#I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR THAT LEVEL OF EMOTIONAL PAIN

[aquamonstra]

Real Life just went and did a The Offspring on me and I'm gonna cry for a while now 😭😭😭😭😭

[scarlettmurphy]

STARCROSSED PT2 +ੈ✩‧₊˚ LOGAN HOWLETT.

logan and y/n — where you are completely in love with a man older then you’re father by a good century or so.. whose completely in love with another.

- content warning age gap (is legal) drinking. explicit. swearing. dirty humour. comfort (an ounce). drugs. nsfw. sick. body issues. sh. angst.. maybe happy endings?! pairings: older!logan howlett x xaiver!reader. logan howlett x jean grey.

spoiler: insane yearning and angst i’m sorry im too far gone ☹️ happy ? where.

note this is part two to starcrossed, prepare for even heavier angst!🫶🏻 i didn’t realise how sad this was until i finished the chapter and realised holy shit this is long. part three is already in the works. i hope u enjoy it! make sure to read pt1. it’s a bit diff from the first one but i hope u like it still. also if you’ve seen the movie ten things i hate about u the mid bit of this might remind u of that one scene if u get me :) song: need you now by lady a cos i was listening to it and jeff buckley whilst reading this? also on the timeline im going for like xmen 2 time i think?

tags — @faceache111 @malfoys-demigod @navs-bhat @dilfismz @thisbipuff-isaswiftie @twinky-wink @thewiselionessss @thecraziestcrayon @awhoreforalotofshows @emily-b @jae48 @cxptainbuck @444st4rg1rl 🫶🏻

[i hope you like it!!]

you’d absolutely love to believe that what you heard last night wasn’t what happened but as your mind goes over the previous night as you fought yourself to stay awake during your fathers little class your brain couldn’t forget the continuous moans and little yells that you heard from a few rooms across from your own at the mansion for a good hour or two last night. you can’t help but figure out that logan most certainly found jean and just thinking about it made you feel sick. scott being the main thing on your brain after you got over the fact logan most definitely fucked jean last night.

she was a cheater. what else could you expect? your thoughts swirling in your brain causing an indescribable amount of heart ache as you kept yourself completely quiet and withdrawn from whatever was going on in this lesson, rogue clearly being able to tell you were off as she glanced at bobby giving him a look you picked up on — him shrugging his shoulders in return as you cursed your sadness for being so obvious.

just the thought of jean and logan staring at eachother hurt you but her touching him, his hands over her skin, her lips on his, his mind only on her in that moment and his gaze locked into hers as she let him take her yet again enraged you to another level it was a struggle not to jump into his mind and find out exactly what happened but you couldn’t, you wouldn’t. your brain fighting with your heart in every way as you felt sick with all those pictures of the scenario you were forming for yourself.

so from that knowledge as you sat in class you knew you needed to stop liking him for good. he didn’t like you, he was throwing it in your face. you heard it all and it hurt you too much to bare. you didn’t even wanna look at him — that single thought of contact sending you crazy. you couldn’t even bring yourself to see him today. you didn’t want too, you couldn’t. seeing jean as you passed through the kitchen earlier was enough to make you nearly cry and immediately stop that tiny breakfast you had made.

you really couldn’t deal with this. one bit. you never did well with emotional pain — physical was something you could endure, yet emotional was always something you couldn’t stomach ever since you were a little girl.

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

you'd been avoiding him like the plague. literally. whenever you saw him at the end of the halls you'd turn the other away, force a little smile and act like you had somewhere to go if you were in conversation and it had been like that for two weeks. two weeks had passed since one of your normal conversations, the friendly chats you admired in your brain and made out to be more, the little touches he'd give you that you couldn't comprehend was only a friend thing to do, the way he'd hug you.. the deep conversations, the way he'd sometimes kiss your forehead before you left for bed, watching the rain together and just joking together all something you had put in the past. that had been gone for two weeks and to say it was breaking you would be an understatement.

you could tell others has noticed the practical borderline dissociation within you since you had been a little mute recently not that it was specially due to logan (it completely all was) but you didn't want it to be obvious, you hated that it could be perceived that way so you knew you had to do something about it. who knew heartache for one that didn't love you back could destroy you this badly from the inside out?

.. and today was no different on the logan front. you saw him once today in the halls ushering something to hank — the two in bustling conversation and you made sure not to risk it by going to class, to upset over it all to deal with another short horrible conversation where you were nothing but cold to him as you tried to cut down any romantic feelings you had for him. every time you spoke now you could see the confusion and frustration in his eyes, the mental image to much to bare as you went on hiding in your room and pondering and that’s where you had been since — buried in clothing choices as you tried to stomach down the anxiety that had been growing in you over the fact it was jeans birthday party today and you would have to make an appearance after you had been a hermit since you’d got your heart broken by a guy that didn’t even know. rogue and bobby being the only two people you had really spoke too since the shut down yet their concern had been growing annoying as rogue clearly told bobby about the little crush she could’ve guessed, and got out of you when the two of you were high together a few months ago, you had on logan. bobby actually giving you little options of guys you could date to get over someone which was all you needed to hear when you realised rogue had told him as he literally mentioned hank who they knew you recently hiked with since he had been bothering you over your melancholy, yet you had left before it was a full fledge little argument.

just the thought of having to socialise with him and the others and step out of the hole you’d built for yourself to hide in irritated you especially for jean of all people’s party, your ‘smidge’ of hatred for the woman who had really been rude to you since she’d known you not because of logan, because god on that front she wins and it feels like she’s married to him despite her ties to scott, but on the power front. she knew you had powers incomparable to hers that you hardly even showcased magneto being someone who taught you many things when you were younger, your own parents being raven and charles. of course you had powers which were indescribable.

and most of the time you wanted to use it on that bitch. you were lucky she couldn’t get into your twisted mind to find that fact out.

you let out a little sigh as you decided on the black mini skirt and sweater — you finally having an excuse for the fall outfit and lack of dress because it was october which has always been your favourite season and best time of year yet this year that didn’t apply because you haven’t been hardly able to enjoy it because of isolation you’d forced yourself into.

y/n had to swallow her own self pity down as she leaned over to her perfume bottle on the drawer next to her mirror as she took in the image of her body in the skirt. her shrinking body, a scoff leaving her lips as she wasn’t happy with what she saw in the reflection. she never could be. the aroma of the perfume not masking her feelings at all as she put on some dc martens paired with black tights. the perfect little outfit yet she was sure jean would be outshining her on that front. god she didn’t even wanna imagine logan’s eyes being locked onto jean tonight, the heart ache already unbearable to comprehend as she swallowed a lump that formed in her throat. that aching feeling hadn’t gone away since the start of knowing logan the way she did, maybe that was a sign from the people above about how destined it was.. or how not it was.

these muddled thoughts led her too some early drinking as if she wouldn’t be getting shitfaced later. pregaming alone which is a bit self pity full as she swallowed the burning liquor down her throat, the whiskey hitting her softly and slowly enough to give her the confidence to leave her room twenty minutes later for this party.

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

the decorations were perfect, the present corner was overflowing and the students and people were everywhere. jean being clearly the popular girl from the looks of this party, as if y/n already didn’t know that, as the blasting music just made her more aware of the scenario she was in as she fought the urge to look around the room for logan as she went straight over to the bar that had been made. the party was the perfect one a girl, woman, could ask for and y/n could feel the jealously bubbling already that she bit down as she forced a friendly smile to join her lips.

walking through the dancing groups of people, there hardly even being any spaces to walk unless you wanted to bump into a coked up or insanely drunk teenager or wade. who she was lucky to get past without having to talk to yet, no matter how much she did like and enjoy his company she couldn’t deal with his jokes right now which she could guess who’d they’d be centered around, she knew he knew to some extent she was just lucky he hadn’t out rightly said it. that would be too much pity for her to deal with, that coming from wade being another level of pathetic.

the second she leant against the bar she managed to grab the busy barmaids attention giving her a soft nod and polite smile as she didn’t notice the figure beside her as she asked for a coke and vodka.

“thank god you’re showing your face — i thought i was going to have to clone you to get a good conversation.” hank rolled out his tipsiness showing as he pulled y/n into a tight hug when he was sat down on the stool. y/n letting out a low chuckle as she hugged him back nicely, his presence being a little surprise she tried not to seem so bothered about.

“hiya hank.” y/n said softly as the barmaid came over with her drink, placing it next to her. “thanks.” y/n nodded out as hank placed his hand on the stool next to him as she immediately grabbed it and took a swig.

“come! sit.” he ushered in with a drunken smile on his face, a bright one as usual, as he patted the bar stool next to him inviting her to sit and before y/n could even speak up in reply as she slid down on the stool hank bit in.

“where the hell have you been?” he abruptly said bluntly, putting a little look on his face off one that’s pissed off as y/n felt the guilt rush through her as she wrapped her fingers around the glass drowning her truth in the drink as she took a big sip off the liquor acting as if that didn’t taste appalling as she shrugged her shoulders at hanks obvious question which has an obvious answer to that she’d play off as a stupid claim if questioned about it.

“—i’ve been busy! controlling powers— small missions, and that.” y/n lied out.

hank furrowed his eyebrows at his words, giving her a knowing look before he shook his head swiftly at what she said. seeing right through her little lie he truly knew nothing much about what the truth was or not as he took a little sip of his beer.

“i know you but i’m not pushing it— rather you bite of logan’s heads rather then mine.” hank said out lowly as y/n’s eyebrows furrowed at his comment as a look of confusion spread over her face at the mention of him but before she could question hank on it she was met with two hands around her waist, pulling her tightly back purposely.

“hello pretty little liars, you’re aria?” wade said loudly into her ear his drunkenness obvious as y/n scoffed, him clearly stating that because her outfit choice as he squeezed her even tighter y/n’s eyes rolling as she elbowed him playfully back as his hands on her faltered as he playfully shoved her back.

“—elsa! you made it snow yet?” y/n said back to him as she was met with the sound of his laughter as he pulled on the stool next to y/n, making the guy who was sat on it mutter a curse before wade sent him a glare and then went speed walking away clearly a boy as young as fourteen or thirteen who just got the shit scared out him for, wade’s harsh look as he sqt down on the stool as he met y/n’s gaze.

“you know i have honey.” he nodded out with a smirk as hank leaned into the twos space.

“shots anyone?” hank rolled out, fixing his glasses as wade enthusiastically said a quick yes, y/n adding to the fire. “—very much needed.” y/n drove out as wade sent her a little look of knowing yet he held back the urge to call her out on it. he was being a ‘good’ friend in his eyes anyway, he didn’t wanna hear her say things about logan when he knew a few things himself on how the other party felt.

hank calling the barmaid over as wade pulled y/n’s stool closer to his that knowing look still present on his face as he played with the knowledge he had a bit just in a little playful way.

“you seen the birthday girl yet?..gave her a gift?” wade said sarcastically knowing the two didn’t really see eye to eye on a LOT of things as y/n gave him a little glare, him having been present for many of their little disagreements.

