his encouragement and slight guidance, the awkwardness melts into something similar to relaxation. Her smile is a natural thing vs the result of being told to smile. 

And even when he tells her to remove the cover up, there’s some level of apprehension about being photographed in her bathing suit, but there’s also a level of confidence and reassurance that it’s literally just the two of them.

Roman has her damn near posing like it’s a real photoshoot, and when all is said and done, she’s tugging on his arm as he puts the camera away. “Come with me.”

Solana is both surprised and thankful when he doesn’t push back on her request, doesn’t deny it. There’s an obvious level of disinterest, but it’s nothing compared to his desire to make her happy. 

And in the beautiful ocean water that brushes past in little ripples and slight waves against her shoulder, holding onto her strong, handsome husband who seems to look at her like she set all the stars in the sky, she feels just that:

Happy

________

Solana is unsure just how long they spend at the beach. Long enough that by the time they return to the house, the chef he hired for them, an older, kind woman named Maria, has dinner just about ready to serve. And it’s exactly when they finish showering and cleaning up, the plate of delicious food is laid on the table, ready to devour.

It’s a bit of a different yet pleasant experience being able to have dinner with her husband. More often than not, he has to take it in his office due to his volume of work. So having him across from her, being able to talk with him while they indulge in Pozole is a kind of happiness she could get used to. 

But, it’s later that evening when they lay in the bed, Solana’s body sprawled on top of his much bigger one, Roman’s hand under her pajama shirt rubbing her skin, that something comes over her. A desire to unload something that’s been oscillating in the back of her head, no matter how many times she tries to push it away.

“I feel bad.” 

He doesn’t look down, just asks her calmly, “about?”

Solana licks her lips. “I didn’t mean to hurt him that badly.”

Roman had a feeling that’s what she was referring to, but he didn’t want it to be true. “Solana—”

“I know. I know I defended myself, but….” She tries to word it as best she can, though she also knows there’s little to no way Roman will abandon his ardent belief that Wes got exactly what he deserved. “I keep thinking about my mom and how….she always reminded me that at the end of the day, Wes is my brother, and a lot of his behavior was because of my dad.”

Roman does his best to keep his voice leveled, to keep out the unsettled anger he holds and will always hold against her piece of shit sibling. He doesn’t want her to think any level of that anger is directed toward her. “You were kids then, Solana. Sure, Xavier probably said and influenced a lot of things, but your brother isn’t a child anymore. He’s a grown man. There’s no excuse for the things he’s said and done to you.”

None whatso–fucking—ever.

And Solana knows that, hence her expressing agreement. “I know you’re right.” Her voice drops a bit, paving way for more vulnerability. “I just….I was so angry that night, and…and I’m not an angry person. I—I don’t like that.” Before he can continue his work to take away her unrequited feelings, she asks almost over a whisper, “what does it feel like to kill someone?”

Her question takes him back a bit, but he knows why she’s asking, where it’s coming from.

“Solana—”

She sits up, looking down at him, eyes watering. “If he dies….”

He brings his hand to her cheek, comforting her, “he won’t. That bastard isn’t allowed to die. Not unless it’s by my hand.”

Roman has ensured Wes has the best medical care money can provide solely for the fact that while his beating was well-deserved, it’s paltry compared to all of the ways Roman wants to make that bastard suffer before he encounters the fiery gates of hell. 

Xavier as well.

She shakes her head, sniffling, “I don’t—I can’t live with knowing I took someone’s life. I—” Her voice cracks. “I just can’t.”

“You won’t,” he vows. Anyone who would ever need to cease to exist because they’ve wronged her in some way, he would handle. He will handle. Because he agrees. Solana is a pure soul. Despite all of the evil surrounding and done to her, she’s retained her kind heart and gentle spirit. Killing someone, taking another life, destroys that, forever pollutes the soul in a way that’s irreversible. 

Roman would die before he let that happen to her.

But the topic of this conversation, it brings something else up for Solana. Something that literally shatters her spirit to think about, let alone verbalize aloud. But, she has to tell him, can’t keep it to herself any longer. It’s not fair to him with how good he’s been to her. 

She loves him too much to continue to lie to him.

“Roman…” Her throat suddenly feels so dry, stomach weighed down by a slate of concrete. “There’s something I—”

“Shhhh.” He sits up, bringing his other hand to her cheek, fully cupping her face. “Tomorrow is your birthday, Solana. You don’t need to be this upset.” He again brushes away her tears, gently adding, “I don’t like seeing you upset.”

Her eyes shut. He has no idea the increased emotion is for an entirely different reason. “But—”

Roman seems keen on not allowing the conversation to continue, solely because he dislikes how troubled she’s getting. Sees it as unfair. “It’s gonna be fine.” He then asks, “you trust me, don’t you?” She nods softly. That’s given at this point. There’s no one she trusts more than Roman Reigns. “Then trust I’ve got this.”

Her eyes shut, as she tries to listen and marinate on his words. Her husband is adept at remaining calm and being prepared for any and everything. She…she has to trust that for right now. Trust him. 

Has to table this conversation. For now.

Roman guides her to lay back down on his chest, Solana snuggling against him. “I’ve got you, Sol.” Her heart nearly bursts at that, at the nickname she hasn’t been called in years. The name her mother often referred to her as. Her eyes shut, stomach settling, emotions subsiding in the way only Roman seems capable of orchestrating. “Always.”

________

The first thing Solana notices when she wakes up the next morning is the noticeable empty space besides her. The space where Roman should be sleeping, his muscular arm around her body, holding her against him. 

Instead, she awakes on her back, alone, with no Roman in sight.

She frowns for a few seconds, sitting up in the bed and rubbing her eyes. The sadness shifts away just as soon as it appeared. Solana knows he must either be in the gym or doing something for work. There’s very little concern that he’s ventured far.

It’s why she grabs her phone off the nightstand only to find a plethora of birthday texts and an attached photo of Dulce in the group chat with her, Naomi, Bayley, Jimmy, and Jey.

Bayley: Happy birthday, friend! Roman’s ass better be treating you like the queen you are! 💙 Love you so much and can’t wait until you get back so we can fuck up some more trucks together! 😜

Naomi: What Bayley said! Happy freaking birthday, Solana! Even if you wanted to, you ain’t getting rid of us. Sisters for life! 💚

Jey: Happy birthday, lil sis! Make sure you take lots of pics of Free Willy over there!

Jimmy: Man, you dumb asf. They supposed to look at dolphins! Not sharks! Free Willy was a shark!

Jimmy: Happy birthday, sis!

Naomi: Solana, you can feel absolutely feel free to mute this chat until you return. 😐

Bayley: Or forever.

There’s a myriad of emotions coursing through her. So much happiness. Bayley. Naomi. Jimmy. Jey. A family. They’ve become her family. 

It brings tears to her eyes and keeps her in bed a couple minutes longer as she basks in the kind words and love.

It also keys her into just what Roman has planned for her big day. That brings on an additional layer of emotionality. He’s so so good to her.

Solana: Thank you, guys. You all have no idea what you mean to me. 🥺♥️

Placing her phone on the nightstand, she finally climbs out of bed and into the bathroom to pee, brush her teeth, and wash her face. She decides against placing the robe over her pajamas. An unnecessary thing considering Roman’s seen just about all of her at this point.

It'll make telling or asking him the realization she’s come to just a tad bit easier.

Out the bathroom and down the steps, sure enough, she finds him, burly body plopped down on one of the chairs in the kitchen, Maria working away to prepare what’s probably a more than necessary, grand breakfast.

Roman’s hearing and peripheral vision is expert level, because she’s barely in the kitchen when he lifts his gaze from the open laptop in front of him and sets his sights on her. One finger beckons her in his direction. An unnecessary thing considering that’s exactly where she was already headed.

Solana is easily guided onto his lap, Roman taking index finger under her chin for a kiss that’s so soft compared to his typically rough demeanor. She smiles. “Good morning….”

He chuckles. “Morning.” His hand moves to her cheek, “happy birthday.”

Heart filled, she lays her head against his shoulder, intentionally not looking at the computer in the event it’s private but still asks. “What are you doing?”

He instead motions for her to do just that. “Look.”

She does, and instantly she’s burying her face back into him. “Roman, I hate looking at pictures of myself.” Because that’s what’s on his screen, one of the photos he took of them at the beach yesterday. 

“Too bad, cause that might be one of my new favorite things.” She smiles yet again, a given whenever she’s around him. Solana also finds herself forcing her attention back to the screen, reaching to click through the photos, most of her, which is uncomfortable but still bearable. However, her attention is mostly drawn to the ones not of her, of the beach and nature and scenery that he took. 

“These are so good.” She finds herself complimenting him, because it’s true. Added to the long list of things Roman is exceptionally good at is photography. She teases him a little. “You should photograph more.”

He scoffs, an almost bitter tone to his voice. Not directed at her, of course. “When?”

She shrugs. “I—I don’t know, but we can figure it out. If…if you like to do it, then you should do it.” And just like that, she’s determined to help him figure out just that. It’s the least she can do for him.

Truly.

Noticing Maria multitasking, Solana calls out and asks, “Maria, do you need any help?”

The older woman gasps dramatically and waves away the offer as if it was an insult. “Nonsense, child. It is your birthday. You must rest and let that handsome husband of yours treat you.”

Solana laughs a bit. 

Roman asks, “what did she say?”

“I asked her if she needs any help, and she basically told me I don’t get to do any of that cause it’s my birthday.”

“Damn straight,’ Solana giggles as he moves his hand to her hip. “We’ll leave after breakfast.”

Being honest, she dances her fingers up his arm, teasing almost, “I know where we’re going….” 

Roman gives her one of those infamous smirks which quickly drops when he realizes something. “Which one was it? Dumb or Dumber?”

Giggling, she hands him her phone, opening the group chat and showing him the messages.

His eyes rake over the words, and Solana has to bite back her laugh at the absolute irritated expression painted on his handsome face when he’s done. “Even hundred fucking miles away, they ruin shit.”

She kisses his cheek, wanting to calm him down. “It’s okay.” Solana suddenly asks. “Are you gonna do it with me?”

He gives her a look. “That’s for you, Sol. Not me.”

She pouts a little, gently reminding him, “but…it can be for the both of us.”

“Swimming with Dolphins screams you. Not me.” He adds on with an almost scowl and shake of his head. “I’m too old for that shit.” Curious, he switches the topic a bit, asking, “does our age difference bother you?”

“I never really thought of it,” she answers, honestly. Roman being older than her truly has never been anything she’s considered to be an issue. At the beginning of this whole arrangement, she had a slate of other much more relevant reasons to be cautious and wary. All of those reasons almost making her laugh a bit because they’re so far away from the truth. “So, no.” She shrugs, adding. “I—I never really had good luck with guys my age anyway.” Or, at all, really. “Besides….” She chews on her bottom lip, coyly starting off a leading sentence, “there’s nothing about you that bothers me….except—”

Roman is every bit as eager as he looks for the rest. “Except?”

She bats her eyelashes, almost intentionally trying to butter him up. “If you could be a little nicer to your cousins….”

“Baby, how many times do we have to have this conversation?” He once again reiterates what, in his mind, should be painfully obvious. “I’m not a nice person.”

“But you are,” she stresses, fingers moving through his beard. “You are to me.”

“It’s different with you, Solana.” He’s not necessarily in the space to explain just how it’s different, but it is. She’s in a category all on her own. “Look….do my cousins piss me off at least 8 times a day? Yes. Do I have thoughts of homicide regarding them at least once a day? Sure. But….” He blows out a breath. “We’ve been friends since we were little kids. They’re family. I would die for them just as quickly as I know they would die for me.”

While she understands his point and is grateful for his level of openness and vulnerability, Roman and death in the same sentence brings out an almost physical reaction on her part.

That’s not even something she can tolerate thinking about.

She would lose her fucking mind if something were to ever happen to him. 

Solana is desperate to change the subject, needing something, literally anything, other than Roman dying to think about. “I….I know what I want you to give me for my birthday.”

His brow lifts as he asks with a bit of attitude. “You planning on telling me, considering it’s here?”

She smiles softly, finger trailing down his face. “Later….” Solana climbs off his lap, rubbing her stomach. “Right now, I just want to eat breakfast with my husband.”

________

It’s called Dolphin Discovery. The activity Roman has planned for the morning of her birthday, and it consists of exactly what the title implies as well as what Jimmy and Jey unintentionally spoiled for her.

Not that that’s a big deal, per se.

It doesn’t dim her excitement. The way her smile is painted on her face at the private event Roman arranged for just them, the only other people are the staff and instructors who guide the event. 

Solana is even able to convince Roman to join her for a short period of time in the water, granted he looks irritated and uninterested the entire time. Still, she knows his focus and priority is just making sure she has a nice time.

And she does. 

It’s full of smiles and laughter. 

Just as the rest of the day as Solana asks to go to the beach after, fully enamored with the crystal clear water and beauty that is the island of las mujeres. Of course, this comes with the almost stipulation from Roman that he has to photograph her again.

She’s less uncomfortable this time around, posing for his photos without as much reservation. The decreased inhibitions largely due to her overall happiness. Solana hasn’t felt so great, so in love with life for a very long time.

If ever. 

But, she’s even more touched when Roman guides them back to the beach later that evening what’s a private dinner for just the two of them.

“Roman….” She can’t help to take in the beautiful set up as he pulls out the seat for her. “This is so beautiful….”

He takes her in as he sits opposite of her, the way her dress hugs her so beautifully, the soft set of her eyes as she continues to marvel, smiling so genuinely at the setup. “Very…”

She brings her attention back onto him, reminding, “Roman, you really….you really didn’t have to do all of this. I would have been just as happy back home with you.”