“luckily i haven’t, as i’ve brung nothing.” y/n rumbled back as wade nudged her playfully with her words as hank grabbed the tray of shots from the barmaid— y/n’s eyes widening once she saw how many shots he had ordered. “fifteen?” y/n broke out with a raised eyebrow as hank chuckled as he took one, downing it straight away before grabbing another as wade spoke up cockily.

“who’s pants are you trying to get into?” wade rolled out, his voice sly as he grabbed two for himself as y/n leaned over and took one ready to get shitfaced, maybe that’d stop her mind from falling back onto logan every other second her longing heart internally hating this situation more and more as she yearned to see him but she bit back the urge to even look around for him. halting that urge by taking a shot.

“preferably anyone with a pulse and no dick between their legs.” hank said right as y/n took another shot, her nearly choking on the burning liquid which was a horrible mix of vodka and god knows what.

“i can tuck.” wade said lowly as this made it worse, y/n nudging wade, shaking her head as she held back her laugh as she swallowed the shot she just took. “disgusting!” she rolled out as she took another, downing it before placing the shot down on the table.

“ah! sweeties jealous.” wade spoke up sarcastically with that all familiar cocky smile on his face with that teasing glint in his eyes as he handed another shot y/n’s way as she took it gracefully as they all cheersed their glasses together. that being just one of the about eight times they did that within the next thirty to sixty minutes as y/n bit back her thoughts with copious amounts of shots and soon enough they had gone through a good four or so tray off shots and a few drinks each.

every passing minute y/n felt her mind get closer and closer to the edge as every time she felt that aching feeling grow she’d swallow it back with another sip of liquor or large shot — wades jokes passing the time and hanks yapping and her own occasional drunken chime in making her mind a mess as hank got another row of shots.

the songs and wade and hank’s voices becoming a blur in y/n’s mind as she swallowed nothing but the truth with those shots. every sip feeling like more heartache she couldn’t stop having.

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

y/n was practically stuck too the bar stool, her eyes scanning the crowd occasionally (by occasionally around five times if not more a minute) as she looked for him. her mind lingering on a certain someone as it always tended to do the liquor just amplifying those feelings as hank spoke up.

“you know— you look like your mum.”

his words caused y/n’s attention to snap over to hank as she raised an eyebrow, wade making a little ‘oo’ in the background even if he couldn’t help but agree with his comment as he sipped on the cocktail he had ordered a few drinks previously that had just been laying there on the side. the bartender making a fuck ton of profit from these three miserables.

“very dead?” y/n said sarcastically as hank gave her a little look — clearly a little annoyed she didn’t take the comment seriously as he leaned a little closer to her.

“beautiful you idiot.” hank added out, his words making her eyebrows furrow a bit as she took in his drunken words as she gave him a little a smile — swallowing the depreciating joke she was close to making as she took a sip of her drink.

“thank you hank.” y/n nodded out calmly as wade butted in.

“—fucking hell, incoming for angry jacob twilight wannabe.” wade cursed out as y/n’s gaze moved over wade following his eyes to where he was looking, her heart feeling as if it was flipping and twisting in her chest as she watched logan walk into the bar games room as she furrowed her eyebrows at the sight of jean following him angrily. her looking perfect as ever.

yet before y/n could think another thought she locked eyes with logan from across the room — their eyes meeting as she felt a weight lift immediately onto her as she swallowed a lump that formed in her throat at just the sight of him. it felt as if time has frozen just as they looked to each other , his eyes taking everything about her in as she did the same his way.

he practically immediately walked over, more like stomped over, as he seemed clearly agitated. more then usual as his eyes dawned onto wade and hank before resting back to y/n as he stopped in his tracks in front of the seated three.

“who thought getting a teenager shitfaced was a good idea?” logan nearly growled out, giving wade a glare as y/n’s eyes lingered back on jean who saw who he was talking to and turned away her being even more pissed then him, y/n holding the urge to go into her mind and find out why as she brung her gaze onto logan after seeing jean walk off somewhere else in the room, her patience clearly wearing thin. her wanting to make a little childish comment about how she wasn’t when wade spoke up.

“gods probably.” wade rolled out in reply as logan scoffed at what he said.

“y/n.” logan said, her eyes meeting his own as she took in his appearance. her eyes lingering on the chain that was wrapped around his neck — one he told her was something jean gave him when he first became an xmen, something he hasn’t worn in months, this fact only making her feel a number of horrible thoughts as she grabbed her drink and took a mean swig. swallowing her own building self pity as she forced a fake smile logan immediately knew to be fake.

“hi.” she said swiftly after she put her drink back down on the table — his eyebrow raising a little at her hostility as he looked to wade, hank the back to her.

“uh—“ logan spoke up, trying to find the words to say as he looked at her a bit lost for words at how she was acting as he swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat — feeling his frustration rise as he tried to control it, “where have you been?” he said lowly, hank raising his eyebrow at how this little conversation seemed weirdly tension filled. wade knew why, he could’ve called her little feelings for him back when she first met the guy but now he couldn’t help see how serious it was because off the way she was looking at him and how it was affecting her.

he couldn’t even brung himself to but in as he buried himself in his drink. hank doing the same.

“i’ve been busy. but i’ve been around— i saw you two days ago.” she said quickly, shifting in her seat a little as his eyes almost felt as if they burnt through her.

“you didn’t stay,” he said taking a pause as he looked at her, taking in just how intoxicated she seemed as he tried to analyse it, “like you uh- normally, do.”

his words touched a nerve on y/n as she felt that all familiar heart ache grow y/n trying to act as if the feeling inside her wasn’t killing her right now and ripping her to shreds as she kept her gaze on him, his eyes on her making her think and feel a number of things she hated.

“—had somewhere to be.” she replied quickly, his eyebrows raising at her bluntness to her reply as he knew something was off. he sensed it, the drunkness only adding to his worry as he went to step closer when he was cut off by a voice behind him.

y/n eyes dawned on the sight off jean, a tight silver dress on showcasing her curves as her red hair flowed down by her side as she looked at logan who hadn’t even brung himself to met her gaze yet. y/n immediately being hit with a truck load of insecurities just with a glance to the older women who had the only guy she’d ever loved wrapped around her finger.

y/n’s heart feeling as if it was stepped on as she kept her gaze on him — time feeling a little slow motion.

“logan—now.” jean said harshly.

“lo- logan.” she said again, y/n not leaving logan’s gaze as he swallowed his own spit as he eventually brung his gaze over to jean.

“logan— he knows.” she said harshly, her words a little quiet as they were clearly just meant for logan’s ears yet y/n heard them. “now! come on?” she questioned out frustratedly, saying that to grip his attention as logan looked to jean then back to y/n, wade and hank watching like it was a drama.

the air felt thick with some sort of something as y/n swallows, her eyes on him as he bit down on the inside of his cheek.

“be careful kid, remember to slow down.” he rolled out before he turned away with jean going right to her side as y/n scoffed as he walked off turning her attention back to the barmaid — not feeling logan’s eyes burning back to her as he took a long glance her way before disappearing off with jean into the party to sort whatever was happening.

y/n rolled her eyes the second she turned her attention back over to the bar as she looked down at the bar table, swallowing her thoughts down with the rest of her vodka as she felt the others eyes on her. they sensed on the tension — it was impossible not too.

“so they’re fucking again.” hank commented lowly and cluelessly. his words being like a gut punch to y/n as she bit down on her tongue as she called back over the barmaid, leaning over and ordering a couple shots as she sat back down in her seat.

“mm, most definitely.. hell for scott.” wade ushered out lowly, feeling a sense of guilt as he saw the way y/n’s eyes fell as y/n tried to mute out their conversation in the background as she welcomed the shots with open arms as she pulled the tray closer to her as she heard wade and hank whisper behind her as they leant over to gossip about the rumours of jean and scott being over as y/n’s heart felt as if it was plummeting and beating as fast as it ever had with every shot she took. the information she was hearing just making her internal pain grow worse as she tried to drink it away every shot seemingly enhancing her hurt as the metal images she were getting hurt her brain as she felt the urge to do something about it.

her mind full of relentless unlimited thoughts that were screaming at her as she placed the last empty shot glass she had down — the shots helping limit the voices to some extent as the barmaid came over and refilled them without another word most likely sensing her anguish as y/n nodded to her with as much of a smile she could muster up as she thought back to the conversation with logan.

“we’re going to dance— you coming?” wade spoke to y/n as that brung her out her gaze with the bottom of the shot glass as she shook her head, “no—thanks,” she slurred out as hank gave her a small nod and pat on the shoulder before they disappeared of into the crowd leaving her alone after saying their be right backs— her lips immediately around another glass as she finished the rest of the drinks thay were laid out in front-of her.

y/n either needed fresh air and a sick bucket or the man she loved and craved, and she was going with the latter. her desires only heightened which was making just about everything worse due to the mess the alcohol had started to cause her brain and body.

her heart pounding as she stood up, everything going messy and spin like as she stumbled through the crowd. her mind on one thing and one thing only, one person, as she got pushed around a bit by the dancing people as she made her way out the bar room she was in. her eyes searching the place as she looked for him in every corner, in every face, every person, every laugh, every grunt and every noise. she was searching for him like she had been doing within her heart ever since she’d know the man.

yet what she didn’t expect to see when she turned the corner was him right there. logan right there in his bubble of perfection as she saw it. her eyes taking him in as she saw him in the hallway — a smile joining her lips as she started to walk over to him planning what she was going to say in her brain. how she was going to do any of this? she didn’t even know what she had planned, she just wanted to speak to him. she needed to see his smile. she missed it. she wanted to make him laugh like usual, she wanted to kiss him, feel his touch. she needed it, it was destroying her to not have him. why was she ignoring him for the past two weeks? she should just tell him. nothing bad could hap—

“mine.” she swore she could make out logan saying, her eyebrows furrowing in pure confusion as she took one little step closer to where he was as her eyes dawned on a certain red head with a killer smirk on her lips as she had a tight grip on his chain.

and with that every thought she just had was crushed within the space of five or so seconds as she heard jean’s light hearted chuckle next, her voice grating against y/n’s mind as she swallowed her own spit back down as she made sure she couldn’t be seen by them. feeling the sick feeling rising in her as she watched logan’s hands wrap around jean’s waist as she pulled him closer to her in a teasing action that broke y/n’s heart in two.

she was frozen in her tracks, watching as the one she loved was with the one he loved.

“you’re mine.” ringing in her ears as she just made out what he had said to jean as his words sent a chill through y/n’s body as she felt the tears start to boil in her eyes as she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene. her mouth fallen gap as she watched as he roughly had her against the door jean’s hand going down to the handle of said door as y/n watched as jean pulled him in the room with her roughly.

the door slamming behind them as she felt her beating out her chest, her breath shaky and hitched as she swallowed.

and when she heard a little squeal come from the room over the music a few seconds or minutes later, she couldn’t tell how long had passed, that’s when she knew she needed to go before she turned into a public laughing stock as she turned on her heel — shakily making her way through the crowd again, unbeknownst to the tears dropping down her cheeks as she fought her way through the dancing crowd as she tried to get the hell out of here as she thought she was fighting back her emotions, yet she really wasn’t doing too good of a job with it.

“watch it!” someone yelled out over the music to y/n as she shuffled past them quickly, stumbling out and disappearing through the back door as she made her break for it. her heart feeling broken to an extreme it hadn’t felt before which was only amplified by the alcohol as she felt her brain chemistry formed for logan be destroyed within a matter of moments. seeing it in front of her own eyes being completely different from assuming it had happened.

the fact they were doing that right now she just couldn’t and didn’t want too comprehend it. it hurting her so much she felt as if she was going to be sick, she could feel it to the extremist point that when she managed her way to the end of the courtyard where her little spot was with her childhood swing set, where she’s surprised she even remembered the whereabouts off in this state, she couldn’t stop herself from leaning down into a bush shakily.

her mouth watering, her throat burning with liquid as y/n threw up into the bush her heart pounding ridiculously as she felt the tears burning against her cheek as she didn’t even notice the feeling off two strong hands holding her hair back. her body shaking as she kept being sick, feeling the acid burn her throat as she felt a strong hand round her hair pulling it into a ponytail and another hand around her fragile body to keep her up.

her body flinching a little at the touch as the person leaned a little closer as y/n was sick some more, “it’s okay—“ a low voice ushered out as y/n couldn’t help be sick again, leaning down closer into the bush nearly tripping into it as the person held her upright. their hand snacking onto her waist as y/n leaned back into their touch. basically tripping into it as she let out a shaky breath as she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her top.

her eyes moving up onto an all familiar face and she instantly cursed in her brain as he managed to move her over to the swings, sitting her down in one of two seats as she clung to the chain of it leaning her body against it freely as she let out a little cry.

“you’re good.” scott said softly his voice low as he spoke into a comforting tone that didn’t completely soothe her as she felt the tears trail down her cheek as he kneeled down — his hands stabilising the swing that was rocking a little as he looked up at her making sure she was okay on the swing. the cold air hitting the twos faces as the moon shone down on the courtyard, the faint sound of pop music from the mansion being completely distant to both of them.

“scott.” she managed to say, him being able to tell how far gone she was by the way she slurred her words as if her crying and throwing up didn’t prove that enough. his eyes on her as he moved her hair out the way for her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear as she held back a little sob which wasn’t held back that well as she let out a shaky whimper.

“w-why— doesn-t he love me?” she spoke out quickly, her breath shaky and her voice high pitched as she let out little sniffles in between words, the weight of those making a sad smile tug on scott’s lips as he kept his hand on her face trying to keep her upright which was sort of impossible as he kept his comforting warm hand against her face. just trying to make her feel okay.

“—he—“ scott cut himself off before he moved closer to her, trying to keep her calm, “he does love you okay?”

y/n shook her head at scott’s words as she let out a muffled sob against her wrist, shaking her head as scott wiped the tears from her cheeks. “not like i want him to.” she rolled out in a slur, scott feeling his heart beat quicken at her little admission as if he didn’t know how she felt over him before as he moved his finger across her cheek in a soft circular motion, his hand cupping her jaw.

“hey- he does okay?” scott said quickly as he moved her jaw down so she met his eyes again, his tone soft as he moved himself to the other swing next to her — the second he was sat him moving his swing closer to her own. tangling the chains of his swing up a little in doing so.

“he does.” scott added out again, y/n not believing him at all as she swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat as she leaned herself again the hand that was cupping her face as she nearly tumbled off the swing.

her biting down on her tongue as she let out a little squeal as scott placed his hand on her back supporting and holding her up as a little chuckle left her lips as she leaned forward a little. scott not letting his hand move as worry was evident on his face as y/n turned to him a sad smile on her lips, tears still evident on her face.

“i wish.” he heard her whisper as he swallowed, his own voice breaking a little, “come on. okay? he doesn’t know what he’s missing right now.— he doesnt see you liking him.” scott said softly, giving her a little playful nudge as y/n started to lose the energy to even speak off it as she felt another tear slip down her cheek.

his words were taking the weight off her shoulders as she moved in the swing a little, scott’s comforting hand on her back which was now sort off around her waist making her sure she wasn’t going to fall as she moved a tiny bit closer to him on her swing. their swings touching a little.

“you deserve better then jean-y bitch.” she managed out lowly, scott not being able to help the chuckle that escaped his lips at how she put it as he looked out at the mansion in front of them. the moon present in his red tinted glasses.

“yeah— i’m starting to realise that.” he chuckled out as y/n gave him a drunken smile in return as she locked eyes with scott. someone she’d hardly noticed was this nice mostly due to the words logan remarked about him all the time as her smile couldn’t help but grow as she looked at him. the air softening between the two as y/n felt tiredness fall over her as she leant against the chains a little as she slowly moved her gaze over to the moon.

a few moments of silence passes before scott spoke up.

“y/n?” scott managed out trying to grab her attention as he saw he eyes wondering a bit. his eyebrows furrowing when he heard no answer in return, her silence scaring him as he nudged her.

“y/n?” he quickly said out once again, nudging her a little as he saw how limp her body was and noticed her closed eyes.

“fuck— y/n.” he ushered out quickly as he stood from his seat and went right to her side as he kneeled down, tapping her face to try and catch her attention. y/n stirring a little at his action as he stood up, pulling her up with him as he placed his hand around her waist as he tried to shake her a little which did the job as her eyes fluttered open to meet his own.

a drunken smile joining on her lips as a tear dropped down her cheek that she didn’t even notice as she chuckled a little, leaning close to him as she swayed a little.

“scott.” she said lowly as scott gave her a low chucke as she placed her arm around him drunk on, him wiping the tear of her cheek softly something he’d done a number of times since being in her presence tonight.

“okay it’s time to go sleep— im taking you to bed.” he explained softly as y/n looked at him with a little furrowed brow as he started to walk, helping her walk alongside him her hardly even able to realise she was walking as she leaned against his touch.

“you’re good.” he said calmly to her as they walked through the dark courtyard, the illuminated by the moon field of grass between them and the bustling school /xmansion being the only light to guide them. his grip on her tightening softly when she nearly tripped over her own feet, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he realised just how long of a walk it was to the mansion. him sighing as he held her upright. “nearly there.” he muffled out as y/n leaned to him.

“—‘m gonna be sick.” she quickly flushed out before throwing her head over in the other direction as scott patted her back and stopped in his tracks at her words as she was sick again — him holding the urge got to be sick too because the smell as he focused on helping her. his heart skipping a beat bit as he felt his anger growing over logan putting her in this situation where she was so drunk she was being sick or the fact that she was being sick just thinking about logan it made his blood boil as he felt his jaw clench — his eyebrows twitching as he helped her get it all out, whispering little comforts as he soothed her back.

“good girl. “ he said lowly as y/n brung her gaze into him once more him giving her a small sad smile as he placed his hand back around her waist to guide her, “cmon, bed.” he whispered out to her as they started walking again. having to go through the party definitely going to be a difficult task as scott tightened his grip around her waist as they walked past a couple people hanging around the outside area of the building as the music met y/n’s ears as once they got into the building scott called for people to move out the way as he made y/n stay close to him. her eyes wondering over everyone in her drunken haze as scott helped her over to the staircase which was through a couple wide, filled rooms.

her swearing she came across wade and hank in the corner with two twins and colossus’s doing a certain something to wade, her eyebrows furrowing at what she believed to have just seen as she shook it off as she met scott’s words.

“you need to be carried or are you okay?” scott asked as if he was babying her which sent a wave of comfort through her body as she let the question hang in her brain as she tried to form answer to it as she leaned herself against scott.

“‘u—‘i can—“

“scarlett?” logan roughly called out in a raised voice towards scott as he came over out of nowhere. scott rolling his eyes as he quickly picked y/n up, y/n being in scott’s arms as her eyes fluttered open to see logan to the side of them. scott’s jaw immediately clenching as he continued up the stairs without cracking a word to logan as he rushed after the pair. his own anger frustratingly high as he tried to control himself and stop himself from doing anything stupid.

“scott?” logan said harshly, his anger growing as he didn’t get an answer as he tried to get the man to look at him.

“lo-“ y/n slipped out, her voice muffled as she leaned into scott’s arms more as he carried her bridal style up the stairs. her realising his presence, logan’s eyes casting onto y/n and then back to scott. his eyes darkening.

“what have you done to her?!” logan rushed out, his voice cracking with worry as scott ignored his words as he made it to the top of the stairs and continued on down to where he’s pretty sure her room is.

“scott!” logan shouted again trying to get his attention as scott opened the door with his back, giving logan a harsh glare as he walked right over to the bed where he placed y/n down carefully on it. her drunken self pouring the cover over her figure as she rolled over in bed. letting out a little muffled whimper as her head laid on the pillow.

the second scott having let go off y/n he immediately turned to logan scott not giving logan another chance to talk before he connected his fist with his jaw, logan been taken aback a little as he raised an eyebrow, scott looking right at him as logan pushed him back harshly.

“what the fuck did you do?” logan cursed out quickly, scott scoffing as he held back taking his glasses off because of the fact it was a party, not logan’s funeral even despite how much he wanted it to be.

“you should ask yourself that, prick.” scott said harshly. logan’s eyebrows raising at his words as scott pushed himself past logan without another word.

logan immediately grabbing scott’s arm harshly, his claws aching to come out as he met his gaze.

“what do you mean by that?” logan said quickly, his eyes locked onto scott’s as so many questions flowed his brain. his thoughts enlaced with y/n and the worry he had for the girl as scott harshly brung his hand back to his side after shaking logan’s grip off — giving logan a stern look as he looked him up and down judgementally, “god, you are so stupid. you’d think being born in the 19th century would make you slightly smarter then a twenty nine year old.” scott scoffed out lowly, his words only angering logan more as he shoved scott against the wall.

his claws extending as he pressed them close to his throat — his threat there as scott swallowed.

“tell me.” he said harshly as scott couldn’t help a certain look cross his face. completely frustrated by logan, his heart aching for jean in this moment as he stared at what she had clearly picked over himself that enraging him yet also y/n and what she had just gone through herself. the heart ache something he could relate too and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone. yet right now he would logan however.

“she saw you and jean you idiot. meaning i did too. meaning— fuck you.” scott said quickly as he clicked his visor getting the right aim, logan jumping back as scott lazered his chest. his beam going right through as a loud grunt escaped his lips as logan in immediate retaliation clawed scott in the side, scott pushing back the whimper threatening to leave his lips as logan as he got ready to take another shot at the man.

logan raising his eyebrow as the two stared eachother down, “i’ll heal,” logan rolled out his words only angering scott worse as he went to raise his glasses again as logan roughly placed his hand on his chest to stop him, his claws retracted back in.

“i wish you wouldn’t.” scott bit out harshly as logan scoffed at his words, keeping his anger limited as he rolled his eyes.

“jean only needed someone to talk too—“

“you mean fuck.” scott said out harshly, jean crossing logan’s mind as his jaw clenched his gaze darkening as he couldn’t bring himself to shake his head. not that he was thinking about scott’s feelings — right now his mind pondering on another.

scott saw how logan couldn’t even fight back with words — tutting as he pushed him back. logan’s hands falling to his side as the two didn’t break eye contact.