“That’s too boring.” He dismisses, reaching across the table for her hand. “Too close to people. I wanted you to myself.”

She smiles, teasing him a bit. “Is that why it’s just been mostly you and me so far?”

“Damn straight.” 

She giggles, head tilted as she turns his hand over, tracing the lines of his palm. “Me haces muy feliz….”

His eyes squint with intrigue. “You’re really going to make me learn Spanish, aren’t you?”

“No,” she answers softly, focused on her gesture with his hand. “I’m…I’m not saying anything you don’t already know.”

“Which is?” 

Her eyes lift to his, locking intensely. “How much I care about you.” 

How much I love you.

That part…..that he doesn’t know. Or maybe he does. Solana knows she wears her heart on her sleeve to a certain extent. Knows how perceptive her husband is. But, if he has noticed, he hasn’t said anything. And she’s partially grateful for that, because acknowledging her love for him, internally anyway, is something that she’s okay with. Something she doesn’t really question.

She can’t say the same for him.

Love and Roman have a complicated history she can’t even begin to truly understand. It may not be something he feels capable of anymore, not after the kind of loss he experienced. And she can understand that. She’s okay with that. Because the way he treats her, the way he makes her feel, the happiness he brings her….it’s more than enough.

It’s all she needs.

The dinner itself is just as wonderful as any other meal they’ve had the past two days, but what Solana mostly enjoys is the conversation. Being able to talk to and with Roman has easily become one of her favorite things. Their conversation never goes stale, and even when she worries she’s annoying him, he keeps it going.

He truly is becoming one of her best friends. Not in the same way Naomi and Bayley have. Something different, something deeper almost. Still as appreciated. 

And it’s when the dinner comes to a close, Solana is once again taken back by Roman’s nearly limitless generosity when he gifts her a set of bracelets, Louis Vuitton, Cartier, and other luxury brands she’s certain the combination of cost equalling what some people pay for homes let alone jewelry. 

The depth of his kindness toward her will never cease to amaze her.

Back at the house, she has a bit of a hard time getting him to use the shower in the master bedroom vs using the one down the hall. She comes up with a weak excuse regarding shower design preference, and while she’s certain he doesn’t believe her one bit, he lets it go.

And Solana is utterly grateful, because she needs to be completely separated in order to prepare for the thing she’s wanted and thought about since last night, since she decided it’s truly what she wants.

Everything he’s done thus far has been more than thoughtful, but this….this is something on an entirely different level. 

She’s just stepped out the shower and wrapped the towel around her body when a random thought about what tonight could and most likely will entail flashes in her mind. 

Solana closes her eyes and tries to ignore the aching between her legs, even if she knows it’s a fruitless effort. 

Roman has been an absolute saint, patient beyond belief with her and this gradual process of working up to being intimate. Always checking in with her every step of the way.

But…..but lately, she finds herself….thinking about him in….different ways. Wondering what it would be like to finally go all the way. To be with him fully in that way.

Ways she previously couldn’t allow herself to think about. Too hindered by the memories of her trauma. 

Yet with him, it’s something unlike what she’s used to. Her chest doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode, and she doesn’t find herself panicking, needing to push him away from her, to not have any hands on her because they all feel the same, the same as her rapists.

With Roman…..that’s not her story. It’s just him she sees, feels, wants.

By the time she’s done with her shower, Solana has to reach across the bathroom counter to wipe her hand across the fogged mirror. She hits the switch for the vent and digs through her toiletries bag for the essentials and gets into her routine, focusing way too much on what she’s doing to avoid the thought sitting impatiently in the back of her head.

But, it’s when she’s reached the end of her routine and goes to grab her bra and panties she had sitting on the counter, that she pauses.

Scared.

Solana realizes that’s one of the dominant emotions she’s struggling with. She’s scared to go for what she wants. It’s a tale as old as time. Fear is always the thing that holds us back the most, that keeps us from reaching goals, attaining desires, being freed.

For so long, she believed that she was damaged. That the trauma of her past made it impossible for her to ever have a healthy sexual relationship with another person. But Roman has changed that. He’s changed her life in so many ways, and now, she is presented with the chance and opportunity to take back her power, to reclaim her sexuality.  

And now….she’s ready to do just that. 

Solana slowly retracts her hand and instead slides her pink, silk gown over her head, ignoring the almost strange feeling of having nothing underneath her dress. Solana keeps staring at her reflection, mentally going over everything: floss, mouthwash, deodorant, lotion, perfume on all of her pulse points. 

When she realizes that she’s only stalling, she forces herself to leave the bathroom. Solana makes her way down the hall and into the master. She’s relieved to see he’s still in the bathroom and decides to sit and wait on the edge of the bed. Similar to how her nerves are on edge. In the bathroom, the pep talk was more motivating and inspiring. Now, in this space, her anxiety is doing those damn flips again. 

“Solana?” Her head lifts and she stands up. Roman is standing near the bathroom door, shirtless, gray sweats hanging dangerously low, his hair down. Solana watches his gaze darken, slowly taking in her immodest state, focusing on the clear outline of her nipples pressing against the thin material. “What are you—”

She says nothing and instead grabs his hand, leading him to the bed. She switches their positions and guides him to sit on the end of the bed as she straddles him, her legs on either side of him. Solana refuses to think about the possible exposure from this position and instead focuses on him.

“I want you,” is all she says, quiet but sure. “I want you for my birthday.”

His face reads a mixture of emotions, primarily confusion. 

And lust.

“Solana….” He seems to want to move his hands to her waist but hesitates. “I didn’t….that’s not why I brought you here. I would never pressure you—”

“I know,” she interrupts, softly. “You’ve always let me set the pace, so….so let me set it now.” She brings her hands to his face, looking him dead in the eye as she repeats, “What I want for my birthday….is you.” A fleeting thought creeps across her mind when she adds, “unless….unless you don’t want me th—”

Roman switches their positions so quickly that she can barely process what’s happening until she’s flat on her back with him hovering above her. His eyes are fluttering as he works to settle himself, breathing out, “I’ve always wanted you, baby. Just needed you to tell me when.”

She licks her lips and lightly glides her fingers over his abs. He’s so firm. “And now?”

“Now?” Roman moves his hand to her knees, slowly prying them apart. She breathes in as he starts to move his fingers up the inside of her legs. “After tonight, ain’t nobody else gon’ have you like this,” his thumb brushes over her inner thigh and she grabs his bicep. “Feel you like this,” Solana’s head goes back into the bed when he glosses his fingers over her apex. “Or taste you like this but me.” Their gazes lock. “Understood? You’re mine.”

His tone is commanding and authoritative. She can mumble a quiet ‘yes’ in agreement when his head drops between the crook of her neck, his hair fanning her face, pulling his hand from between her legs. “Promise me you’ll tell me if we need to stop.” 

She gently caresses the back of his neck, reassuring him. “Roman, I’m fin—”

“Solana,” he interrupts. There’s no denying or questioning of the seriousness in his tone of voice. “Promise me.”

She nods and rakes her fingers over his scalp. “I promise.”

Roman is visibly pleased by this, eyes raking over her body. “Good.” He lowers his lips to hers, hands moving to explore her body. “So fucking pretty….”

The light kiss easily progresses into something more intense, something deeper, something that has her feeling so flustered and warm all over. His pants are quickly discarded, leaving him in boxers only. Roman continues to massage and knead her breast, along with the palming of her ass yet still makes active efforts to receive consent, always checking her comfort levels.

Initiating this is major.

Her lips are nice and swollen when he starts kissing around her face before grabbing her hand and turning it over. Two long fingers press against her wrist. 

He doesn’t say anything for a good minute, prompting her to ask, “what are you—”

“Do you trust me?” 

There’s not a second of hesitation or delay. “Of course.” 

“I need to relax you more.” With his free hand, his thumb flicks over her nipple as he explains, just as tender as every other thing he’s done to maintain her comfort. “You’re still tensing a bit under me, and the more tense you are, the more it’s going to hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you…”

Swallowing, she replies back in the same soft tone. “You could never hurt me, Roman.” His eyes flash with something almost soft. Like affection. Like something deeper. “But…I understand. What…what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t want you to do anything. Tonight is about you.” Her eyes flutter shut as he brings his mouth back to her neck, speaking against her soft skin. “Just want you to let me take care of you…” And it’s as he continues to travel down her body, tugging at her dress as much as he can to press a trail of kisses between the valley of her breast, and halting near her covered belly button that she understands what he’s asking her.

And suddenly her cheeks are on fire. Solana isn’t entirely naive. She knows that plenty of people engage in oral sex, but she’s also heard a lot of men prefer not to. Prefer to receive rather than give. “I…..you….you don’t have to—”

“Solana, I’ve wanted to taste you since the first day I met you.” His words, dark and dripping with need make her bite down on her bottom lip as his finger trails along her inner thigh. “Will you let me?”

She’s insecure and a shade of unsure for reasons entirely unrelated to her trauma. Maybe there’s some influence there, but it’s primarily the intimacy of it all. But, she then realizes he’s eventually going to be inside of her before the night ends, so his mouth being on her most intimate area….isn’t really a major difference.

Swallowing, she answers, voice catching for a second with a need she didn’t recognize until this moment. “Y–yes.”

His eyes light with desire, but he doesn’t miss a beat in reminding her yet again that she’s fully in control tonight. “Tell me to stop and we stop. I don’t care what’s happening. All I care about is you. Alright?” 

Solana nods. “O–okay.”

Roman kisses her stomach and wastes no time in helping her remove her dress, leaving her fully exposed to him, physically and emotionally. Slowly, he pries her thighs apart, seeing how she bites on her bottom lip when he teases a finger against her. 

“Still so sensitive…..” There’s a level of intrigue there, Solana watching Roman push his hair back, his tongue exiting his mouth and wetting his lips. “You’ll get used to me.”

She’s not sure she could ever get used to a man like Roman, and the minute his tongue flattens against her there, she’s almost certain she’ll never get used to that.

“Oh my god.”

He looks up at her, Solana suppressing a moan at the sight of his big body between the space of her thighs, mouth curved into a wry smile. “I barely touched you, baby….”

That doesn’t stop the fire coursing through her body.

“You want me to stop?” A frantic shaking of her head to signify a hell no is all he needs. He’ll settle for no verbal acknowledgement this time. “Good.” Salona gasps as he hooks the back of her knees over his big shoulders. “Now lay back and let me take care of you...”

It seems like all Roman has done is take care of her, but this is a new level of care, one that has her scratching and gripping helplessly at the sheets as he licks at her one, two, three times before his tongue darts around and plays with her in a way that makes her stomach tangled and twisted.

Solana whimpers when he starts sucking on her clit. “Fuck being inside you, just let me stay with this sweet pussy in my mouth.”

For a second, she considers it, because the way he laps and sucks on her has her brain practically fried trying to comprehend how just his tongue alone can have her nearly worming off the bed.

His big, strong hands grip her thighs, holding her in place as he never once lifts his head for air.

“Roman…..”

“You taste better than I imagined.” She swears she feels him kiss her slick folds. “Gonna have you sit on my face the next time….”

The terror at that thought is short lived and stomped upon by his hands traveling up her body, gripping her breast, squeezing just enough to make her moan yet again, head pressed back into the pillow. 

His name slips out her mouth for what feels like the 20th time as she moves her hands on top of his, stomach arching, pussy pressing further against his mouth. He makes a sound down there, but sound isn’t the focus when all of her most sensitive nerve endings are being so beautifully catered to.

But then it becomes too much, Roman switching to a lethal combination that includes sucking on her clit while two fingers enter inside her. It has her nearly jumping off the bed, unintentionally inching away from him.

Roman hums against her lifting up only to warn, “stop running from me, baby.” He’s playing with the mess she’s made, essence practically dripping from his beard. “This pussy is too good to not indulge myself.”

And before she can protest, can try to find some words to string together, he’s back in between her legs, and Solana finds her hands moving to the top of his hand. She can’t tell if she wants to just shove him away or shove him closer. 

A strange yet wonderful dichotomy. 

There’s no telling how long he’s down there, feasting so eagerly on her like he’s been waiting on this. Like, he’s been yearning for this. The same way Solana is starting to realize she too unintentionally wanted this. Wanted to know what it could and does feel like to be intimate, to have those normal, sexual needs met. It was just all hidden and obscured behind a dense wall of trauma the same man bringing her to heaven has helped her dismantle. 

She owes him so much.

Especially for the way he gives her an orgasm that has her wanting to scream his name loud enough for anyone within 100 miles to hear. That just might have been the case too if she didn’t press her lips together as she rode out her orgasm, Roman still remaining between her thighs as he helps her through it, letting her ride out her pleasure still against his greedy mouth.

He seems so hungry for her. 

When he finally makes his way up, presses his lips against her, Solana moans at the taste of herself on his mouth. He smirks against her lips.

“I told you I’m good at a lot of things..”

She smiles, her eyes blinking. “Roman, I—I’m ready.”

He doesn’t look surprised, but he does look hesitant. “Solana….”

“This is what I want. I—I want to be with you….fully.” Even as the words leave her mouth, the aftershock of her orgasm still trying to subside, she’s nervous. She’s nervous because there will always be that small voice in the back of her head telling her she shouldn't, that she can’t, that sex has been forever ruined for her. 

But, it’s almost as if just looking at Roman, at feeling his desire and care for her, it snuffs those voices out, locks them in a closet with a key that he’ll make sure is never found. “I—I want you inside me.”