“you know we’re engaged.” scott spit out like venom, his words causing a look of surprise to wash over logan’s face as his mouth fell open, “well we were.” he added out.

“you were— what?” logan fumbled out, confusion written on his face as scott rolled his eyes at his reaction. not that he cared deep down, but it felt like he did right now.

“great.. she didn’t tell you. like she didn’t tell anyone,” he said lowly, “not that it makes it any better what you’ve done,” scott casted out as a few seconds finding passed as he tried to find the words which only come out anger filled, “she’s a caniving cheating bitch.” scott cursed out, logan not bringing himself to react to the words scott ushered about jean as he looked at scott.

logan was about to say something to scott when the sound of y/n’s soft little snores filled the room which made the tension even higher as scott and logan glared at eachother.

“maybe just think next time before you fuck someone else’s girl, again.” scott managed out as he pushed past logan to leave the room.

“i don’t think she’s your girl.” logan called back out before he left as scott’s jaw clenched at his words as he opened the door.

“not anymore. you can have her.” he said harshly as he paused as he knew he had to say something.

“—just think about how y/n feels, because i know hurts.” scott spoke lowly as he left without another word clearly implying a certain fact.

logans heart skipped a beat at his words as the door shut behind scott, his mind feeling as if it was in a war as the tension built in the room immediately. the air feeling thick as he swallowed his own spit not bringing himself to call something back to him as his words couldn’t even bring themselves to form right in his brain yet alone out loud.

his eyes dawned back onto the sleeping girl y/n laying there. looking so soft and innocent, completely sound asleep and his heart couldn’t help twang a little as he bit down on the inside of his cheek — many bustling thoughts cursing his brain as he wished he had never thought of them.

his mind lingering on the thought of jean and what just occurred within him and scott as he came down from the pain that was inflicted on him his chest rising rapidly to a more normal flow as he healed. as he focused his gaze on y/n as he furrowed his eyebrows over what scott had said, trying to wrap his brain around it.

logan’s eyes dawning on y/n. guilt seeping through him as he felt his heart gain that aching feeling y/n had been riddled with since the day she first realised she was in love with the man as he sat on the foot of the bed. his mind feeling melted as he placed his hand on her own his big, gruff and rough feeling hand taking the soft touch of her hand into his own grip. her hand being half if not less of his size as he soothed her. her touch being another level of comfort he didn’t recall experiencing since he was a young boy that feeling sending memories flooding through his brain he couldn’t focus on now.

feeling all the emotions boiling up he’d been fighting to push down as he looked down at her asleep body. what was all of this? she had been distant, almost rude and very cold and scott’s words were making that why question he had on his mind for the past two weeks clearer.

the implication of scott’s words hung in his mind as he looked at her. him eventually bringing himself over to the spare place next to her in the bed not wanting to leave her alone for the night too worried about how drunk she was and if anything could happen in the night.. or anyone else drunkily walking in. but he couldn’t help deep down in knowing that those were just excuses to stay within her presence. asleep or not.

carefully building a gap between the two of them as he laid down — no matter how strong the urge to hug her and comfort her was — as he let out a rough exhale as he closed his eyes.

only to open them three seconds later to look at her. his eyes not leaving her peacefully asleep body for the rest of the night.

[thechekhov]

Did you seriously reblog a post defending the sanctity of life of pedophiles?

You did not read that post.

I understand that it might be difficult, because of the knee-jerk reaction we all have when it comes to this topic. I admit I also had the emotional first-response of disgust. But I urge you to go back and try to read it again, when you are cool-headed.

Stating that 'murdering people we find disgusting is not the moral high ground it feels like', is not the same thing as 'defending the sanctity of life' of anyone.

And while it feels good to emotionally say 'we should kill all (people who do bad things that cause harm to others)' this does not actually accomplish what our brains think it does.

From the post:

denying the humanity of people who do horrible things accomplishes exactly three things:

give cover to people who haven't been caught yet by allowing them to use their humanity as "proof" of their innocence

silence any criticism of societal structures and institutions that facilitate those horrible things by putting the focus on individuals who are assumed to be so uniquely monstrous that the ways it was made easy for them are irrelevant

provide a shortcut to dehumanize anyone you feel like killing: simply accuse them of doing a horrible thing

Listen, to me, listen:

I know that we are all human and when we see someone committing evil things, we feel justified and good, and we want to use our teeth and claws to rip them to shreds. I KNOW it feels incredible to reply to pain and harm with equal violence.

But on an ideological level, if you EVER hope to understand how emotional manipulation and dehumanization on a social level works, you NEED to be prepared to unwrap this delicious i-can-murder-that-person-and-feel-rightous burrito.

You need to understand why it is not the swiss knife of justice that it feels like.

You need to know that it can and will be used to kill innocent people who don't deserve it, and you will not even notice.

Because if you can justify murder with a simple 'if you fit into this category you automatically don't deserve to live' then you are supporting an authoritarian regime, who can and WILL happily take the easier job of convincing you that some person that they need dead fits the description (of a person you've already agreed doesn't deserve anything but a swift and unquestionable death).

This is why, when they needed the gays to be feared and hunted, they labeled them 'pedophiles'. This is why they're now doing this to trans people. This is why dehumanization is a tool of oppression, not justice.

There is way to fix injustice in the world and protect children without becoming easier to manipulate and trick.

[lexirosewrites]

We are so back!

Rejection sickness is probably my all-time favorite trope from Omegaverse and as suck I love to inflict it on my favorite guy, Steve.

His parents aren't around, he goes through a secondary pack breakup, his Alpha says she doesn't love him and then cheats on him, he gets the shit beaten out of him, and he becomes the only leader of a secondary pack of feral middle schoolers all in the span of about a year. Omegas crave stability and they need pack and by the end of season two, Steve has been rejected by an Alpha he had a quasi-bond with and put through a level of mental and physical stress most Omegas, most Alphas even, will never come close to experiencing in their entire lives before he's 18.

The whole thing results in a rapid and brutal drop the likes of which Hawkins general has never dealt with. One minute he's getting checked for a concussion and the next he's collapsing on the floor. When he wakes up he's disoriented, confused, in a shit load of pain and alarm bells are ringing in his ears for no discernable reason. His instincts are going wild and his body is pumping out obscene amounts of distress pheromones, calling for an Alpha to help him and the longer his distress goes without being answered the more he drops. The doctors and nurses are clamoring to get him hooked up with hormone stabilizers, but they can only do so much for an Omega this deep in a drop.

Eventually, they do stabilize him but it's not going to be enough to bring him back. The mixture of physical and emotional distress means his body is trying to shut down on all fronts, leaving him in a kind of limbo at risk of slipping away completely. The kids all come and try to bring him back with pack scents and cuddling but while it does help it's not enough to bring Steve all the way back, even when he's trying so hard to just snap out of it so he can be there for his pups.

The hospital tries to find him a suitable Alpha match to be his caretaker and walk him back from the edge, but his extreme state makes him highly sensitive to unfamiliar scents and none of them end up working out. In a last-ditch effort, the hospital reaches out to his former Alpha, Nancy, with the hopes that if the Alpha who triggered the drop takes care of him his Omega hindbrain will be convinced that they have been taken back and proven themselves a good Omega.

Nancy agrees, guilt-ridden by her part in Steve's condition even if she knows it's not entirely because of her rejection, agrees to try and bring Steve back.

It has the complete opposite effect. As soon as Nancy enters the room Steve starts making the most heartbreaking distressed sounds, whimpering and crying out and eventually starting to thrash around and aggravate his wounds in his attempts to hide away in the corner of his hospital bed.

Nancy is immediately ushered out while the nurses try their best to get Steve stable again, but it's not looking good.

Fortunately for them all, Alpha Eddie Munson happens to be at the hospital stopping in with Wayne who's visiting a coworker who got injured on the job. He's waiting out in the hallway giving them space when the most heartwrenching cries break the silence. His instincts immediately go into overdrive because that is an Omega in extreme distress and his Alpha needs to help them now.

He gets to the room at the end of the hall to see Steve Harrington of all people surrounded by medical staff all trying desperately to calm him down. Before the nurses can spot him and get him to leave the room Eddie is emitting calming pheromones on max and crooning into the room. The staff are preparing to haul him out when they notice that Steve is starting to settle.

The Omega has stopped his thrashing and I looking at Eddie with big, pleading eyes. He looks at the Alpha like he's water in the desert, the one thing he's been searching desperately for. Eddie doesn't know Steve all that well but seeing the way the other Omega starts reaching for him from his sick bed he doesn't hesitate to push past the hospital staff and scoop the Omega into his arm.

Steve immediately buries his nose in Eddie's neck to get as close to that perfectly comforting scent as possible. It isn't long before he's sobbing with relief into Eddie's shirt. Finally, finally, a safe Alpha has come to help him. Eddie holds him and coos at him while he gets it out, snarling at the medical staff when they try to get close enough to check on their patient. Eventually, Steve's sobs taper off into soft whimpers which turn into sleepy purrs and kneading hands.

Eddie ends up staying with Steve, keeping him stable through the rest of his recovery. He never leaves Steve's side, and by the time Steve is finally ready to be discharged from the hospital Eddie presents him with his first courting offer, his mother's ring which just so happens to fit perfectly on the right finger of Steve's left hand.

if disliking omegaverse whump, omega drops, rejection sickness, and hurt/comfort is wrong, then i don’t wanna be right🥺

[galebrainrot2024]

GalexYou Pep-Talk

Summary: Pre-relationship yearn alert! This is a BIG yearn. Thank you @orangekittyenergy for the idea! Gale goes to seek you out (gender neutral) after a long day. Mutual pining, angst, fluff. Word Ct. 1.4 k

Master List | Read on Ao3

After the merriment and bustle of the night wore away and gave into the doldrums of sleep, Gale flicked his gaze around camp searching for you. You slipped away and although he expected you to return, the emptiness in your absence haunted him. 

He sat outside of his tent, then stood, pacing with book in hand. He wasn’t worried. Not necessarily. You had been traveling for a few weeks together now and you had a certain levels of tenacity it seemed even gods and devils refused to trifle with. 

It was just that he had grown accustomed to your company post-dinner and campfire camaraderie and felt a pang of remorse in your absence. The night air too quiet without the soft hum of your laughter. Sometimes, he would read aloud to you, other times you would both get lost in conversation, and sometimes would sit in utter silence. It intrigued and terrified him, that you sought out his private company despite the others being starved for your attention. 

It was quite flattering and made him want to rip out the persistent thrum in his heart. He couldn’t indulge in such frivolities and would cause far less suffering to not humor the feelings at all. The orb’s ever looming threat didn’t allow Gale to succumb to whatever emotions festered in his gullet. At least, not consciously. 

His mind began down the treacherous path of ‘what ifs.’ It was a game, like lance board, Gale was excellent at. As the moon greeted the stars, Gale’s anxiety intensified, his mind whirling with options. It had to have been a least an hour you’d been gone, longer than you’d take for bathing - not that he knew exactly how long that was! It was just something he happened to notice. Coincidentally. 