And there’s something either about that or the way she words it that seems to trigger the okay switch for him. He gently traces the outline of her lips. “We’ll take it slow.” 

She nods as he brings his fingers to her wrist again. Her pulse. She realizes he’s checking for her pulse, trying to gauge her heart rate, assessing for any spiked anxiety. 

“You’re relaxed, but…it still might hurt at first.”

“I know,” she murmurs, heat rising to her cheeks as she explains so simply yet accurately. “It’s…it’s because you’re big.”

Roman smiles, and that alone chips away a chunk of her anxiety. His smile is so beautiful.

It’s not missed upon her, however, that he doesn’t deny it. Not that he can. She’s heard enough, felt enough, even seen enough to some extent to know that he is very much an overall big man. And yet there’s not a damn thing about him that she finds intimidating, that she’s scared of.

His strength doesn’t scare her. Not anymore.

Just makes her feel safe. 

Solana feels him shift atop her, but she doesn’t remove her gaze from the vaulted ceiling above them. He’s most likely removing his boxers, the only piece of clothing separating that part of him from that part of her. 

She tries to lower her eyes down between their heated bodies, partially wanting to see him for herself, to see what’s about to enter her when Roman brings his hand under her chin, forcing her gaze back onto him. “It’s just you and me….okay?”

Her eyes flutter closed for a second as she nods, opening and breathing back, “you and me…”

Roman lowers his mouth back onto hers, taking her for a slow sensual kiss that’s timed perfectly with the exact moment the thick tip of his dick gradually descends into her tight, wet opening. Solana gasps into his mouth, taken back by the stretch of him, a slight burning sensation that’s eased by the way he kisses her jawline, asking if she wants him to stop.

The answer is easy. 

“N–no. I’m fine.” She murmurs, grabbing him by his face and kissing him again, utilizing the talent of his mouth on hers to blur away the borderline discomfort of his initial entry. Roman is certainly well endowed and an initial level of pain is to be expected, both from his size and her experience. But, she needs his kisses to keep her from gravitating to that other painful experience, to keep her from getting triggered.

And something tells her that he knows as much without her needing to say anything. He’s consistent and dedicated in keeping his mouth on hers, his tongue raking across her bottom lip before he enters in yet another part of her. She does her best to keep up with him, to match his passion, but deep pants often break their rhythm as he continues to sink into her. He feels so deep, and he’s not even all the way in.

And when she’s moaning and groaning at the newfound stretch of him, his voice is in her ear apologizing, asking again if she wants him to stop. The answer is the same as before. Just worded differently.

“I want all of you.” 

The good. The bad. It doesn’t matter. She just wants him.

Roman is the one to groan this time, resting his forehead against hers, “fuck, you’re so tight.”

Once finally and fully seated in her, Solana is grateful that he gives her a second to breathe, to adjust to this new sensation. Still uncomfortable, the fullness in such a sensitive area, but also comforted by Roman, by his constant attempts to assess her comfort levels. It’s why after a few minutes she glides her hands up his arms and encourages him to continue. “M–move.”

He’s studying her, like he’s done at every point throughout this process. “Are you sure?”

She nods and quickly remembers his one rule. “Yes.”

Though her eyes are closed, Solana can feel Roman’s gaze burning into her as he shifts his hips, the thickness of him slowly sliding out of her, lessening that fullness only to slowly re-enter, bringing it right back. He keeps this pace, slow and gradual, working her as gently as he can, never not watching for any sign of distress. 

And it’s at some point that burning sensation washes away into something unfamiliar but desirable. It morphs into a form of pleasure that has her head slipping back against the pillow, her stomach starting to cave under his expert thrusts. His name falls out her mouth in the form of a breathy moan. “Roman….”

“Does that feel good?” She cries out as he kisses her shoulder, hand kneading her breast. “Tell me what feels good.”

The answer is easy, “everything.” And she means it, there’s not a trace of pain she can identify as she moves her hands up his muscular back as he switches up his pace, quicker but deeper thrusts that have her nails digging into his taut skin. “Oh….”

His head drops down in the crook of his neck. “God, you feel fucking amazing.” His hands drop to her hips, pulling her up to meet him thrust for thrust. “Could stay inside of you like this for hours….”

Solana chews down on her bottom lip, back arching as he adjusts his hips, reaching her even deeper, hitting another sensitive spot that has her eyes watering. “Roman.”

“That’s it. Say my name, baby.” And she does, again and again, his name a song on her lips that’s sweet music he wants to keep on repeat for the rest of his life. “You don’t know what you do to me, Solana.”

Whatever it is can’t be as good as he’s making her feel. Solana could scream from the absolute rapture he’s bringing her body, elevating her to places unseen and almost too good to be real. 

“Te quiero mucho.”

He has no idea what she just said, but he has no doubt it’s an expression of bliss, and it only encourages him to dive deeper, to rut into her a little harder. Her pleasure is the roof, but that’s a limitation. He doesn’t do limitations.

He wants to never stop hearing his name leave her mouth, breathy and wanton. She’s a mess underneath him, wet ass pussy gushy, gripping the shit out of him like he’s never experienced. It actually takes a bit of effort on his his part to not come before she does, a arduous task considering she’s never looked more fucking beautiful being underneath him like this, every little facial expression making his dick pulse inside of her.

Roman has always heard people say sex is even better when it’s someone you actually care about. He never believed that shit. He never believed that shit until now. Because he’s never felt something, never felt someone, as good as what Solana feels right now.

If not for her trauma, wouldn’t nobody be getting any sleep tonight. He’d stay in this pussy, have it in his mouth, have it in any and all ways until the wee hours of the morning. Sleep be damned.

But, this isn’t about him. It’s about her. It’s all about her, and he’ll do whatever she wants, whatever she needs. Even if selfishly, he’s working to prolong her climax just as much for his pleasure as hers.

He doesn’t ever want to pull out.

And maybe it’s also the fact that he’s never been with anyone else raw. Never had that skin to skin experience, feeling slick pussy directly against his hardened dick.

Possibly.

Regardless, after tonight, if it’s not Solana, he doesn’t want it.

Her pussy is premier and just for him.

But, it’s when he takes a brief pause, to switch their positions, situating her on top of him, he sees the nervousness wreck her beautiful face.

“Roman. I—I don’t—I don’t know how–” And it’s as she protests, as she tries to explain to him she doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to please him like that, Roman brings his hands to her hips, tugging her forward just enough for her mouth to drop open from the friction, from the way he presses into her, hitting yet another spot that has her eyes nearly watering all over again. “Oh my….”

His eyes are blazed with desire and yearning as he encourages her. “That’s it…..” Her eyes shut, the sound of him asking, “are you okay?” an almost distant thing, an almost inconceivable question. Everything about everything he’s done to and for her has felt more than okay. It’s felt heavenly. 

The same way her hands naturally plant against his chest, less of him directing her movements and more of her riding him from her own volition.

The tips given to her by Bayley and Naomi just weeks prior return to the forefront of her mind, and Solana finds herself moving her hips, grinding on top of him as if she was spelling her name. 

And almost instantly, Roman’s eyes are shutting too as he sings all of her praises, “fuck, just like that baby.”

She moves against him, riding him with a growing intensity that’s only matched by the level of desire on both of their ends. It feels fucking ethereal.

And when he can sense the pending fatigue in her body, Roman sits up, hands moving down her smooth back to her hips and guides her body against him, hitting her spot even deeper, Solana’s cries of pleasure a continuing symphony of bliss.

“You feel me, baby? Feel me in you like this?” Her head drops against his shoulder as she holds onto him, their bare, slick chests pressed against each other.

She whimpers against him, “god, yes.”

“I told you I would make you feel good, didn’t I, sweetheart?” She nods frantically only to cry out yet again when he glides his hand down and peppers his thumb over her swollen clit. “Gonna take care of you every single time. I don’t care how or where. You want it, imma give it to you.”

His voice takes on a darker tone, reminiscent of his reputation, a testament of the depth of his feelings for her. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me.” She gasps against him, yet another wave of pleasure shooting through her core. “Burn this whole fuckin’ world down….”

There’s something about his words, about his dedication to her, to keeping her safe. To keeping her with him. She lifts her head and brings her hands to his cheeks, making him lock gazes with her. “No one could ever take me from you.”

Roman just looks at her. 

Something happens. A shift. A move. A disturbance of some sort. It’s as if something snaps in half the minute his eyes lock onto hers. He doesn’t move, and neither does she. No one says anything. It almost feels like no one is breathing. Her gaze on him is just as his is on hers. Deep. There’s something happening at the soul level. A tying of some sort. A connection. 

A bond. 

Unbreakable. Unshakable.

Eternal. 

And it’s with an almost unheard non-existent level of vulnerability that Roman practically whispers against the slick skin of her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss. “I need you, Solana.” 

Her eyes water. The connection. The emotion. The love of it all. She doesn't know if he’s feeling the last one, but she certainly is, and it’s the best feeling in the world. “You’ll always have me.” She moans, whimpering as he starts moving her again, nudges that spot yet again. “Te amo con toda mi alma, Roman."

This man now has her: mind, body, and soul.

Her better half.

Her missing piece 

It aids in the build up, her fingers squeezing against his muscular shoulders. “I’m—I’m gonna—“

“I know,” his voice is strained, his body tensing up underneath her. Solana knows he’s not far behind. He quickly switches their positions, wanting her underneath him, spreading her thighs further to maximize the full pleasure of this final ride. 

Hand to his chin, she forces his gaze on her, reminding him with a hint of vulnerability. “You and me.” Her release is almost immediate, a fountain of tightness and pressure that’s both wonderful and all encompassing, forcing her to lay her head against his shoulder, holding onto him as she rides out her climax.

And it’s not even minutes later that his release finds him just as strong, just as heavy, just as fucking shattering.

Roman lets go, big body jerking above her as he releases inside of her, the mixture of their togetherness creating an absolute mess that coats almost all of their lower halves. But, she doesn’t care, just continues to hold onto him as he empties until there’s nothing left. 

Solana groans quietly as he pulls out of her, the absence of him creating a strange, unfamiliar void that’s moderately eased as he plops down on his back next to her, immediately pulling her onto his chest.

This settles her almost instantaneously. 

He kisses the top of her head, gently rubbing her back. “Did I—did I hurt you?”

She smiles against him. The answer to that question has and will always be the same. “No. Never.” Tears burning her eyes, she murmurs into his skin. “You set me free.”

Because, he did. Because after tonight, there’s no turning back. There’s no block or wall of trauma that can stop her from experiencing this. From truly being able to say that while her assault fractured her, it damn sure didn’t break her. 

Roman’s deep voice above her offers a low, gentle rebuttal. “You did that, Sol.” And as if emotions weren’t high enough as it is, he has to send her nearly overboard with his next simple but powerful statement. “you said yes.”

Eyes closing, she has to sit on it, has to rest in it, has to feel it. With all the emotion, she reaffirms it, reclaims her voice, her autonomy, yet another piece of her life. “I said yes…..”

----------

translations:

“Te quiero mucho.” = "I love you so much."

"Lo’u Au" = Someone who is your absolute favorite

"Me haces muy feliz" = "You make me very happy."

"Te amo con toda mi alma, Roman" = "I love you with all my soul, Roman."

"Yo siento muy bien contigo" = "I feel happy with you."

[danlous]

I'm getting tired of hearing the sentiment that Louis doesn't care about Armand's trauma or have any sympathy for him. In the museum scene his expressions and body language were almost exactly similar to the scenes where Claudia and Lestat talk about their respective assaults. And in all these scenes he's mostly quiet. So does it mean Louis doesn't care about Claudia's or Lestat's traumas either? Of course not. It's just how he outwardly reacts in situations like this. He tends to shut down and doesn't know how to express his empathy and distress. Dreamstat represents Louis' hidden thoughts, but at the museum he's actually next to Louis listening quietly for the most of the scene. It's only at the end when Armand compares Marius, Magnus and Lestat to each other that dreamstat reacts angrily. And it's not mocking what happened to Armand, it's a manifestation of Louis' discomfort, him fearing that he's being manipulated and being uncomfortable that Lestat is brought up and that his relationship with Lestat is compared to Armand and Lestat's disturbing relationships with their own makers.

What Louis says to Armand in San Francisco is incredibly cruel. He's on drugs and extremely upset and intentionally trying come up with the most hurtful words he can think of, they both are. He very obviously deeply regrets it later. When he wakes up after the sun scene and remembers what he did and what kind of things he said before it he's ashamed and distressed. He's crying (though partially because of pain) and immediately tries to apologize to Armand and reach out for him. He's not angry when Armand leaves him in pain, probably thinking that he deserves it. When Armand later says "after what you put me through here i deserve this" Louis agrees. That's not someone who doesn't care or have empathy.

As often with Louis, i think the things he says to Armand are as much about Louis himself as they're about Armand. He sees himself in Daniel, and his entire speech to Claudia in 2.01 is directed also at himself, and he's projecting his own self-hatred and insecurities onto Armand. Louis fears that he is boring and dull. His husband repeatedly cheated on him and laughed in his face when Louis asked isn't he enough. During his depression years Lestat complained about Louis just reading and not leaving the house and how he was drawing Lestat into his gloom. He felt his sister-daughter was more interested in the theater and the coven than spending time with him. The coven mocked him and his passions and didn't find him that interesting after he stopped being a novelty. He was told that he didn't have much artistic talent. In the 70s his life seems to be repetitive and meaningless.