The foreign thrum of desire stirred and the thick hair on his arms stood straight up as he wondered if you were bathing. If you allowed the water to kiss your supple skin, to know your secrets. Gale shook his head, embarrassed and felt his face redden. Keep it together. They could be dead and you’re fantasizing over their wet body? You should be ashamed of yourself. 

Gale expected you to traverse through the trees any moment, prepared to feel ridiculous at his worrying. Why did he care? It’s not as if there was anything more than friendship between you two, at least from your end. He had to repeat this to himself to be convinced. 

When he overheard Astarion ask Shadowheart if she’d seen you, Gale felt the whispers of envy touch his heart and decided he spent enough time wasted, musing over your whereabouts when you could be lost, or worse besides. 

He couldn’t tolerate the sudden pain that gripped him with that ‘what if,’ and he walked into the brushes to find you. 

*** 

Relief roiled through him at the sight of you, despite your disheveled appearance. Gale’s breath caught in his throat and he stopped, gripped when he looked upon you in the pale moonlight. Your eyes were red and swollen, it seemed like you’d been crying. He felt his knees buckle and he cleared his throat, so not to startle you. 

You whipped your head around and Gale’s lips parted when he saw crimson blossom across your cheeks as you wiped away the streaks with the back of your hand. “Oh, I um.. how long have you been standing there?” 

“Not long, I assure you,” Gale’s voice was tender, quiet. He held up both of his hands at waist level, palms facing up and smiled at you. “May I join you?” 

You hesitated for a moment and Gale panicked that he’d made the wrong move, said the wrong thing and of course he had already messed up any chance he might have because he was so pathetically out of practice. You’d think a man who bedded a goddess would have a bit more self confidence in his seductive prowess, but being shunned and cast out by your former omnipotent lover does a number on one’s self esteem. 

When you nodded, he tumbled off the cliff and the orb revolted as it mingled with the rush of adrenaline and rapture he felt from the simple gesture. One nod. To Gale, it was everything. He felt welcomed into your world, elated you’d allow him to offer support. You didn’t have to, and yet you did. 

Gale joined you on the boulder that was nestled in the thicket, the soft buzz of nighttime harmonizing with his unsteady breath. “Hm… I know that look,” Gale said, gazing at how your lips curved. “And a clear mind does not eviscerate flowers quite like this.” He fingered a petal and gestured at the flowers and stems, all petals plucked intentionally from their root. “A nervous habit, no doubt.” 

You sighed and his heart swelled, “I just don’t know what I’m doing. Every lead ends up in either more unanswered questions or unhelpful ends.” You groan and grip your chest, your breath coming in unevenly. “I’m exhausted,” as your head fell into your hands Gale, without thinking, rested a hand on your upper back and stroked your hair behind your shoulder.  

“Ah, heavy is the head that wears the crown.” Gale felt warmth pulse through him as you laughed, whether genuinely or out of pity he wasn’t to know. He wasn’t sure he cared. “For the record, you have pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes most skillfully. You’ve shown remarkable courage and determination and, I’m confident the others would agree, many of us would not be so fortunate to still be alive if not for you. You must know that.” He rubbed his fingers in small circles along your upper back. When he became conscious of what he was doing he pulled back, ashamed and nervous by the electricity that seemed to flow between his skin and yours although barred by cloth. You whined a little and Gale cocked his brows, “What?” 

You turned and as your gaze locked with Gale he drowned. Oh. He was jolted by the flash of profound need and emotion that coiled through him. Every part of him felt aflame and he worried that it was his end, that the orb was at last collapsing in on itself. Yet, as he remained next to you in the thickening silence, he realized it wasn’t the orb at all. When you spoke, Gale thought surely this was the moment he was becoming a mindflayer, a wicked dream to lull one as they succumbed to the parasite. “I.. .can you do that again?” 

“Gladly.” Gale shyly returned his fingers to your back and as you leaned into his touch, Gale knew it was not longer a matter of if, but when. As you leaned farther, you almost rested in his shoulder and his throat closed. He swallowed hard and tried to steady his body and mind, every cell quaking with anticipation and overstimulation. 

He inhaled. Temptation. You smelled like rain or fresh cut grass. You smelled like home. It was when you leaned into him, he was certain he forgot how to formulate a thought. Your head nestled against his neck and your side pressed into his. He wondered if the quaking was from your body or his. He dared not move, frozen as if Tara had fallen asleep on his lap. 

The pain that coursed from Gale’s chest through his veins was almost enough to send Gale back to camp. The undue excitement made the orb restless. Agitated. He was both grateful and nostalgic when you pulled away and sat up. “Thank you, for that. Let’s get back to camp. I don’t want the others to worry.” You smiled at Gale and it seared into the crevices of his mind, a look he would capture a thousand more times and it would never sate him. You gave his hand a squeeze and then stood, offering your hand to Gale’s with a cheeky grin. “Here, I’d hate for you too put too much strain on those creaky knees of yours.” 

Gale’s hearty laugh took him by surprise and he took your hand and stood with a grunt. “A wizard is useless without his knees, shame on you for poking fun at their fragility.” Gale chased the feeling of you, of this closeness and realized that, even before his isolation he had never met a person quite like you. Gale would have stood there in stunned desire forever had you not taken his hand to guide him forward, the movement breaking the trance and he pulled his sweaty palm from yours, embarrassed. He wiped them on his shirt and followed you back, his heart and head swimming with the idea of kissing you. 

[evvyyypeters-fics]

“Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes”

Kai Anderson x f!reader

Warnings! Smut, pōrn with no plot, Kai Anderson, punishment, bdsm?, dom x sub play, brat taming, spanking, f!ngering, f!recieving only, praise, dregrading, not proofread (I wrote this in one sitting), short m sweet (teehee)

Omg my first Kai smut. Lowkey thought abt my pookie @fear-is-truth while writing this

Probably will disappear again a bit after this one, I used my little creative spark up

SMACK!

The embarrassing sound pierces the air like a sword with each strike, echoing like the searing pain, yet is oh-so delicious. “3-30!” I squeak, my voice trembling. Kai gropes the flesh of my ass roughly, kneading it viciously with his palm as he lowers his head towards me, not enough to be at my level—he always makes sure to keep me in my place—as I hang over his knees. My ass is shamelessly curved into the air, bright red peeking under my hiked-up skirt and tight panties. “Wrong.” He snarls lowly into my ear, a sly amused grin paints his face as he starts the count-down over again. SMACK! I can’t tell if I’m moaning from pleasure or pain anymore, the two blending in with the numbness spreading through my sore cheeks as his large hand prepares to strike again and leave me purple. “O-one!” I stagger, squeaking. He flashes another amused grin as he brings the hand to strike again. I almost feel guilty with how wet my panties feel right now from this. My cunt throbbing and clenching needily, with greed. Almost guilty. The cycle repeats again and again, I can barely think anymore. I have no idea how I’m keeping track. All I can think about is the throbbing pain below my waist, and the jolts of pleasure that follow as my muscles tighten around the tight fabric of my panties, the recoil grinding me just enough against his jean-clad knee to make my pussy drool. “4-40!” I’m on the brink of tears again, the sobs choking my throat and old tears still staining my mascara riddled face, which I knew was only getting Kai off more. “Good lamb,” He coos in a deep, predatory tone as he praises me. His hand reaching to pet the top of my head. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He says in a condescending tone, but it’s just enough praise and approval to make me ignore it. “I think you deserve a little treat now.” He purrs, and my cunt instantly clenches onto nothing and I feel the heat burn through my entire core. My body practically curves into the slightest of his touch, eager and unabashedly greedy. He hooks his finger around my panties and slides them halfway down my plump thighs, making sure to keep me bent over his lap. He starts by soothing the sore flesh of my ass, massaging and tracing the swollen skin tenderly, slowly sliding and working his way down to my slit. He gives a few taps which makes me shiver, pulling away to examine the slick on his fingers. “Shit…you’re so wet. What a dirty little slut you are,” He teases, shaking his head in faux-disapproval. Before I can react, his fingers slip easily into my cunt and he begins to massage the aching muscle. He digs immediately for my sweet spot and builds up the coil slowly, massaging with the intent to drive me crazy. As soon as my hips start to press back to meet his hand, he speeds up. I can barely process a coherent thought, moaning without any restraint as he finger blasts me. The lewd sounds erupting from all sides of me would usually make me shy or ashamed, but the sheer pleasure coursing through me made me numbed to any emotion other than pure lust and ectasy. “F-fuck! Kai! Kai!” I moaned, sounding like a mouse. I whined, begging to be consoled from the shocking amount of pleasure forced upon me. My legs were trembling in his hold even before the coil snapped, and a hot gush of molten arousal painted his lap. I was left breathless, panting like a dog with swollen, parted lips and my body softly shaking as I came down from the best rush I’ve ever had. He grips back my head by my hair, bunching it up messily between his fingers, causing me to wince as he forces my fucked out-face to look at him before I can barely comprehend. “Lets hope you’ve learned your lesson.” He spits. The game is over, and he’ll go back to being the same old Kai. At least I got a good orgasm out of the whole ordeal, that’s a lot more than nothing. Which is the usual.

Taglist (you can be added or removed at any time):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser @alittleobsessedbitch @n0tonlin3 @bellalove69420 @songbird-garden

[misc-obeyme]

Time Traveler's Vow

Happy birthday, Barbatos!

I was wracking my brain for an idea to write something for today and then this hit me. Just as a warning, it contains some discussion of death. We've all thought about what might happen to Barb if MC ever died, the lengths he might go to in his grief. This story is about that concept. I hope I did it justice!

GN!MC x Barbatos

Warnings: some discussion of death and grief

When Barbatos made his vow, he never expected things to end up this way. Too many years of refusing to look into the future had blinded him to this moment, the one moment he needed to see most. The moment when your absence was more than just a temporary ache. When the sound of your coffin closing sent shockwaves of pain through his limbs, his veins, his heart.

He couldn’t have known that he would end up on his knees at Lord Diavolo’s feet, begging for just one chance to go through time to save you. The pity in the Young Master’s eyes was piercing. It hurt him almost as much as your death, but not quite enough to stop him from pleading.

At first Barbatos refused to ask because he knew the answer already. But as the days passed, the pain deepened. It was unlike anything that even an ancient and powerful demon such as himself had ever felt in his long and complicated life. It drove him to desperation, to the selfish desire to ask even if just to hear the refusal, one that he knew it would hurt Diavolo to give him.

Knelt on the floor of Diavolo's office, hand on his heart, meeting the young lord's eyes, Barbatos knew that there was no other being to whom he would make such a supplication.

“Young Master.” His voice was trembling. The waver in it filled him with both shame and determination. “You know I would never ask you for anything. My duty is to stay by your side, always. And yet if you ever found it in your heart to grant one request from me, let it be this.”

Diavolo’s expression remained schooled, even if his eyes gave away how he was truly feeling. He did that for Barbatos, knowing that if he displayed too much emotion it would make this even more difficult.

“Barbatos-“

“Please,” Barbatos said.

The rawness of this single word made Diavolo close his eyes and let out a slow breath. When he opened them again, they were full of complications.

“You know I can’t let you do this,” Diavolo said. He held out a hand for Barbatos to take. “Please, stand up. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

Barbatos felt himself turn to stone as he took Diavolo’s hand and got to his feet. He settled into his butler stance and bowed stiffly. “I understand.”

“Do you?” Diavolo asked, preventing Barbatos from fleeing the room. “If you alter time to save MC now, we both know the consequences would be devastating. This time, it would change too much.”

“I know,” Barbatos said. “Of course you are correct, my lord.”

Diavolo frowned. "And yet you asked anyway."

“Forgive me. It was a moment of weakness. It will not happen again. Now if you will allow me to prepare dinner…” Barbatos said. It was his way of asking if he could leave.

Diavolo sighed and nodded. Barbatos left the room, knowing that this display of vulnerability would impact the way Diavolo saw him from that moment on. And yet he couldn’t talk himself out of making the request. In fact, he wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t break his vow after all. It would be so easy to simply slip through time, briefly, quickly, and he could alter it in such a way that no one would be the wiser.

Barbatos was uncertain about whether or not he would lose the battle to his grief. If he did, his vow would be broken. If he didn’t, his soul would be instead. Without you, he might as well be empty.

After that, Barbatos could feel Lord Diavolo watching him. The brothers were keeping an eye on him, too. All of them shared his grief on some level, of course. They had seen your lifeless body, too. Barbatos noticed the faraway look in Solomon’s eyes and knew that he was not the only one suffering.

And yet, it felt as though he was completely alone in the depth of his despair. Barbatos closed himself off completely, unable to connect with the others over the loss of you. For him, it was as though you had taken root inside his heart and the day you died was the day that the great tree that had grown from it was felled, yanked unceremoniously from his blood vessels, leaving him lifeless.

The empty space where you once flourished felt now like poison, the antidote of which no one could bring him. No one but you.

And there was only one way for him to see you again.

With each passing day, the stone that Barbatos was now composed of became stronger, harder, and more impossible to penetrate. He did not let anyone in. And they watched him solidify with growing concern.

When the weight of his own heart became too heavy, Barbatos found himself on his knees again.

His room was filled with chaotic teal light and a fog of darkness - his demonic aura gone awry around him.

His demon form had exploded out of him, his tail in a frenzy, his sensitive horns twitching uselessly, his gloved fists on the floor.

His tears pooled slightly on the floor beneath him as he tried to prevent his magic from propelling him into the past, fighting to stop himself from breaking his vow to Lord Diavolo. It was who he was, it was the one thing he had maintained with pride for so long - his conviction and his penance and his reason for existing.

It seemed impossible that anything would make him want to throw it all away. But he was ready to do just that and for what? For the small chance that you might return to him? Return to him in a way that would ruin the future of everything he'd spent so much of himself working toward?

Barbatos could hear Diavolo outside his bedroom door. The Young Master’s voice was strained as he yelled, trying to break his way in. But Barbatos’s power was filling the room and preventing entry. No one could reach him, not like this. No one could stop him and he was losing the battle with himself.

Barbatos crouched down further onto the floor and two words left his lips in a broken whisper.

"MC… please…"

The magic around him crackled, a tempest of teal and black, endless chimes from an unseen clock, the continual ticking of an invisible second hand.

Time paused.

It was the first break. A crack in his structure that would let out the part of him he was trying so desperately to contain.

Or so he thought.

After a moment, Barbatos opened his eyes because he realized that he was not the one who had paused time. And if not him, then who…?

"Barbatos."

Barbatos recognized the voice instantly. The sound of it zipped immediately to his heart, squeezing painfully. His name on your lips was too much. Was he hallucinating now? Was this the beginning of him truly falling apart? You had never had time powers. This had to be him manifesting a version of you that didn't exist. One that was alive, that could move through time, that spoke his name.

Barbatos couldn't move. His body was still too much like a statue - the marble of his countenance too sturdy to break just yet.

In the room where time had ceased, where his magic had frozen in place like an abstract installation of green lightning and black fog, you knelt before him.

He could see your feet, your hands, the edges of your clothes.

But it couldn't be real. He had seen you die. He had watched as your corpse was placed into the ground. He had been mourning you for months.

You settled on the floor in front of him, sitting cross legged as if you were prepared to wait until he came alive again.

"I'm sorry you had to go through this," you said. Your voice was soft, but there was something different about it, too. A new lilt that he didn't recall from before. "I didn't die in the timeline I'm from. Instead, you sacrificed yourself to save me. I lost you and I lost myself at the same time. So I made my own vow. To find you again. I spent years and years learning to use the doors in your bedroom. It was mostly trial and error. But I finally found it. I finally found the timeline in which I died and you didn't. This is the only one where you survive."

The truth of this explanation hit Barbatos harder than anything he had yet experienced. It crushed right through the stone around him, breaking him into a million pieces as surely as he thought your death already had.

Barbatos looked up, sat back on his heels, put his hands in his lap, and met your eyes.

You looked like yourself, but different. There was something ageless about you, something like magic sparkling beneath your skin. As though you were no longer fully human, now partly transformed by the way you'd doubtless been moving through the fabric of time and space.

"MC." Barbatos had never once said anything that sounded like a prayer until that moment.

You smiled at him, an expression full of melancholy and hope all at once. "I know I'm maybe not the same," you said. "I know you had to bury the version of me from your own timeline. I know I'm not the same me that you cared for. But… would it be okay if I stayed?"

Trees cannot grow in stone. But they can take root in the cracks between, reaching down to find living soil and up to find nurturing light. The empty places in his heart began to fill as you asked that final question, looking at him like all your dreams might come true if he only said yes.

Barbatos smiled back at you. As if he would ever say anything else.

"I would wish for nothing more than for you to remain here by my side," he said. "No being understands as well as I that you are still you, no matter what timeline you've arrived from. When you have spent so much time searching for me, how could I ever hope to turn you away?"

Time began again.

Barbatos's magic began to settle, returning to him like a sleepy cat, curling up and purring itself to sleep.

Barbatos pulled you to your feet as he rose himself. He kept your hands clasped in his as he tugged you closer to him.

"MC," he said. "I should have trusted that you would find a way back to me."

You laughed and there was a strain of magic lingering even there. "I hope you never doubt me again."

Barbatos looked solemn. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He pulled you into a kiss, his arms enclosing you, pressing you to him like he would never let you go ever again. His power settled even further and he knew that soon Lord Diavolo would come crashing through his bedroom door. And he would be able to say that he kept his vow. And you would be able to say that you kept yours.

But for that moment, he let himself kiss you, let himself feel the tingling magic in your lips, the endless thrill of your touch, the reality of you here in his arms.

For that moment, Barbatos softened in the face of a love so strong that you had traversed the paths of time in his stead to find him, as he had been so close to doing to find you. And he vowed to himself that he would never need to face this choice again because he would not allow himself to lose you.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part XVI

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 1.4k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

You stood next to Azriel, the rest of his family in a circle in the River House debriefing how the evening will go. Much to your protestations, you would be included in the guest of honor seat with Rhys and his family.

Feyre, Rhys, Azriel, their brother Cassian, and you were the only ones going. You had briefly met Cassian’s mate, a gorgeous female whose gaze on Rhysand was sharp, but it had softened when she wished you luck this evening. The two of you chatted briefly about books before the blonde female left, promising to leave a stack of books for you in the library.

The five of you stood in a circle as Rhysand spoke about the evening, giving you a rundown of what to expect. 

Despite their preparations, it did little to quell the shock at being there. The five of you winnowed in, all touching in some way or another. Cassian had suggested he could hold onto Rhys’s ass, a joke Rhys did not appreciate as he mumbled something about how handsy Cassian got.

Something about the four of them felt off - there was an odd air about the group you couldn’t quite place, everyone’s smiles feeling not all the way there.

The palace you had winnowed into was massive and breathtaking, large windows that made it look as if it were suspended amongst the stars in the galaxy. Upon further inspection you realized there wasn’t any glass to act as a barrier from the elements, the cool air shifting your skirts. Azriel extended his arm for you to take, which you did happily as he walked in stride with you behind Feyre and Rhys.

“If you want to leave, just tell me and we can go.”

His face was serious, gone was the lightness of a few hours ago. He continued to lead you through the palace. Rhys had explained that you all would winnow into the Moonstone Palace, which fed into a palace that had an entrance at the street level. 

It was all bizarre, and Azriel’s statement made you question all of your choices. Had you made the right choice coming here? Were they right to not want you to come? You were someone from a tiny village in Illyria - who were you to bear witness to such decadence?

You nodded despite your own reservations, thanking Azriel for his concern. You could feel the unease pouring off of him, but he looked unaffected by everything coiling inside of him. The two of you walked in silence as you craned your neck looking at the high ceilings as you followed the High Lord and High Lady through the stairwells.

Palace or fortress, you weren’t sure. The walls were tall, made out of a smooth stone. No artwork adorned the walls, the only proof of habitants were rugs and furniture. Even then it seemed more like the furniture screamed at you to not sit down.

Your party’s steps echoed through the grand hall until Rhys and Feyre stopped before a door. Rhys turned back to you, looking at you directly. “If you wish, now is the time to turn back.”

You looked at Azriel, studying the soft look he was giving you, knowing he was giving you a choice.

“Let’s go.” 

Rhys and Feyre nodded, and the doors opened and a wall of sound erupted around all of you. You stepped out onto a landing with a grand staircase below it that emptied into the streets. There was a gate between the stairs and the streets, but they were wide open, allowing direct access to the partygoers.

There were a million emotions hitting you all at once, and you tried to block them out, but the majority still hit you, causing you to rub your head at the pain. Azriel squeezed your hand, looking down at you in concern.

“M’okay, just a lot of people.”

He nodded, not looking satisfied as he kept his gaze on you. You continued looking around, the first thing you noticed was how dark it was. The only sources of light were thousands of silver floating faelights around.

It was a city carved from stone, the air so cold around you. It looked almost like an alternate version of Velaris - buildings and houses lined the streets, obscene gargoyles and statues carved into the stone. As if someone took Velaris and replaced all of its beauty with wickedness.

Hundreds of finely dressed fae - all pointy-eared, no wings to be seen - flooded the streets, holding various glasses of alcohol and food as they mingled. The crowd turned their heads to their High Lord and High Lady, before Rhys rose a hand, bringing a hush over the crowd as they all bowed. You looked to Azriel, uncertain what to do, and he helped stabilize you as the two of you bowed. Azriel’s wing lightly grazed your skin, the millisecond of touch enough to blaze your skin, your stomach erupting in butterflies as you tried to look at him from the corner of your eye.

Rhysand clapped, allowing everyone to stand once more. As you straightened your bodice and tried to reorient yourself after Azriel’s touch, a tall male made his way up the steps, halfway between your party and the rest of the crowd. You watched him as he got closer, recognizing him instantly. You tugged on Azriel’s jacket sleeve, lightly getting his attention. 