Louis subconsciously detests the qualities he recognizes in Armand that he recognizes and detests in himself - including being a victim. The interview was interrupted when Daniel criticized Louis for going back to Lestat and for his passivity and suicidal ideation. When he's fighting with Armand that all is on his mind. What he says about Armand's "daddy vampire grooming him into a little bitch" actually brings to my mind such scenes as how he derisively said in the second interview that he had become an unhappy housewife living with Lestat, and how dreamstat called him a "little whore". The shame of having experienced abuse and all the feelings of emasculation and degradation that came with it have never left him. Even in the second interview Louis firmly says to Daniel that he doesn't consider himself abused and that he isn't a victim. I don't think Louis consciously thinks that being abused makes someone a bad or weak person, but on some subconsious level he probably feels like that - at least if it's about himself. Again, in this same episode we see Louis acting like he deserves how Armand treats him after their fight and his suicide attempt

[nellielsss]

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴏɴ ɪᴛ

Summary: He's just so different from you! How could anyone have imagined you getting with someone like him? He's just so... brawny! Inspired by Check On It by Beyoncé. Note: Short little drabble w my favorite brawny boys! I figured it'd be best for something sweet after the previously dark fic... Also I might've characterized Yami wrong but I'm part of the "rough shell, soft heart" agenda!! Incl: Toji Fushiguro, Yami Sukehiro CW: Sexual intercourse, praising, light degrading, mentions of blood/violence

╰┈➤ Nobody could've ever imagined that you'd end up with a man like Toji Fushiguro of all people. For christ's sake--he was a mercenary for hire!! Not only that, but he was just so... brutish and brawny!

For starters, he was a good 6'2, and every single square inch of his body had muscle on it. His traps were wider than Victoria Lake, his abs could shred cheese, and his forearms were thicker than most men's biceps. He only ever wore a tight-fitted black shirt that had a new hole with every usage, and his grey sweatpants somehow remained tied up, even after all the times he's worn them (and forgotten to wash them... seriously, Toji?)

It wasn't just his appearance, either; it was also his personality that made him stick out like a sore thumb. The amount of times he's forgotten to say "please" after ordering a plate of takoyaki has to be recorded in the Guiness Book of World Records.

"Toji, you can't just keep bumping into guys with your tits!" you scolded the man, huffing after he knocked over yet another guy at a restaurant. He merely barked out a laugh at the mention of his "tits" and ruffled your hair.

"Ah, shit, I guess you're right doll-face. Hey, guy back there, sorry for bumping into ya!" he said from over his shoulder almost haphazardly. The guy merely grumbled curses under his breath and went on his way. "Guess he didn't want an apology," he said, turning his head back to you.

"Whatever, just don't make an enemy out of the other diners here. Seriously, what if they jumped you for the $5 you had?"

For someone who wore so much pink, you always had something to say (It should also be mentioned that you swore more than him, even though he was the one getting judged for it).

And then there was you, the chick on his arm: the epitome of bubblegum pink. You were the girl in those 2000s flicks who wore the Juicy Couture tracksuits; the one who had every single Tiffany bracelet/necklace/earring; the one who was first in line when the Louis Vuitton Murakami collection dropped. Your lip gloss was never not reflecting the sun and your hair was never not bouncing. Your charm lied deeper than the surface, though: it was the sassy charm that you had. Always so quick to call somebody a bitch but never slow to reapply your raspberry pink lipstick afterwards.

You were a dream girl, and he was a nightmare, so why did it work so well? Why did you look so good on his huge arms? Why did his face always soften softer than the softest memory foam pillows that money could buy? Why did he always hand you his credit card when you went out shopping with him?

It was quite simple: you were a light--the light in his dark. Where others saw a brutish monster who only knew how to kill, you saw a man worthy of love and appreciation. You knew that there was a soft, gooey inside, and you were probably the first one to reach it.

When he felt like giving up on everything and just disappearing, you were always the first one to touch his face with your manicured hands and calmly yet firmly encourage him to get up because it'd always be okay with you by his side.

So, naturally, he was the first one to cheer for him when he did get up and did what he came to do.

Everything about your relationship was as sweet as the flavor of lip gloss on your lips, and he always wanted seconds. Thirds, if he was turned away from people's prying eyes. Fourths, fifths, sixths--eh, he always lost count of the number of kisses he planted on your lips during your make-out sessions.

Speaking of...

There was nothing sweeter than when he had you on his big lap, ass nestled perfectly in the muscle of his thighs while you made out with him sloppily. He had a light pink blush on his face the entire time, and he was messily pressing his scarred, almost chapped lips to yours. You, likewise, were putting your glossy, delicious lips on his, letting the man do what he wanted to your mouth.

"Mmmmm... ah~"

"Yeah, princess?"

"Gimme more, Toji, more kisses!"

"What's the magic word?"

"P-Please, just... ruin my lip gloss, make me lose my mind, Toji--you're the only one who can make me lose my shit and make it feel so fucking good!"

"Now, what kind of a boyfriend would I be if I denied my pretty girl what she wanted?"

With a deep chuckle and another laugh, he pulled you back in for more kisses, greedily devouring your plump lips and bruising them from the sheer intensity. You, likewise, put your hands under his shirt and started lifting it up. "Woah there, doll. Gettin' ahead of ourselves, are we? I like it."

Touching his body wasn't enough for your grubby hands, though; you wanted--needed more of your brawny boyfriend. Having his calloused, impossibly large palms on your body, pawing at the globes of your ass or the fat of your tits never ceased to make you a whiny, moaning little mess.

Speaking of the many things he enjoyed about you... another absolutely sweet thing about you was how you let the man do anything he wanted to your pretty body. He was already twice your size, meaning he could do absolutely anything to you. He could fuck you in mid-air and eat your ass if he wanted to, but there was something so tasty, so delectable about how you willingly gave yourself up for his pleasure. You let him toss you around like a ragdoll on his impossibly large cock, and you even begged him to do so numerous times.

Like when he'd moved the makeout sesh to the bedroom (and tossed off all those pesky clothes along the journey) and had you bent over on the bed. He was holding your hips up in the air, your deliciously juicy ass being pawed at and kneaded by your assassin boyfriend. His face was buried right in between the fat of your cheeks, his tongue lapping up at the delicacy that was your ass. If there was one thing he was, it was an ass-eater. He always made sure to make you cum at least four times on his tongue before he'd bury his cock inside, just to ensure that you didn't break on the damn thing.

"Oh... o-ooh, Toji, f-fuck~" you gasped, your perfectly manicured hands pawing at the sheets and holding onto them for dear life. "You always e-eat me out so fuckin' good, m-more, please!"

You bucked your hips in his face like an impatient, stubborn horse, one that needed things done her way. He spanked you and looked up at you over your cheeks, his mouth detaching from your already abused hole.

"Lemme enjoy my meal in peace first, you fuckin' whore," he growled, spanking at it again and burying his face right back inside.

The muscles of his biceps curled deliciously as he dove right back in, eating your ass even more voraciously. He was an instatiable beast, a brute who bent over his woman as he desired. Well, at least half the time; the other half, he could be quite caring and even needy if he got too into it.

Luckily for you (and your spine), he was seemingly content in a stable but enjoyable pace that worked out for the two of you. Any pace worked for him really--if it was fast, he could easily pound you to his liking, and if it was slow, then he got to savor every little feeling.

Right now, he was working your hips back and forth his cock. His leg was propped up and he had both of his huge hands digging into your hips, making sure that you weren't going anywhere.

"Fuuuck, that's it, baby, move that ass up and down daddy's cock," he rumbled, throwing his head back and groaning. "You just let me do anything I want, eh?"

"Mhm~" was all you could moan. You were barely processing what he was saying, his dick buried too deep to let you think straight. It was like his dick rearranged both your guts and your brain, which wasn't unlikely considering how long and thick it was.

"I bet you can't even hear me properly," he snickered, spanking you slightly to watch the fat jiggle. You let out a yelp, coming back to your senses temporarily and looking over your shoulder at him.

"S-So fucking mean," you panted heavily, your tongue lolling out of your mouth slightly.

He merely chuckled and dug his dick in as deep as he could, holding himself there so he could abuse your sweet spot and prolong it. "A-Ah~!! Fuck, fuck, fuck, you're just bullying me now!!"

"Maybe I am, but you're enjoying it, right?"

You stayed silent.

"That's what I fuckin' thought, princess. Goddamn, you're so spoiled by me. I buy you all your cute little things, give you all sorts of kisses, and I'm met with that smart mouth of yours."

Another spank and another press to the prostate.

"But I don't care about any of the shit you say, because at the end of the day? I'm gonna have you takin' this dick until your body gives up. And what makes it better is that you let me, (Y/N). You let me fuck you like you're nothin' more than a flesh light programmed to take my dick. I oughta do that to ya--rewire yer brain so all you know how to do is take. All. Of. My. Inches." he punctuated each word with a thrust, earning more incoherent babbles from your lips. "Aww, what was that? My lil' princess wants to talk? Talk, baby, let daddy hear it."

He gently but firmly grabbed your head, squeezing your jaw open with his hand and leaning in close. "W-Wanna take it day and night, d-daddy! I'll let you do anything you want t'me, just keep fucking me!" you said finally, earning a shit-eating grin from Toji.

"That's what I like to hear, baby. Now, d'ya mind if I speed it up a lil'? Deep strokes are nice and all, but I wanna satisfy this libido of mine as well."

He didn't wait for a response, already speeding up and fucking into you faster and harder. Soon, he was slamming into and bottoming out your already abused ass, the slap and fap of each thrust echoing throughout the room, along with your moans and whimpers. You buried your face in the pillows, the drool spilling from your lips as your big brute of a boyfriend manhandled you and fucked you to his liking.

"Yeahhhh, you're gonna take this big dick o'mine all night long. I don't care if it's 'too much' or 'too good;' you're gonna take it, and you're gonna fucking love it."

A few more thrusts, and he could feel his balls tightening up with each thrust. "Fuckin' hell, look at you, baby," he crooned, reaching down to grab your hair and make you look at the nearby mirror. "If only your friends could see you now: gettin' dicked down by the guy they told you to stay away from. All those little warnings they gave you 'bout me being bad news... I mean, some of 'em were kinda right, but they were wrong about me not knowing how to treat a lady, because look at you. I'm sluttin' you out to your heart's content for crying out loud!"

His words were only met by little whimpers and cute moans that escaped your bruised lips. He chuckled, and he could feel himself softening up by how vulnerable you were being. He reached out, cupping your cheek and releasing your hair. "Hey, look at me baby, look at your boyfriend. I wanna see your pretty face," he crooned softly, turning you over so he could look at you in all your fucked out glory. "You're amazing, taking all this meat like a champ. I'm gonna reward you with a nice, warm cream-pie, is that alright with ya? I'm gonna stuff you niiice and full of my cum until you can't even move, then I'll stuff you some more. I'll breed you 'til you can only rely on me to help you, but don't worry your pretty little head because I'm the man for the job."

All his ramblings were met by soft little whimpers and moans. He knew you were holding out, too embarrassed to speak your dirty truth to him. "Tsk, all bark n' no more left?" he reached down to play with you, jolting you back to reality. "There you go. Now, tell daddy what you want him to do."

"Wanna be stuffed, just like you said... Wanna be manhandled and stuffed 'til I'm oozing cum, and then I wanna be stuffed s'more--I want everything you're telling me about!"

"Oh, everything?" he asked with an amused sneer, slamming back in and making your body jolt and shudder. "It's gonna be a lot, (Y/N), but I know you can take it. You've always taken everything I've given ya, and for that I applaud you."

He stuck a thumb into your mouth and crooned, the sight making his dick harder somehow. "So fuckin' pretty," he murmured. "I got the prettiest little angel in all of Japan right underneath me, taking all my meat. Good god, I must be the luckiest bastard alive, eh?" His thumb exited your mouth and went back to your face, cupping it and squeezing it while he fucked you good.

Finally, you spoke up once more, panting heavily and looking up at him. "Toji... I love you, I love you so much- j-just keep fucking me, keep talking, I wanna forget all about everything else for a little while... Dumb me down, make me stop thinking for now."

He looked at you with understanding, but he happily obliged and ramped up the speed. "Whatever princess wants, princess gets. I've gotcha, baby, daddy's gotcha. Just sit back and lemme do what I do best, hmm?"

"Lemme stuff ya with my love, angel."

It was soft, tender moments during sex like these that made your relationship so wonderful. No matter how big of a brute he was, he'd always be there for you.

╰┈➤ The captain of the Black Bulls, Yami Sukehiro, was many things. He was a damn good captain, an even better magic knight, and also one of the most feared and revered men in all the land. From the clover to the spade kingdom, everyone knew who he and his crew were. Whether they smiled to themselves or scrunched their noses in disgust, they at least had some knowledge of who he was or at least semblance of a misconception.

Nobody had ever imagined that Captain Yami was ever going to find love, much less true love. The man had some of the worst bowel problems that a man could've had, and who the fuck was ever gonna put up with his shit (literally)? Not only that, but he was just so unappetizing. One couldn't count the number of times he made death threats towards his own people.

"Disturb me while I'm shitting and I'll make sure your life goes to shit," was something he usually said to poor little Asta, or at least a variation of that sentence. The poor guy just wanted to know what the mission was for the day!

Suffice to say, he was quite undesirable. Sure, he had a rugged charm about him, but when does rugged just become prickly?

So when he got himself a girlfriend, everyone was both aghast and bewildered.

"I heard she just got out of prison after almost beating some poor guy to death during her magic exams!"

"Do you even think someone with her track record would've gotten an exam in the first place?"

"I wonder if she has any prison tats!"

"I heard that her favorite food is raw meat, fresh from the source; as in, she'll kill a cow and then start eating it right after!!"

"Who're we talking about?" you asked, your head angled to listen in on their conversation.

"Oh, just Captain Yami's new girl- wait, who are you?!"

"Hey, (Y/N), whaddya think you're doin' out here?!" Yami's voice boomed from the hallway. You and his Black Bulls turned in his direction, looking at the broad-shouldered captain as he made his way over to you all. "What did I tell you about sneakin' off when I'm not looking?"

"Sorry, Sweetie Pie," you giggled, putting your hands behind your back and looking up at him.

"Sweetie Pie?" They each took turns looking at each other. Asta's eyes were blown wide open with both fear and shock, Noelle was confused as to why a woman would get so close to Yami, and Vanessa looked quite intrigued by what she saw. "Is that his sister or something?-"

Yami pulled you in for a kiss and threw his arm around you, pressing your plump, juicy lips to his chapped, rougher ones. You giggled, putting your hands around his neck and standing on your tippy toes to reach him.

"WHAT THE HELL?!?"

Yami glared at them for breaking up your kiss but he let go of you, turning his attention to his subordinates. You also looked at them, all giggly with your lipstick smudged.

"I really didn't wanna do this, but (Y/N) here's left me with no choice. All of you, meet my girlfriend," he said with the slightest hint of a smile.

"GIRLFRIEND?!"

After that day, word quickly spread of Yami's new girlfriend, you, and how you were the antithesis of everything he was.

You with your pink pleated dress that held a petticoat underneath to make it even flouncier; your perfectly curled hair that held strawberry pink highlights; your long, manicured nails that always left marks on Yami's back after a long night spent in his nails. In reality, a woman like you should've been a Coral Peacock--or better yet, a Silver Eagle!

When asked why someone like you would join the Black Bulls, you simply said: "the other crews were too boring. Besides, they didn't have captains as hot as Yami!"

What you lacked in intimidation, you made up for in battle. Although many would've brushed off your "love magic" attribute simply for its name alone, when people actually got to witness it in battle, it was quite daunting. Couple that with your bloodthirsty attitude, and people could understand why you were a Black Bull.

What they couldn't understand was why you chose to date Yami.

You were cute, sweet to those around you (with a mischievous streak), and held a fondness for all things cute, as evident in your wardrobe choices.

You saved and kept stray cats in your room, even though Yami didn't like the way they pawed and kneaded at him with their claws; you liked going to the Capital just to eat all the sweet treats with your salary; you even scolded Yami's gambling habits; you were also motherly to the younger Black Bulls, even though you were barely the same age as they were. Asta always ran to you whenever he needed someone to protect him from the scary captain.

You and Yami together shouldn't have worked out together, but when the two of you were with each other, it just felt so... right! Your dynamic together and the little scolds that you sent Yami's way were just perfect. The way he could instantly melt into a puddle of adoration and love whenever he saw you should've been studied in a lab.

Given his towering stature and the size difference, he had a fondness for scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

"Put me down, put me down!" you exclaimed, hitting his muscled back out of annoyance. "I'm still showing Asta my tea collection!!"

"You can show him those leaves later; it's time to give your boyfriend some attention."

Through thick and thin, the two of you were there for one another.

You learned how to stitch up wounds and even took up healing magic just for Yami's sake (as well as the others--Yami just liked to be selfish with you). "This is the last time I let you go out gambling in those shitty ass bars. Can't you at least go to a nice one with people who don't take bigger dumps than you?" You were currently chiding him, stitching up a wound that he got after a poker night escalated into an impromptu mission.

"It's more fun, babe. Besides, it builds character. I oughta take you out with me one day, show off my pretty princess- ow!" he exclaimed, feeling the needle prick him a bit harder than before.

"Take me out to one of those and I'll kill you and the patrons there."

"I don't doubt for a second that you could do all of that," he chuckled, shaking his head at the notion of dating a sweet but psycho girl.

While he had his sweet moments with you, he could also have his rough moments. Like how he had you underneath him with your legs over his shoulders and his cock drilling inside of you.

"Thought shit was sweet, eh, doll face? Thought you could tease me in front of all my subordinates and make me lose my mind?" he asked you mid-stroke, each aggressive snarl punctuated by his cock hitting your prostate. Each time he reached it with the head of his cock, your eyes widened and you threw your head back in pleasure, only to have him grab your chin and make you look at him. "Look at me, doll. Look at me while I fuck your brains out."

"Y-Yes, sir," you whimpered, your lip quivering as he ruined your insides. He scoffed, chuckling to himself, shaking his head at how easily he could make you lose your mind.

"Fuckin' love the way you call me sir; at least a slut like you knows her place."

He readjusted the angle, drilling even deeper into your gaping, abused hole, his heavy balls slapping against your ass deliciously. "Is this what you wanted? To make your man go wild and fuck your brains out?"

You couldn't say anything, biting your lip and trying to suppress all those sweet little moans of yours.

"Nah, don't hide that shit from me, baby, lemme hear you scream for your man." He stuck his fingers into your mouth, prying it open and making you moan like your life depended on it.

"Fuuuck, Yami, fuck me!!" You managed to gargle out, the fingers in your mouth making your words slur together.

"That's what I'm talkin' about. Lemme hear the way you love taking this cock--because you do, you do love taking it. You take it every. Single. Night. I bet it turns you on, getting your brains fucked out and your guts rearranged by your captain. Lemme tell you, baby: it feels amazing fuckin' this ass every single night. Makes me feel like the Wizard King himself with the way you milk my cock for all its worth," he said with a laugh, reaching down and slapping your ass again.

You, on the other hand, were too fucked out of your mind with the way he bullied your poor little hole. You were drunk off his cock, your head bobbing back and forth, moans escaping your lips as he destroyed your insides. He chuckled to himself, knowing that he'd broken you just with his cock.

"Little slut can't keep her mind in one piece, even after beggin' her boyfriend to fuck her? Hah, should've known you were all bark and no fucking bite."

If you had any decency or sanity left, you would've kept the noise down in case anyone heard Yami drilling you into his bed--but you didn't; you never had a shred of self respect left after he got you into his bed. He'd make you suck his cock until your jaw couldn't handle it anymore; bend you every which way until he was done; make your ass redder than a tomato.

Right now, he was far from tapping out--he still had at least 30 other positions to put his whore of a girlfriend in! Starting with the full nelson. You wondered why he bought a full length mirror and put it in front of the bed, but you quickly got to understand why when he angled you just right so he could see every little thing happening to you.

He put your back up against his chest and abs, hooked his arms underneath your legs and started right back up again. "Hah, look at the way you're bouncin' on my cock, baby," he crooned into your ear (knowing full well you were knocked out mentally). "Just look at those tits, baby. I'm gonna suck on 'em after I'm done making you bounce on this dick." He thrusted up and down, up and down, his thick cock making squelching sounds with each bottom-out. He watched your cute little cock bounce around, the little thing getting dwarfed by his own size.

"I love putting you in this position, baby. Lets me see my pretty angel in her full glory," he murmured, his words considerably less harsh than before. You merely moaned and laid your head back on his shoulder, mewling as your boyfriend did you in.

"Y'like it when I'm gentler, baby? Well, gentle for my standards," he asked you, continuing to bounce you on his cock.

"Mhm~" you moaned softly, biting your lip.

"Yeah, I know you do," he chuckled, giving your neck a quick kiss and lick before looking back at the mirror. "Y'know I don't mean any of the shit I say, right? You're no whore; you're my sweet little angel who can do no wrong."

"Mhm~"

"Ah, shit, I might've done you in a little too hard," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I can't help myself when it comes to you, gorgeous. You make me feel all sorts'a things, make me lose my cool."

"I d-do?"

"Of course you do, baby. You're just too pretty for your own good... you're the only weak spot in my armor--my one and only Achilles heel. You make me lose my cool, and pathetically so," he repeated once more, pressing kisses all over your neck and shoulder as he did so.

"H-Hah, you bet your sorry ass I do," you giggled softly, smiling to yourself and mewling once more.

He simply shook his head and held you tighter, whispering little "I love you"s into your ear all while holding your legs up so he could keep making his baby feel good.

Suddenly, he felt your hole tightening up around his cock, and it made him more alert as to what was going on. "Sir- 'm gonna, 'm gonna cum soon," you said through mewls, your thighs quivering and shaking as he thrusted up into you.

"Yeah? Go ahead, baby--make a mess all over Yami's cock." You did as he told, spurting cum all over your perfect body and tits, and he quickly shot his load right into you afterwards. "Shit, shit, shit- fuuuck, that's right, sweets; take all my cum. It's all for you, so make sure you don't waste a single drop," he panted, holding you down firmly so he could empty his balls inside of you.

Even after emptying a whole load into your gaping hole, his cock was still hard and ready. "H-How are you still hard?" you asked as he repositioned you onto your back.

"I told ya already: it's that effect you've got on me. Besides, I've been single for a while until you came along, so I've got a lot of pent-up frustration and cum to give ya." He gave you a cheeky grin, spreading your cheeks apart and reinserting himself into your stuffed hole. Some of the cum spilled out with his deep thrusts, and you were back to the moaning mess that he wanted you to be.

"Just like that, take your boyfriend's cock, baby," he murmured, reaching down to plant a kiss on your lips. He moved to your sensitive tits, his tongue swirling around your nipple and taking it into his mouth. You let out another gorgeous mewl, throwing your head back out of pleasure.

"I can't- I can't take anymore, Yami," you whimpered, feeling overstimulated with everything that was happening to you.

"Of course you can, baby. You're a big girl; you're stronger than you look after all," he reassured you, surprisingly soft and sweet for his usual demeanor. Once he felt you relax around his cock, he sighed, planting even more kisses on your body. "Just like I knew you could... god, baby, you're so good to me, so fucking good. One of these days, I'm gonna wife you up n' parade you around on my arm, make all those other captains jealous of me, heh. Yeah, you'll make the perfect wife to me. I'll give you this dick every night, and you'll give me all of that sweet, sweet love of yours, hm? Sounds like a fair trade to me. Mrs. Yami Sukehiro... yeah, sounds about right."

You simply nodded, his cock hitting your prostate repeatedly, each hit turning your brain into mush. He looked down at you with nothing but love in his eyes, allowing himself to be soft for a little while.

"Just keep moanin', baby, your captain's got you."

The next day, the other Black Bulls avoided looking at both you and Yami, their cheeks too flushed from the noises you made last night. Yami could see it on their faces, so he shot everyone a wink and threw an arm around your shoulder.

© ʙʀᴜɴᴇᴛᴛᴇ-ʙɪᴛᴄʜ77 on tumblr - get your own shit bitches | ca. 6/12/2024

[ariaste]

(Interview with the Vampire thoughts, i'm putting the label up here for my mutuals who aren't watching it, hi babes)

listen i have THOUGHTS about Daniel, alright, I just-- these messy bitches are SO messy, Louis and Armand are objectively awful people (and I love them SO MUCH but that's beside the point) and they are miserable and making each other worse and they keep talking over each other and trying to impose their own story over the top of the other one's story, and BY GOD the one thing they need more than anything else is for someone to just LISTEN

and then here's Daniel, a bright young(?) reporter with a point of view, whose whole job is to listen, and to ask questions that draw out the story instead of imposing his own.

there is something sacred in that solemn duty (and I do think Daniel would consider it sacred and solemn and a duty, it's IMPORTANT, he knows it's important, he has the tape playing in his head to tell him that it's important) -- something sacred, something almost holy, it's not an interview so much as a confession in the most literal religious sense, and Daniel is the one receiving the confession and is possibly the source of absolution, or at least the first step towards absolution -- he really is, you know, any healing that happened in this fucked up community did not start until Daniel was there to listen. He is the one who listens, who takes in every flaw and justification and excuse and inadvertent truth, he is standing in witness, he knows the subtle differences between sympathy and empathy and compassion and forgiveness and condonation, and he does NOT condone what either of them has (by god he does not condone), and forgiveness has not yet been earned, and sympathy is really not so much his style so that's not even on the table--

But empathy and compassion. Those are on the table. Because you have to have empathy to do the job that Daniel does, you have to have just enough compassion to show up and listen, to extend that moment of grace to the subject of the interview even if they're a monster, you have have enough empathy to give them the gift of a chance to bare their hearts and be as complex and fucked up and human as anyone else in the world, and welcome that complexity and embrace it. You'd have to love that person a little bit, I think, even if they're awful, because you cannot every fully understand something or someone unless you love them. But love, again, is not condonation or forgiveness. It is just love -- "You're fucked up and wrong and everyone here needs therapy, but I'm still listening to you and I'm still giving you a space to be your whole, messy, fucked-up self."

But then to do the job that Daniel does, you can't have so much compassion and empathy that you get personally entangled to the point that your objectivity vanishes. And yeah, Daniel is VERY MUCH personally entangled, but his objectivity is still there, he's still able to hold the story at arm's length and think, "These are unreliable narrators, bias is everywhere, memory is faulty. The truth will set us free, but it's not coming out of either of these bitches' mouths unless I go hunting for it."

Like look at poor fucking Armand who has had 500 years of some of the worst trauma a person can have, and he is used to being the victim and lying and manipulating to protect himself and to defuse the anger of people who have the power to hurt him, and he is a CONTROL FREAK about it, and he has probably never, ever, not once had someone showing up to really, really listen to him the way that Daniel listens. People come to Armand and yell at him or accuse him or attack him or force him to make terrible choices or coerce him into situations he did not freely choose -- has anyone ever just listened? Has anyone ever held space for him to be as scared and fucked up and cowardly and needy as he is, and simply patiently, compassionately held witness to it with measured objectivity? Can you imagine how delicious and heartwrenching and, yes, fascinating it would be if someone did that for you?