“That’s the male who invited me here.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his hand shooting out to land on Rhys’s shoulder. “Rhys, I-”

His words were cut off by the male speaking, his voice carrying throughout the room, a hush falling over the crowd.

“Hello everyone, thank you for coming to tonight’s festivities! Now that our High Lord and High Lady are here, we may begin!”

Light applause took over the room as Rhys looked back and continued eye contact with Azriel as the male continued.

The blonde’s voice carried through the open courtyard, a deep sound that made put you on edge.

“It’s a beautiful evening to spend together and watch the lovely performers. I’d like to gather some applause for the Hewn Symphony and the Hewn Children’s Choir. They were delightful!”

Louder applause and you felt a tugging on your hand, a shadow wrapped around your wrist trying to pull you back from observing the crowd, but you ignored it, looking back down at the blonde. You heard Rhys whisper, “Keir”, assuming he was talking about the male speaking.

He gathered the attention of the room once more, flourishing a flute of champagne in the air. The male, Keir, stood, his back straight, the pale blue of his jacket matching his light blonde hair perfectly. He swiveled toward you, his glass raised. His eyes narrowed in on you, as if he could see right into your soul, his emotions impossible to tell from the overload you were feeling. “And a toast, to the main guest of the evening.”

His gaze was on you, his smirk making your stomach fill with lead as he pointed the champagne at you. “Ladies and gentlemen, please help me welcome back the lost princess of the Night Court!”

Your ears rang at the mixture of applause and hushed voices, every pair of eyes in the room moving to you. Everything felt like it had shifted on its axis, Keir’s predatory gaze fixed on you. You felt light tugging on your dress, but you were rooted in your spot.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Was this some joke? Some way to embarrass the lesser fae from Illyria?

“She’s been missing for 150 years but we have finally found her again. Our High Lord remains eternally cauldron blessed.”

You turned to Rhys, his violet eyes peering into your own, the sight hitting you like a ton of bricks. His face conveyed no emotion, but his eyes, so much your own, looked back at you in anguish.

You couldn’t breathe, the jewels around your neck were suffocating, the dress suddenly too tight. Your mind whirled and swirled, nothing new coming to the surface, your thoughts racing with the things they had told you these past few months.

An empath to keep away from enemy hands.

Was Keir the enemy they spoke of? Or were they expecting some version of yourself, long dead and buried in their minds, to suddenly come back?

You had lived an entire life for a century and a half without them. It wasn’t much, especially to them who live in such large castles. But it was a life you had made from nothing.

And it was yours.

“Azriel,” Rhys whispered to the shadowsinger, an urgency to his tone. The shadowsinger took your hand, leading the two of you back into the palace. His grip on you was firm but soft, unrelenting and unwilling to let you out of his grip.

Your feet tripped on your skirts, your footing unsteady as he tried to move you out of sight from the guests. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe as you kept your gaze on his back, fixed right where his wings met his torso.

It was all a lie.

And then, an unsettling calm came over you, washing over you like the tide.

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[blueninjablade3]

Disney men are with their S/O on their period.

McLeach

This man has never felt a woman’s touch in his life, dropped out of school in the 3rd grade, and has lived alone for so long I’d be surprised if he knew what a period is. You definitely need to be ready to have to explain EXACTLY what you need. He’s semi-willing to learn! But definitely be prepared to explain your need for a heating pad/ warm water bottle and explain you can't really control your emotions at this time.

4/10- Not the best, but willing to try and be good to you.

Jafar

I feel like Jafar has some pretty sexist beliefs such as periods/ period blood is gross. You aren’t really allowed to even touch Jafar during menstruation. Jasmine and the Sultan had to basically explain to him to be softer to you during shark week. Iago is actually really good to you though, Iago does his best to comfort you, however. I think Jafar does offer you pads or tampons just because he doesn’t want your blood on his furniture.

3/10 he’s not the worst on this list. Wait for Frollo.

Hades

OMG?! KING SHIT! HE'S PROBABLY THE BEST ON THIS LIST! Hades went to the goddesses of femininity and had the concept explained to him, how to help you, and asked you what you need. Doesn’t mind cleaning the sheets if you bled through, has Pain and Panic make you tea, and uses his body as both a heating and cooling pad. Cravings?! You get anything! Hades is the best on this list.

10/10, brilliant, incredible, show shopping, never before seen, iconic. Truly a king.

Rourke

Rourke is hard! I think he knows about it but doesn’t really care. He will be extremely confused about why you sometimes can’t get out of bed due to cramps. Rourke also has a habit of comparing your abilities on your period to others. Such as Helga, or Audrey. Thank goodness for Audrey and Helga though because they shut that shit down FAST! Rourke, I also imagine knows of some stretches that help with cramps. He has trouble dealing with extreme mood swings though as he’s not the most empathetic person, so not the best person to cry to during sadness.

4/10 He’s trying! Just not very hard… hang out with Sweet and Milo they’re much better with this stuff.

Ratigan

Ratigan is another hard one! However, I definitely see him as the type to spoil you rotten during your period. He’s getting your favorite products, having his goons make you hot fresh water bottles, and actually doesn’t mind the mood swings too much. He sorta likes you feisty. Ratigan actually doesn’t view periods as Taboo. I say this because it was a pretty religious belief that periods were divine punishment from god and I don’t think Ratigan is very religious. Ratigan does get pretty annoyed if you bleed onto his sheets or any expensive clothes of yours that he bought.

8/10- He’s not bad at all in this category! It’s just the sheets and clothes thing that keeps him from being a ten.

Alameda Slim

IM FINALLY GIVING THIS MAN THE LOVE HE DESERVES! Alameda seems like the type to be surprisingly gentle with his S/O, he knows that he’s a big strong man who could really hurt his lover if he wasn’t gentle. I think this also transfers to how he cares for you mentally. He knows that periods are uncomfortable and does his best to help you! He’ll go into town as Yancy O'Del to get you the right products (He has no idea what he’s doing and asks a very polite woman to help him), gets you your period craving, and will even yodel to you if want! He does his best to explain to his nephews what’s going on with you and why you’re snippy with them, they don’t understand. But it’s the thought that counts!

10/10- He’s putting in maximum effort, being gentle, and doing his job as a partner. Making you comfortable.

Hook

Dear ole Captain Hook is so lost. He’s never had to deal with a woman on their period before. I, on some level, doubt he knows what a period is. So after you explain the concept and the pain you go through Hook is quite disturbed. Especially if you have a difficult one. He puts in a TON of effort to learn everything he can about periods and how to make them comfortable for you. He gets Mr. Smee to watch over you when he gets too busy. Hook makes you the BEST, most mouth-watering dishes, for you while on your period. He also loves making you tea and hot water bottles to help with cramps.

10/10! For a man from his time, he’s surprisingly a great period caregiver!

Frollo

Oh, I have been DREADING him. This man is the worst. He INDEFINITELY has the sexist beliefs of his time. He won’t let you touch the Bible (which may be a blessing low-key), and Frollo views you as unholy for the entire month and will throw snide remarks about Eve at you. He offers no help.

-637726262737/10- EW EW EW EW GET HIM AWAY FROM ME EWWWWW!

Clayton

ANOTHER BITCH! This man is gonna act all high and mighty during your period. He won’t comfort you, he’s gonna act like he could deal with cramps, and makes jokes about your time of the month. And if you get MAD at him?! He makes snide remarks about women.

2/10- Not worse than Frollo but still a BITCH

Bonus!

Basil Of Baker St.

ANOTHER KING 💅🏻! He doesn’t know too much about periods and such BUT THE EFFORT HE PUTS IN?! He learns everything he can. He learns your cycle if it’s regular, your favorite brand of menstrual products, what medicine you take, and the signs you're going to start. Basil makes sure that one pad or tampon you keep in your bag ISN'T musty, you have medicine, and will sit and listen to your rants.

10/10- He’s an icon, he’s a legend, and he is the moment. Now come on now.

Masterlist

[daportalpractitioner]

mommy's moon sign: a thread ☾ part one — aries thru virgo

in a previous post, i mentioned that your mother's moon sign is very important in the sense that it tells us about the energy that was housing us during our prenatal development when we are baking in our mother's womb. during prenatal development, we are able to download our mother's experiences during pregnancy, emotions, attitudes, behaviors, and karmic patterns into our own DNA. the cosmic energy of her womb space tells us about patterns + themes that potentially lie dormant within our bodies with the desire to be either expressed or karmically released + healed for our highest good.

aries moon: your mother may have dealt with feeling misunderstood from a very early age due to her karmic responsibility to be a pioneer in this lifetime. even if she grew up close with her family, a part of her may have felt like she didn't fit in with the expectations that her parents had for her. the pain that aries moon mom carries in her womb stems from feeling like she has to do everything by herself + could also have had a pattern of attracting partners that she didn't feel supported by (classic single mom placement). a karmic lesson for aries moon mom to learn is to fully trust her feminine nature instead of constantly operating in her masculine so that she can attract the support that she has always desired since childhood. if you're a child of an aries moon mom, you could also have a pattern of experiencing loneliness + finding it difficult to cultivate supportive spaces because you witnessed your mom be so independent even in times where she didn't want to be. it's also not uncommon for children of aries moon mothers to exhibit or pass down disorganized attachment behaviors to their children. encourage each other to let other people help + support you. encourage each other to welcome vulnerability into the connection + value the act of processing/healthily releasing your emotions, especially rage.

taurus moon: mothers with an exalted moon usually do a great job at making their children feel safe, nurtured, and provided for on a physical + emotional level. when pregnant with you, your mother could have really valued her pregnancy + put lots of energy into preparing for your arrival. she could be very sensitive to your needs without even considering her own. from an early age, taurus moon mom had to learn to rely on herself to get things done first + foremost especially if she came from poverty or an unstable household. the self-esteem of your mother during pregnancy is crucial to your karmic imprint as you easily embed the way she feels about herself into your DNA + eventually grow to exhibit the same self-esteem patterns. it's important for the taurus moon mom to feel safe using her voice + exercising boundaries, especially when it comes to herself and what SHE needs. encourage each other to practice self-care + self-preservation. take yourselves out on nice mother/child dates. the key for taurus moon mom is to learn how to stop operating in survival mode, to welcome rest into her lifestyle + to not let motherhood become an experience that depletes her.

gemini moon: your mama may have dealt with a lot of movement (physical or mental) while pregnant with you, jumping from one place to another. the energy of a gemini moon's womb breeds natural chaos. focusing on tasks may have been a challenge for your mother, which tends to manifest into self-neglect due to being so preoccupied with the matters of the world. even if you haven't been diagnosed with ADD/ADHD or some form of neurodivergence, the expression of this mental energy can definitely be dormant in your DNA due your mother absorbing information to a hypersensitive degree during pregnancy. intentionality is key to foster a secure + safe relationship with a gemini moon mother as there is this tendency to develop preoccupied attachment patterns. make sure that you are really listening to each other instead of allowing words to go in one ear + out the other. communication goes a long way in cultivating a healthier relationship to mama. encourage each other to prioritize mental health + doing activities that feel nourishing to the brain (reading, writing, immersing selves in nature, art, etc). also, make sure that you're holding your gemini moon mother to her word if she is notorious for switching up.