Daniel's a really, really good journalist. DO YOU EVER THINK ABOUT WHAT A GOOD JOURNALIST HE IS. I JUST THINK WE SHOULD TALK MORE ABOUT WHAT A GREAT JOURNALIST HE IS

[showmey0urfangs]

Louis' hypocrisy and cognitive dissonance

Oh boy, where to start? Episode 5 gave me a lot to think about. I find show Loumand fascinating™ though I have my (many) gripes with how the show chose to go about them. They have a very interesting dynamic that I think warrants exploring further.

When Louis first arrives in Paris, Armand tries to seduce him with a carefully crafted veneer of the all-powerful coven master. He seeks to impress Louis by playing up his mysterious allure and power. Though Louis is obviously attracted to him, he is very reluctant to take things further, and he insists that the relationship has to be on his terms. “If you want me I'm here.”

Louis is adamant that he doesn't want to be caught in yet another toxic dynamic like the one he had with Lestat. He no longer wants to be in a relationship where he is vastly outmatched and overpowered. The power imbalance is in great part why Louis hesitates to go all the way with Armand, sticking to casual meaningless sexual encounters (none of which we got to see on screen, thank AMCee!) but refusing to acknowledge Armand publicly. Ouch!

We see this dynamic shift in episode 4, when Armand finally manages to reassure Louis that he is “not Lestat”. He does this by allowing himself to be vulnerable with Louis and opening up about his traumatic past—something that Lestat rarely did. He also willingly cedes his power to Louis, allowing Louis to be his “master” and to take full control of their relationship.

This dynamic continues on until present day Dubai, where Armand is utterly deferential to Louis and seems to exist only to serve Louis and see to his every need, even if that means agreeing to things that he does not want to do (like sitting down for an interview with the same guy that nearly ruined their relationship 50 years ago and who has come back to finish what he started. We stan #homewreckerDaniel).

Armand essentially moulded himself to become what Louis told him he wanted in a partner; someone gentle, non-threatening, loving and devoted to the point of being obsequious. Someone who acquiesced to all of Louis' desires, even the most destructive ones. Armand is so desperate for love and acceptance that he will go to diabolical lengths and sink to the most humiliating depth to have it. And Louis knows this; “my daddy vampire groomed you into a little bitch.”

So imagine Armand's shock and horror when in episode 5, a drug-addled Louis tells him he is boring, colourless, flavourless, a beige pillow, so dull and insignificant that a mere human boy that Louis has only known for a few hours is more interesting than him. Louis admits he looks down on Armand for surrendering his power, mocking him for the fact that he is willing to lick Louis' boots, clean after him, and wait for him patiently as Louis goes out to seek excitement in the arms of “low lives, unfortunate and broken children.”

Louis signifies to Armand in all possible ways that what he truly craves is the chaos and the violent passion that Lestat offers. He is bored with Armand's “prison of empathy” to the point that he'd rather yeet himself into the sun than endure it for another second. Armand of course tries to patch things up with a quick mind wipe and restart, but the damage is already done.

The truth is that Louis never wanted a meek subservient partner. He never wanted a love that was easily won. What attracted him to Armand was his power and his capacity for destruction. Louis loves to tame monsters because he is one himself. He loves the thrill of danger and the excitement that comes from the uncertainty. He loves the chase and the loud vicious fights that end in heated makeup sex.

The problem is that Louis does not want to admit that to himself. He probably would have never admitted it to Armand either in his right mind—in vino coke and quaaludes veritas est. The person Louis is and the person he thinks he needs to be are completely at odds. What he thinks he should want vs what he actually wants are contradictory.

Because of this, Louis exists in a state of perpetual cognitive dissonance. He represses his desires in order to strive for some unattainable self-imposed moral ideal. He loves Claudia and wants to be a good father brother to her, but a selfish part of him sees her as a burden and knows making her was a mistake. This is something he verbalizes in many instances this season, consistently and subconsciously; Was she worth it? Speaking of poor decisions, The wilderness that is our daughter, Imagine me without the burden of her. He desperately wants to connect to his humanity and be better than the other vampires that he judges as sadistic and slave to their baser instincts, but he too inevitably succumbs to his bloodlust and often kills more recklessly and viciously than any other vampire. He tells himself that Lestat is the wrong kind of love, but he is irresistibly drawn to him and still hasn't moved 80 fucking years later.

You can chalk this up to good ol' catholic guilt, or to growing up with a shitty mother who made him feel like he would never be good enough no matter how hard he tried, in a society where he has to juggle several masks just to survive. Either way, it always results in Louis being torn between his desires and his guilt for failing to live up to the version of himself he thinks he needs to be.

IDK what the point of this essay was other than to say that ultimately Louis and Lestat deserve each other and Armand needs to stand the fuck up and stop simping for a man who obviously does not want him. Come be with me pookie, I will treat you so much better. 💖

That's all. Thank you for coming to my TED talk. 😊

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

Katsuki Bakugou x Popular/MeanGirl!reader - oneshot about Katsuki loving his ruthless girlfriend!

Ok, the title is a little misleading, you're not that mean! you just do unto others what they do to you...and Katsuki loves it. As always, please let me know if you want more, and if you have any ideas for the future <3 calling this a songfic, because it's hugely based on Don't Touch! by Lil Mariko

warnings: lots of cursing, mentions of castration, and one chaotic good(?) reader

______________________________________________________________

When you first arrived at UA, a late entry as you lived in the Americas prior, everyone loved you, and surprisingly that included Bakugou. Of course, it took him a long time to warm up all the way, but you started dating after a few months of getting to know each other. What could he say? You were pretty, smart, patient with him, and best of all, you didn't take crap. He learned that the first week of your arrival, when his attempt to bully you fell short. You actually took a liking to him, so he was spared most of the passive aggressive fate he saw you give some others. You were just nice to people who were nice to you, ergo most considered you sweet as candy while some considered you a total bitch.

You were hot and you knew it, and believe it or not it caused a lot of people to spread rumors about you. He'll never forget the first time he saw you in action, it was as satisfying as it was attractive. While walking to lunch, a pair of 2nd years were standing to the side whispering and pointing to you. one of them yelled out, "slut," while the other laughed. You, being the bad bitch that you are, turned around, smiled pleasantly, and put on your best innocent demeanor. "aw, I'm really sorry for getting your dick hard, maybe next time try and keep your eyes a little higher, yeah?" It. Was. Magnificent. The two were flabbergasted to say the least, and Katsuki himself was glad to finally see someone who didn't act like a saint all the time.

Long story short, you were his other half, and he had gotten used to your mocking, sarcastic way of handling assholes...until the day of the Sports Festival. You and Katsuki were were perusing the food stands, you dragging him around from place to place, him trailing behind like the grump he was. One stand actually caught his eye, a sign claiming to have the spiciest sauce in the city to compliment their renowned Takoyaki. You were standing with him, looking around while holding his hand, when out of the corner of your eye you saw someone point towards you. You didn't turn your head, not wanting them to know you noticed, but kept an ear out to see what they were saying.

"yeah, he's the one I was telling you about."

"that guy? No way he's with a girl like her."

"I know, right? He has to be keeping her with him, probably scaring her into staying."

Oh hell no. You weren't going to let this slide, it was one thing to talk about you, but a whole other thing to talk about your relationship. You whipped around, yanking a very confused Katsuki with you. Katsuki had heard the two talking, but was far too enamored with the spicy sauce to actually listen. "Hey," You yelled, using a voice Katsuki hadn't heard out of you before as you raised the hand holding Katsuki's into the air for all to see. "See this?! This means he loves me, so next time you go and make assumptions, why don't you keep your damn mouth shut?!" You step closer to the pair of stunned teens, wearing a look that could kill. Your voice was low and menacing now, making sure they understood every syllable. "Next time I hear you talk shit about my boyfriend, I'll take the Louis Vuitton's He bought me, hunt you down, and castrate you."

The two whimpered, stuttering out a response but unable to finish before running off with their tails between their legs. You watched them dash, one hand on your hip and the other in Katsuki's, before turning to him with that same bubbly smile you always had. "Alright, let's go get ice cream, I'm still hungry!" He had this unreadable expression on his face, and when you tried to pull him to the ice cream he stood stock still. "...What...?" You were fearing the worst.

Were you too much for him? Did he realize he wanted someone nicer, like Ururaka or Momo? This time, he did dragging of his own, yanking you in the opposite direction. He pulled you along without another word, looking left to right, before stopping next to an empty vending stand. "Katsuki, what are you doing," You asked, he was worrying you.

He looked around again, making sure no one was watching, before yanking into the stand with him.

He never answered you with words, but the way he made out with you for the remainder of the Festival break kind of spoke for him. Right then, when you were threatening those extras, was the moment he realized he loved you. Actually, no. He already knew he loved you, despite the fact he never said it (yet). Right then was the moment he knew he'd marry you. You wouldn't know that story from his perspective until he told it at your wedding.

______________________________________________________________

hope you enjoyed, I had this story on my mind all last night and was just itching to write it! let me know if you want more of this!

[funtheysaid]

IWTV 2x01 Initial Thoughts (Stream Of Consciousness)

- That title card for Delainey felt very stage play to me (ahhh I adore the theatrical elements for this season)

- Ooh I love the idea that vamps can take on the emotions of whosever blood they’re drinking - it’s like the vampire equivalent of when werewolves can smell ppl’s emotions and fears through chemosignals (a la Teen Wolf iykyk)

- “Disregard” is the funniest shit ever 😂 Oldmaniel they could never make me hate you

- There’s a Real Rashid OMFG ??? Lol imagine he’s not actually Rashid and they pull one over on us again I’d fucking shit myself

- “Your love was in a box” OH MY GOD EAT HIM UP DANNY BOY

- OMG OMG LOUSTAT ITS HAPPENIGN ITS HAPPENING EVERYONE SHUT UP

- I MISS YOU TOO LESTAT

- “Quite fucked” 😏😏😏

- “mon amour” “mon cher” “love” IM GOING TO EXSANGUINATE MYSELF ISTG

- The singular finger on Louis’ chin 🥲 so delicate so soft so bad for my mental health

- I like Emilia

- “They are not used to seeing man with good looks” OKAY I know they’re just racists BUT she also wasn’t lying bc beautiful Louis is canon god bless you Jacob Anderson

- Lol Morgan a little fruity

- OOH memory is a monster! They be redoing scenes as Louis “fixes” his memories !!!! That’s gonna show up again for sure :))))

- “Stupid Halloween costume” Daniel Molloy the brat that you are (is okay, Armand likes brats) *cough cough*

- I’ve never seen someone *elegantly* close an iPad before. Armand, you have bewitched me.

- The fucking sexual tension between DM is stifling 🥵😶‍🌫️ Um if this is us “not getting Devil’s Minion” then I think imma be okay

- Claudia pushing the little racist boy 🤪🥹 we can’t help but to stan

- WTF AMC you can’t just jumpscare me with a Grace photograph :’)))

- “UP YOUR BUM” EXCUSE ME MORGAN I KNEW YOU WERE FRUITY BUT SIRRRR?

- so the makeup department really put their whole sfxussies into that decrepit ass abomination

- Louis: Alexa, play Mr. Steal Your Girl by Trey Songz

- Claudia calling Louis Daddy in S1: ☺️🍭👼 Claudia calling Louis Daddy in S2: 😖🤢😟

- I’m dubbing Louis “The Rat Prince”

- “If he can’t take you ballroom dancing and call you pretty” ICONIC.

- “the motherfucker” it’s on sight Bruce or Killer or whatever the fuck your name was 🤕🥊

- “her hand twitched like yours would” why was that line lowkey out of pocket. My mans has Parkinson’s Louis !!!!

- SHE DREAMS 😭 MY FUCKING GOD STOP MY EYES ARE GONNA BE PUFFY WHEN I WAKE UP TOMORROW

- that wasn’t even acting that was some REAL shit. Get Jacob Anderson his Emmy or Oscar or Tony or whatever the fuck I just need him to be awarded for his talent

- Daniel’s soft compassionate side: rare but that much more meaningful when it makes an appearance

- LOUIS you did not just do Emilia dirty like that TF!?! She helped you dude.

- “Human affairs. Their problem.” Not you listening to Lestat now of all times

- “Catfish with teeth” Louis can really read a bitch to filth can’t he?

- AHHH THERE ARE TWO OF THE FUCKERS 👹👹

- Oh shit he’s a kid okay I’m sorry for calling you an abomination earlier. That was mean.

- Woman vampire, you standing precariously close to that fire 👀

- Delainey’s facial expressions are the perfect blend of innocent and slightly unsettling

- OPP INTO THE FIRE SHE GOES rip 🔥

- What the hell is a bacon triptych am I just stupid don’t answer that

- Armand you ain’t beating the iPad kid allegations

- “It’s his drug” He said that with such malice. Is this a “he needed me but he needed drugs more” plot line???

- So Dubai Loumand is chilly frigid tepid frosty glacial

- Free feet? Okay im sorry

- “We can have him saying what happened next in no time” okay wait hold up why you making it sound like YOU don’t know what happened next and you need him to tell you???

- oh danny boy whistling while the couple he’s counseling walks in… is this a comedy or ?

- Daniel: yeah? 🤓 Armand: yeah 🫦

- “the mother of New Orleans” oh he misses home

- LMFAO Daniel interrupting Armand before he can start soliloquizing

- Louis and Claudia in a truck full of art which they belong in bc they too are pieces of art to me

- hard words. soft words. 🥺

- “a shit life beats no life” god damn this monologue feels like Louis is speaking directly to my soul

- “as long as you walk the earth I’ll never taste the fire” If this is foreshadowing I- I- I don’t know what I’ll do but it’s going to involve a baseball bat and a waffle iron and my head

- “it would be enough” pan to Lestat 💀 you can’t be fucking serious right now you just cannot

- okay it’s over and the teaser for the season just started playing and I just have to shout out the score bc damn if those violins don’t get me every god damn time

(Stutter) That’s all, folks! 🐷👋

[nalyra-dreaming]

to put all the cards on the table... (and now that we have that teaser... oooofff). i read the books, but i want to put my obsessive detail lover glasses on. anne is really nuanced in her writing, so yes i totally get lestat is not how louis described him (more or less 👀), but just in a vibey way. to make a specific list, what is that 20% that louis got wrong in your opinion?

That Louis got wrong? :)

Hmmm… So first off I do not think that what we saw of Lestat in that video (aka the rockstar persona) is how he looked when he was with Louis in NOLA.

Then again… Surprisingly close, isn't it?^^

So to get into this I need to explain my view of this a bit. Kidnap your ask, if you will^^

Louis describing Lestat: strands of hair down the sides of his face, unkempt a bit wild hair (at times at least). If his hair isn't done in some kind of fashion (opera, french pony tail etc)

I said it before, I think these strands down Lestat's face are indicative of Louis' POV (own) memories.

Which brings us to this small excursion on the subject. There's the evil step-mom bob, when Claudia comes in, and which is repeated outside in 1x05:

Hair lengths aside, we now know that Lestat was just as bloody as Louis from the trial revisit (see below), which was supposedly the truth, but in any case "no scratch on Lestat" has never made much sense. Meaning the force-feeding likely didn't happen either...

.... and the drop... well. Supposedly did. Even though he is quite clean again?

Because... that is still very far from what we (supposedly) saw as the "truth" of Lestat's bloody face in the coffin room just before, which we were shown at the trial:

I think the evil step-mom-clean-and-glorious-looking Lestat is Armand's tampered-with version.

Because... going through this because I think we got Louis' POV and actual memories of Lestat more in the beginning of season one.

There are a lot more instances of the "strands down his face"...

Btw, see this? Of what was used by Daniel to prove an "error" to the tale in 2x08? To prove Armand's manipulation?!

Right after the scene... he has them again:

Even Claudia's POV has them!

Even when she absolutely hates his guts:

I think every scene we saw with Lestat either in made up hair or with the strands down his face are ... "as real as it can get in a tale".

And the other scenes... the perfect blond hair ... is not.

Which brings us finally back to your actual question:

What is the 20% Louis got wrong?

And... I'm not sure Louis really got him that wrong?! I think Louis misunderstood some things, didn't know a lot of things, and Lestat fucked up others. They didn't talk enough. And sometimes love makes you desperate. They knew exactly how to wound the other.

And Armand... meddled with the tale. I said it before, the "train scene" cannot have happened as shown. The hotel likely neither.

I think every scene where Lestat is an "evil bitch with perfect hair.".. is a meddled with one. Given Armand's goal of influencing the tale? Namely making Lestat seem as bad as possible, while being unable to hide his own fascination with him? Makes perfect sense to me.^^

And there's actually not that many of them either. The outside of episode 5, the tractor salesman, the train, the paranoia driven one in 1x07 has strands again, while he does not have them the scene before and through a lot of the remaining last episode of the first season.

As such the little comment in 1x07, "the king's hair has betrayed the king".... takes on a third meaning, imho - not only a quip by Louis on both the "hair" on the floor and "heir" (Claudia)... but also that the "hair"... betrays the "king"... the leader - the coven master vampire meddling.

Layers, upon layers, upon layers.

So what did Louis get wrong?

Not that much actually, I think. But... some of the key scenes were not his. And those were therefore, in the sense of the words, wrong.

[achillesunly]

The Lestatisation of louis

He is so insufferable with the whole 'are you companions?' 'yes 'no' lestat ahh reaction

'we can call it whatever you want, companion is fine it's not what I would use (but)' his EXPRESSION HIS FACE

God I wanna smack him across the face he's so pissing insolent and insufferable gooooosh

Look at his face

Look at this utter twat

And yet Armand complies and god damnit if that not some starkingly lestat behaviour idk what is

And check this: showcasing his undying love for lestat and how it affected him (still does by the looks of it) even while with Armand

And not to forget he's just told both Daniel AND Armand how he openly mocked Armand's feelings (which for someone so paranoid and insecure is equivalent of living hell obvs)

Look at that he don't even care about Armand there he just goes on showcasing the love Armand is deprived of, was by lestat and still is by Louis, he basically shoved into the other two's faces what kind of great love he's had and keep them purposely out of it

This is so childish

Dangling it in front of them and while Daniel cannot really understand how mean it is to him, Armand can and that's frankly atrociously Lestat of Louis it's baffling

I believe we can rethink the whole 'you were never cruel Louis ' bit because it has obviously changed if it didn't existed before, just overshadowed by Lestat 's own louder cruelty

He criticizes Armand for showing power in a lestat way when it is not even the point WHILE he does a lestat shitshow of power with Santiago and his tongue

We shouldn't forget he's a bitch baby

So sensitive and touchy on his photographies, blowing a full-on proper hate tour back at his flat so in sync with his lestatish lestat that it feels like start of season one when everything was great for them, he is so very like him at the core that the scene works great and gives loustat classic beautiful it's just beautiful to see and live that scene it feels familiar and insane (loustat as usual)

He's become a mix of himself and lestat

The crisis over the photos he's so touchy he's so insecure that insane blaming everyone but himself I love this he's so angry and accusatory and vehement oh you little bitch losing your temper not allowing room for discussion or blame on you so childlike, so wifebeating of you, so 1960s

And his betrayal of Claudia again and again is insane to witness, rotten to the core this one (arguably, they all are but hes really a sneaky bitch)

Love to see this as always

Not to mention the whole Louis-and-his-clone-lestat bit at the museum

Same stances

Hands holding almost

'okay' X2

Like ok you are a united front aight

I come to think he dismisses Dreamstat because he is too familiar they make one it's not even useful to project him anymore he's just there

His perfect victim/ new man portraying in season 1 and start of season 2 is creaking I love it it's so interesting more please

[gallierhouse]

asking for opinions about armand on a friday night is crazy because ive been terrorizing the people in my life about him for a month and now?? im being asked to talk about him?? anyway so i couldnt get thru s1 back in 2022 bc it felt like a kind of rehash of hannibal (character dynamics wise) in a different setting and kind of bored me. i really liked louis in the pilot and honestly would just watch a historical drama about a black pimp and his gens de couleur family in 1930s nola and that was cruelly ripped away from me and ill never forgive lestat. BUT THEN s2 arrived and i gave it another go and armand just rose out of this show as a character ive truly never seen before?? his identity-lessness, his role as a bad stage director, that eager black hole growing around 500 years of life, its so fascinating. the Moment for me with him is obviously the donor painting seeing the whitewashed beautiful pleading garish (when compared with the real man) painting just shifted something in my soul. and THEN getting hit with the arun/maitre stuff and them the entirity of ep5 directly after? ive literally memorized the loumand argument from listening to it so many times Television of All Time fr. i love failmarriages that rot and decay and are inescapable and loumands whole thing felt so good and fresh and so so tasty. those bitches do not like each other. they dont even like each other and yet theyve stayed together for 77 yrs in a relationship built on abuse, spite, and 24/7 power exchange bdsm and thats CRAZY ! plus ive never seen toxic yaoi executed so well with two nonwhite, darkskinned characters and as a south asian that lowkey made me happy lol. anyway i love armand so much he sucks so bad but i do feel deeply seen and deeply compelled by his little gremlin ass

I miss Louis’ New Orleans era too. I get why Lestat fell in love with him, though, if I saw this beautiful creature pull a knife on his own brother in the middle of the street I’d stop at nothing to pursue him. It’s alluring. I think that’s the part of Louis Lestat has always loved and loathed most, his fierce independence and survivor’s instinct and capacity for violence. I say loathed because Lestat’s always torn between wanting Louis like that and wanting Louis to be his little housewife. He’s stupid like that.

I thought his stage direction was nice. Were his plays “good”? No. But were his notes well thought out? Yes. His notes for the trial were good. So it’s the playwright’s fault the scripts were bad, actually.

Re: his identity, I really think he’s doing fine. Not everyone needs a laundry list of hobbies and characteristics to “have an identity.” It’s true that Armand molds himself into whatever shape that’s required of him and sometimes he makes erroneous assumptions about it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an identity. I think Armand doesn’t perceive himself as having an identity, and it’s obvious that he structures his life around whatever role he’s occupying, and that it’s all very fragmented and difficult for him to see the continuity in it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an identity. His priorities and thought process are fairly obvious to the viewer, so that’s his identity. You can see the structure of his mind. That’s him. Right there. We don’t have to wait for the “real” Armand, he’s already here.

I don’t remember when I started loving him, but it was before the painting. Maybe the hunt, or when he starts participating in the interview. The painting did change something for me, though, and so did the bench scene. But I liked him from the start of season two, really, from the moment I found out he’d essentially been stalking Louis the whole time in Paris. I like him most when he’s got a little bit of edge, but then again, I love him when he lies. I actually have a shirt with their argument printed on it. It’s so fucking funny.

Well, I think there was love, at least before Armand strangled it to death. I don’t know if Louis ever loved Armand again, not after the trial, but I think Armand loved Louis, although not in a way that would really be comprehensible as love to anyone else. Maybe only the way you love something you own. But I think he at least enjoyed the performance of it. Besides, all the best relationships are 24/7 BDSM built on abuse and spite. You don’t agree? I think it’s very romantic.

Yeah, it’s the first time I’ve seen something like that too. And it was the greatest thing ever and I’m really glad we got a South Asian lead, even if I’m unsatisfied with AMC’s promotional strategy. One million seasons of Armand and one million posters of his face splashed across all major cities around the world, please. He’s perfect! More people should see him. More people should be subjected to him.

[s1ater]

god, forgive me.

part three of n/a.

ricky rocks. i always forget to update this story even though it's my favorite plot tbh

kathaholics 🦵

finn guess who we just fucking found

sab god himself?

josh we were a little more luckier than that

enya luckier than god?

enya can't wait to hear this

josh the bitch who lit stacy on fire

finn she's coming to smoke with us

sab oh great, another deadbeat to add to our group

josh how could you say that, chicago is a national treasure

josh she did what no one else could do

sab josh, she basically committed arson

finn no, we weren't lucky enough for that

finn more like, third degree burns

josh arson would be like if stacy had just completely disintegrated

josh which sadly did not even come close to happening

"these two jackasses would get themselves expelled if they ever talk like this in public."

"what do you mean?" enya snorts, "they talk like this all the time in public. neither of them have a filtered thought to save them."

louis watches the continuation string of messages between finn and josh dogging on stacy golifolk feed through his screen within their groupchat to no end. he lied in the back of their rec room on an old dusty chair while sabrina and enya continued to discuss how stupid their two friends were.

"louis, you ready to go soon?"

louis perked his head up to sabrina's inquiry, finding both of them looking at him now.

"what?"

"the graveyard," she nodded, "ditching school... remember?"

louis dips his head back as if suddenly being hit with recollection, “oh yeah, uh… no.”

“no?” sabrina is on her knees know, hanging off the back of the couch as she looks at him in surprisal.

“yeah, you seemed to have heard me correctly.”

“okay, no need to be rude about it, blockhead,” enya barges in, looking widely distasteful to his disinterest. “you’re the one who wanted to go.”

“and now i don’t.”

enya rolls her eyes before mumbling, “fucking cunt,” then turning back around to sit normally on the orange couch both her and sab were on. sab still watched him, more with confusion than annoyance that enya was hunkering.

“what’s up with you?”

kathaholics 🦵

josh yo, wtm

josh i got my bag and we already hopped the fence, so the rest of you fuckers better be on the way

sab looks up from her phone as he still scanned josh's messages, “so, you going or not?”

louis feels a strain of annoyance in his chest and a flash of heat flare upon his face; anger. for some reason, he felt a large amount of annoyance and irritation with sabrina still talking to him even after his rejection. he felt this a lot lately, and not just with sabrina, but right now she was putting the cherry on top of increasing his bad mood.

“fuck off, sabrina.”

**

“do you fuckers have no sense of time?”

“relax fuck face, you act like your mental watch is so good.”

“when weed’s involved, it’s immaculate.”

enya gave a hefty sigh before swinging her bag onto her designated seat. she then looked up, analyzing the three sets of red eyes before her, she smirks, “well, well, well, if it isn’t the woman of the hour.”

“my fellow candle stick holder.”

sabrina rolls her eyes as you and enya lean toward one another to shake hands, and you’re just beaming with a thin pressed smile of amusement. she couldn’t believe this was happening.

“ladies, take a seat. you know where you belong,” josh extends his arms out to the dusty old cushions that filled the area across from him

the graveyard was an old abandoned boys school from the 1950s that was never tore down, but rather left for catholic delinquents to discover and deem as there smoke spot. the five of them currently sat in a rusty old school bus that was cleared of most its seats and replaced with scruffy old couch cushions, bean bags, and really anything to provide comfort.

you were beyond amazed at the craftsmanship when your two new friends pulled you into what was the perfect smoke spot. your urge to spark up had increased immediately upon the sight, cutting your tour short and landing all three of you on the couch shoved all the way to the back.

“aye, where is louis at?”

“his cunt ass decided he didn’t want to come,” the sour tone of enya's voice suddenly covered every part of the bus, making everyone look up to her.

you were quick to catch onto the look josh and finn share over you despite being in your high state. her tone was very sobering and somehow you felt ten times more aware of everything all because of her clear distaste for this louis boy.

“fuck, why is that?”

“fuck if i know, louis has a fuckin’ stick up his ass lately.”

“isn’t that right.”

“sorry, who are we talking about?” your face screws up while you pass on the blunt you had to finn, looking between each of them subtly.

“louis partridge,” finn inhales “brown hair, brown eyes, and apparently a recent stick inputted into his ass.”

“such a clear decipher, almost like you didn’t just describe every walking fuck in our school,” enya rolls her eyes at finn and the vague features he offered, then looking to you. "he's the same year as us, was going to be top boy."

her provided information wasn't anymore of a help either.

"what?" however, a burst of energy seized through the group upon the relevance of it.

"lou was going to be top boy?" sabrina's posture was pulled straight as the rest of them, looking for clarification from enya--all she does is shrug.

"no wonder louis has been such a prick lately. he has to start fulfilling the roll," finn chuckles to himself, slowly starting to slouch back down. "too good for us."

"hey, whatever man, good for him," josh lightly taps finn, "maybe we'll finally get coed bathrooms and cig breaks like we've been petitioning for since first year sense we know someone on the board now."

"you guys are disgusting," enya rolls her eyes.

"what, you think they won't go for the dart breaks between class?"

you think enya's eyes are about to fall out of her head by the amount of eye rolls she's had in the past five minutes. you suppress your snicker as she looks at them with a dead stare.

"yeah, good luck with that one," she readjusts herself. "louis doesn't seem to give a damn about us, let alone your first year petitions."

"cmon, en, it was just one thing. he was only pissy because of coming down off of whatever josh gave him this morning," sabrina's voice lightens in defense of him, pushing enya further in annoyance.

"it wasn't just one thing. he's been a dick for the past couple of months. you can't tell me he hasn't when we're the ones who always have to deal with it because these two dimwits are too high half the time to even speak," her pointer finger jabs in your general direction in reference to both finn and josh who seemed shocked to her accusation. "tell me you didn't forget just because you've known him for so long."

there are hints of more spite that intertwined within the sentence, and you wonder why.

"well, I have known him for a long time."

"we all have, sab, but I don't forget his bitch fits because of it."

"oh, cmon, enya, don't you think you're being kinda harsh?" josh motions mindlessly with the hand that isn't propped behind his head. "you're just still pressed about him throwing out your booze stash."

"yeah, and you would be too if it was your pot."

"yeah, well at least I'm smart enough to not bring it around him when he's asked you not to," he takes a hit, his nonchalantness pissing her off. "plus, you're the one who put it in his room."

"suck me off," she grumbles, finally throwing herself into the cushions as if finally giving up. "he shouldn't be friends with alcoholics when he doesn't want to become one himself."

silence, but you still wonder;

"who's louis again?"

@aliyahsutherland @ioveisabel @multifandom-obsessed @cryinginsanity @rebbyr @cc13723things @heyitsmeimdead @thehuntress09 @black-rose-29 @rrosecar @instabull @rudypankowisdaddy @lukewearingbeanies @kiramdd @kitkat-mini @spencybear @w0nderr @deadbeatbarb @phantompogues @i-love-scott-mccall @greengarsstuff @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @felixulvr @demigirl-with-problems @whoreforpsychopaths @mxsmwndr @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @xivilivix @morganaah @eichenhouseproperty @alliechickens @moonlighy @ancientimes @thelaststraw3 @i44nishi @iluvt4ylorswift @liltimmyst @falcvns @alexxavicry @grxcisxhy-wp @esposadomd

[rapha-reads]

Things from Interview With The Vampire s02e04 (ep11) I noticed:

[Edit 1: Actually this turned into a live-commenting, sorry]

[Edit 2: Keep in mind, I haven't read the books, so all of these observations are born from the show itself and the few (lots of) spoilers and narrative plot points I've gleaned here and there.]

Both Claudia and Louis are so bored with the coven. Or maybe bored isn't the word, but... Done? Frustrated and annoyed? Restless? Louis because he never intended to join and so cares not all for all their internal affairs. Claudia because she thought she'd finally have the life she wanted and instead is being forced to relive the tragedy of her life day after day.

And Armand rejoices in drawing them further apart, scolding and punishing Claudia while begging scraps from Louis.

And he's soooo jealous. The face he makes when Louis starts explaining what Dreamstat feels like is priceless.

Also, personal theory: either Louis is indeed suffering psychotic breaks after psychotic breaks, or just manifesting his own version of Lestat because he doesn't want to let go. Or Lestat can astral project and has been stalking Louis from the moment they left New Orleans.

The coven is tearing itself apart. And normally I'd add "and Armand isn't even seeing it/taking it seriously yet" but given that the whole of them are unreliable narrators and that Armand is a shady ass bitch whose only agenda is himself, I'd say he's well aware and purposefully making it worse.

I can't make sense of Santiago yet, though. Is he jealous? Ambitious? Is he fond of Claudia? Does he hate her? He definitely hates Louis, but is it just jealousy or real antipathy? Oh, but Louis is still my precious special kitten and that speech about Paris, art and modernity, as a contemporary culture student, made me vibrate a little out of my chair, and Santiago clowning him makes me want to claw his face. We get it, you hate him and you think he's pretentious, now can you shut up and let us talk a bit more about the art scene in Paris post-WW2 and why Louis is absolutely right, Picasso isn't all that impressive in the end? Thanks. Bacon tho, Bacon is interesting. My contemporary art teacher last year was excruciatingly boring, but he had a boner for both Louise Bourgeois and Bacon and we spent several hours on them (and not nearly enough about Mapplethorne, alas). Anyway. I feel ya, Lou. I have been called pretentious too for simply getting excited about art, culture and folkore.

I'm rooting for Louis and Claudia to kill them all off and run away to Italy. I know it won't happen, but one can dream, eh.

Is Armand messing up with both Daniel by getting into his mind and Louis by switching the photos? Interesting. Two people who have a shitton of issues stuck with a sadistic, insecure and bitter control freak who's been pulling the threads since way before anyone realises. And Louis is so lost in his trauma and grief and anger, he trusts Armand and doesn't see what's happening and been happening to him for 70 years, while Daniel is just a sad, sick old man who thinks he knows his life and what his future entails. Armand is definitely having fun.

"Je n'aime pas fenêtre quand fermée" is NOT FRENCH, MY EARS. I will be picky, I don't care for artistic licence. Correct sentence would be "je n'aime pas les fenêtres quand elles sont fermées". Admittedly, if it goes into a song, you'd have to respect the length of the line and all those musical measures. But still. You could shorten the numbers of syllables by dropping the language register: "j'aime pas les f'nêtres quand elles sont fermées" ; from 12 or 13 to 9, the original line being 8 or 9. Depending on whether you say "je-n'ai-me-pas" or "je-n'aim-pas" and "fe-nê-tres" or "fe-nêtres". Anyway. I'm sure the writers had those discussions (I hope; hey, AMC, hire me, I'm a good proofreader and I speak 5 languages).

Me: oh, Louis isn't even bothering now, he's directly talking to... Wait, is Lestat eating that photo? If it's Dreamstat: the hell is going on in your head, Louis? If it's Astral Lestat: that is certainly a choice, my friend.

"Barely Balthasar", LMAO, Lestat I fucking love you. Poor Balthasar always gets forgotten in adaptations. Nope, we're not here to talk R&J, moving on.

Armand: "this is my tragic backstory. Feel pity for me. I'm the good guy." Me: yeaaah, how much of this is actually real? And, uh, no, like Lestat said: ha! You're a storyteller and a conman, Armand. You weave your story to pluck at the heart's threads of your audience, modulating it to their sensibilities to better serve your own interests and your plans. What are those interests, these plans? Hell if I know. But I absolutely do not trust you at all.

HANDS OFF CLAUDIA OR I'LL BITE

"The wilderness that is our daughter" have I said lately how much I love Lestat.

Oh, hello, the Loustat scene on the bench just broke my heart, which is funny if you consider that that's just Louis breaking up with himself. Also, do we consider Louis knew about the initials in the pocket, and Dreamstat is saying what Louis wants him to say, or is it another unreliable narrator Louis, or is it Lestat himself...?

Aw, going from the Loumand scene on the bench to "toxic gay divorce with body count" sure is a tonal shift. Lmao. You're losing your touch, Armand. Louis' awakening. Daniel's awakening... San Francisco next, that will be fun. Excited to see how they've changed that part, knowing it's the red thread of the first book.

...

Oooh, that got long. Apologies. I really need to sit and read those books.

[wingsofhcpe]

Mar's BBC vs Book Canon Musketeers Assession: a Short Yet Comprehensive Guide

(read under the cut!)

bbc d'Artagnan: baby. has not done anything wrong in his life ever, actual angel, just very stupid.

vs

book d'Artagnan: has the power of god and anime on his side, most annoying little bitch you'll ever meet, broke, has a stupid horse, perpetually single.

*

bbc Athos: depressed older brother figure that's not-so-secretly very soft and loving of his found family and would die to protect them, also still horny for one Milady de Winter. Carries the communal garrison braincell.

vs

book Athos: drunk misogynist who yearns for death and whose only reason to live is his son Raoul. All his braincells have committed self-murder.

*

bbc Porthos: feisty ray of sunshine who has never had a single evil thought in that silly head of his, actually quite clever, complicated and emotional, deserves the world.

vs

book Porthos: vainest person you'll ever meet, doesn't know when to shut up, sugar baby who cares only about himself (and maybe Aramis), has not had a single intelligent thought in his entire existence.

*

bbc Aramis: cinnamon roll, golden retriever, actually quite clever, troublemaker who can't keep it in his pants, lovable self-sacrificial idiot who would get himself killed in a heartbeat to save his loved ones, brightest smile in all of Paris. Invented bisexuality.

vs

book Aramis: mean, edgy, probably secretly a vampire, would sell you to satan for one (1) corn chip, one bad day away from going on a murder spree. Also invented bisexuality.

*

bbc Treville: exasperated dad.

vs

book Treville: extremely exasperated dad.

*

bbc Cardinal: genius evil mastermind played by Peter Capaldi.

vs

book Cardinal: genius evil mastermind sadly not played by Peter Capaldi.

*

bbc Rochefort: worst person you'll ever fucking meet, arguably the only downgrade in the show.

vs

book Rochefort: sneaky lil bastard that's also the bestieTM, we stan.

*

bbc Constance: feminist icon, beautiful queen I'd kill and die for, gaslight gatekeep girlboss.

vs

book Constance: she's just there and then she dies ig.

*

bbc Milady: my cunning evil murderwife, would die for her, deserves the world.

vs

book Milady: actually I believe Athos should have strangled her with his own hands, fuck her.

*

bbc Bonacieux: evil greasy little man, fuck him.

vs

book Bonacieux: he's just... kinda... there I guess? Idk man Dumas looked at the Bonacieuxs and went "nah".

*

bbc Louis: annoying little shit but he's kinda cute and nice sometimes

vs

book Louis: manchild, just There ig.

*

bbc Anne: radiant angel who has done nothing wrong in her life ever and she's also perfection itself.

vs

book Anne: literal drama queen.

*

BONUS ROUND- GRIMAUD

bbc Grimaud: hot evil emo dude, idk what his problem was tho

vs

book Grimaud: actually he just doesn't get paid enough for this shit so if he wanted to murder Athos like in the show I'd understand that lmao

[madly-empirical]

watching iwtv with my sister who really enjoys it but her reactions are funny compared to a lot of the fandom:

Every episode lately she’s like “Louis not that great” when the boys are after him

She doesn’t care about Claudia

Was like “I like Armand when he’s a little bitch” pre-episode 5

Had to have a little sit down after episode 5 and said “What are you doing to me” as if it was my fault lol

“I’m on Santiago’s side”

Has either instantly forgot how powerful Armand is or has never really noticed what he can do (wow self-perception of helplessness so ingrained it affects real world audience members)

Really liked the trial episode

Is sick and tired of Louis and his whole deal (she literally said this after he was buried alive, like stone cold)

Her favourite character is Lestat from the movie (lol)

[madevampselle]

Unpopular opinion, I guess, but

Ah, fuck you, Louis, you sanctimonious insufferable little bitch! You really are your mother's boy.

Oh my God, there's fucked up and then there's Armand. I mean, I knew that already, of course, but Armand unleashed is a sight to behold. Layers and layers, centuries and centuries of trauma. I'm afraid your Armand has become my drug, Assad.

Poor Danny. I still hope he'll turn you. I want the best for you, and by the best I mean being turned and become your devil's minion, and his daddy.

No, Lestat, your cher is not OK, he's all kinds of fucked up, been spiralling for decades and will most likely end up doing something really bad from which you'll have to save him. Your husband is the highest maintenance. Come save him from himself. "Saint Louis." "You were never cruel." You're all fucked in the head, my beloved vampires. You too, Danny.

Yes, I still love Louis. 😂 Just not as much as Lestat and Armand do. I'm not a borderline masochist.

I fucking love this cast. Jacob, Assad, Eric, Luke. I applaud you 👏 and thank you. This episode was so good, but oh so short.

I love this show. And I hope we get to see the real Lestat, instead of just glimpses.

Now onto next week. I want some more.