cancer moon: your mother's pregnancy was undeniably significant to her on a karmically spiritual level. your ancestors, especially maternal, really do not play about you two as they protected your mother heavily when she carried you. giving birth to you was no mistake as your soul chose to expand her bloodline. cancer moon mothers may have went through their own personal issues with their mother (your grandma) that they hold resentment from in their wombs. these tensions are meant to be transmuted into breakthroughs for generational healing + curse breaking. her maternal instincts are her superpower, being able to guide you in any situation you need help in. even if you're not close with your cancer moon mom, her love does remain unconditional as she recognizes that you are a part of her + she is a part of you. even though mothering comes natural to the cancer moon mom, she easily could have felt the weight of motherhood + remained passive about how much of a responsibility it was, carrying all that load by herself. whether your mother was able to breastfeed you or not says a lot about the karmic disposition between you + your mama.

leo moon: your leo moon mother may have been super excited to be a mother yet also dealing with adjusting to the level of maturity required to be a mom. becoming a mother was probably not on her bingo card the year that you were conceived so the necessary growth that needed to take place was challenging + unexpected. motherhood may have triggered a sense of fear in your mother during her pregnancy with you because she didn't want to part with her youth just yet (classic teenage mom placement). regardless of her situation, she takes pride in being a mother + is very protective over her cub(s). she's the type of mother you can call to cuss out the school when there's an issue. i'd encourage you to keep her inner child alive + well by spending quality time doing things that make you both happy. leo moon mamas usually pass down at least one of their passions to their children, especially if they engaged with that passion during pregnancy. they love spending time with their children more than anything so don't be afraid to do something wild + fun that can free your mother's inner child. when your mom is connected to her inner child, it also connects her deeper to motherhood for she is able to relate to the experience of a child more + is able to distribute compassion to her child(ren) when needed.

virgo moon: it's not uncommon for virgo moon mothers to have experienced lots of angst when pregnant with you, especially if this was their first pregnancy. what isn't expressed + released in a healthy way stays trapped in the mind of the virgo moon mom, manifesting into anxiety. if anxiety was a theme for your mother while she was pregnant with you + it remained undealt with, then there's a big possibility that anxiety is something you've experienced on a chronic level as well. virgo moon mothers also deal with overcoming perfectionism — wanting to the perfect mother + projecting perfectionism onto her child(ren), so if you mother was hard on you growing up, that is why. if you are challenged by the illusions of not being good enough, this is probably something you've also picked up on from your mom during your time in her womb. but because of their will + dedication to be the best, virgo moon moms make very good caretakers as they are empathically connected to the needs of their children + are not satisfied until they can tell that their children are satisfied. even when virgo moon moms can be tough on their kids, remember that they are their own toughest critic + they really do mean well. i'd recommend being of service to your mother in any way that can lighten the load on her as virgo moon mothers tend to have a lot of their to-do lists. words of affirmation also goes a long way in gifting them peace of mind, especially from their children as they tend to be overthinkers when it comes to motherhood.

[hheaven-sentt]

blood and bone I

summary: you understand blood and bones well enough, emotions are another thing entirely | leon kennedy x gn!reader

word count: 5k

warnings: gore, medical happenings (everyone say thank you google), Leon being confusing and standoffish, two idiots who don't know how relationships work, language, implied violence

notes: there will be more to this, but i didn't want to kill people with the nearly 10k words i've written so look out for that. also, in my brain, the dso and bsaa operate congruently so | ao3

two | three

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

You wonder where you would be if you hadn’t accepted that job. Maybe, if you’d kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t be sitting in a briefing room. The slideshow Hunnigan prepared is about as engaging as a lullaby. You cut a glance at Leon. He’s staring at the slideshow, clearly very invested. Hunnigan looses a huff and shuts down the projector. The hum of it dissipates into the silent room.

“Have you even been listening to me?” she asks, leveling her gaze on you. You feel sheepish.

“Yes, you say. It’s not the whole truth, but some will have to do. “I always listen to you,”

Hunnigan rolls her eyes. “Leon can brief you on the helicopter,”

With that, she gathers her things and leaves the room. You grimace.

“She puts a lot of time into those, y’know,” Leon says, not quite looking at you. “The least you could do is listen to them,”

You shrug. “Lot on my mind, I guess,”

Leon looks at you then. You can feel his gaze all over your skin. Sometimes, you wish he wouldn’t be so detached. Would it kill him to feel for other people? To feel for you?

“Just food for thought,” he says finally, looking away from you. “Get your things. We’re up in ten,”

With that, he leaves you in the briefing room. You frown, feeling the weight of his stare even when he’s not with you. It weighs heavily on your bones, infecting your blood and burning your skin. You let out a sigh, physically shaking the interaction from your body.

Your bag is stuffed into your locker. It’s a sad sight, you think. No decorations, nothing to prove you were even here. You’re another number, another set of hands forged to do their job well. You reach in, attempting to release your back from where it’s wedged. If the strain in your back is any indication, it’s really stuck. Of course it is. Nothing ever seems to go right for you on days like this. You’re able to convince a passerby to help you dislodge it. Finally, you’re able to sling it across your back, the weight of it nearly knocking you down. You wonder if this is how medics in no man’s land felt, constantly bearing the weight of their comrades’ lives in their hands.

You wonder why you’re here at all. Sometimes, when you look at the supplies in the first aid kit, you feel sick. You can still feel the sticky blood coating your fingers, still warm from its previous owner, not yet even coagulated. The amount of blood you saw that night, the amount of pained cries you heard; the memories are still very much alive and well, and they live in your brain in a spot you can’t reach.

With a sigh, you push through the door of the stairwell to reach the helipad. You could take the elevator, but you’re feeling mean and want to make Leon wait. Hoisting your bag further onto your shoulder, you begin your climb. It’s only a few flights, but it takes long enough to have Leon scowling at you once you reach the helipad.

“I said ten,” he says as you chuck your bag into the helicopter. “You’re late,”

You frown at him. “You can’t leave without me. You’d die,”

Leon mutters something under his breath as you haul yourself into your seat. He follows close behind, plopping himself in the seat beside you. He hands you a headset before putting one on himself. The blades above are spinning and drowning out the sound of everything around you. Once the headset is on, you’re left with your thoughts. You’re shoulder to shoulder with him, his own knocking into yours every now and then as you lift off. You stare out the window, watching the clouds begin to circle around the helicopter. It lulls you into sleep.

You wake sometime later. Leon nudges you awake, and you find yourself having fallen asleep upon his shoulder. You’re nestled between his collar and jaw, comfortable as can be. You find yourself not wanting to move. You do anyway, because it’s the right thing to do, and blink a few times as you return to the land of the living. Leon looks at you, a look much softer than what you’re used to, but it’s quickly replaced with his normally hard exterior. You blink back at him.

“Time to go to work,” he says, and you nod. You’ve since landed, and Leon begins unsheathing himself from the headset and buckles holding him down.

It’s a quick maneuver before you’re both standing on broken asphalt. You frown. You can almost smell the stench of bodies from where you’re standing, but you’ve yet to see any. The metallic odor of blood hangs heavy in the air, a smell you’ve never been able to escape.

Leon moves ahead quickly, leaving you to haul your supplies on your own. That’s not unusual; Leon likes to get into the thick of it as quickly as possible, while you prefer to avoid it for as long as you can. With a huff, you sling your bag over your shoulder and begin to follow him. There’s smoke that hasn’t yet cleared from fires long forgotten, and you see the makeshift tents that have been thrown up. Leon ducks between the curtains of one, and you follow him wordlessly.

There’s a few people gathered in the tent. Leon heads over to a supervisor, beginning his work. You intend to do the same. There’s an empty cot and table near the back, which is as good a place as any to set up shop. You take your time removing each piece of equipment from your bags. A handful of antiseptics here, a box of gloves there, it all comes to find a home in your small area. This is the only part of work that you like. Everything has a home until someone gets injured and you have to disrupt the quiet peace you’ve managed to create. The thought makes you frown.

“Someone tried to level the city,” Leon’s voice comes from behind you. You don’t have to always be privy to the information, but Leon likes to fill you in. “There’s not a lot to go off of,”

You shrug, not turning to face him. “We know what was here before the bomb, though, right? That should give us some inclination,”

Leon hums. “It does. But it’s not a lot,”

“Someone wanted this struck from the record and fast,” you say, finally turning to look at him. He looks tired, especially cast in the harsh light from the industrial lamps. They highlight his sharp features; jawline, angular nose, high cheekbones.

“Seems that way,” he says, taking a seat on the cot in your workspace. “Will probably be bloody,”

You sigh. “It always is,”

Day two, and you’ve gone through more stitches than you can count. A man you don’t know the name of is stuck in the makeshift quarantine room you’ve set up, and you’ve been monitoring his condition like your life depends on it. He seems normal enough, but one can never be too sure.

It’s on day three that Leon comes to you. He’s covered in blood, whether his or other, and there’s a deep purple bruise that’s forming on his jaw. He’s stumbling, nearly collapsing as he attempts to walk.

“What the hell happened?” you ask, running to catch him before he falls to the floor. He grins at you. It’s lopsided and boyish, one you would imagine on him in a different time. “Did you…?”

He shakes his head. “Lost a lot of blood,”

You narrow your eyes at him, hauling him onto the cot. “I gathered that. How, though? What made you lose all the blood?”

“We were getting swarmed. Had to make a quick decision and landed on some rebar,” he says, pulling up his shirt to reveal a nasty puncture on his left side. You grimace. “I have lost a lot of blood,”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, beginning to get to work. “You’re lucky you made it back to me, Kennedy,”

He frowns at you. “I’d always make it back to you,”

You choose to ignore his comment, instead focusing on cauterization. It’s mixed up in minutes, and you begin to slather it onto Leon’s skin. He breathes in deeply, twisting up his features in a wince. You’re babbling to him, mumbling that he’s okay and it’s not that bad and that he’s tougher than it.

“I need to remove your shirt to dress it,” you say, moving to grab scissors. “Don’t you dare move your arms above your head,”

He nods, moving them back to his sides. Gently, you take the hem of his shirt between your fingers and begin to cut. Once you reach his sternum, you feel his eyes on you. He’s watching you intently, a half smile on his lips. By the time you reach the collar, your face is flushing and you can feel the sweat beginning to bead along your hairline. You finish your work on the shirt, tugging it off him. You wrap his waist to hell in bandages to keep pressure on the wound.

“Take these,” you say, handing him two pills and a glass of water. He frowns at you. “Do you want to keep being in pain, or not?”

With a grumble, he holds out his hand, palm up. You place the pills in his hand and watch as he takes them. They go down hard and he winces again.

“Quit being a baby,” you say, smiling. “They’re not that bad,”

“I’m not a baby,” he says as he settles into the cot a bit more. His voice is soft, gentle, a tone you’ve rarely heard from him. You pull the thin sheet of a blanket up over him, tucking it around his shoulders.

“You’re on bed rest until I can be sure that you won’t die,” you say. He frowns. “And you’re getting a tetanus shot as soon as possible,”

“I hate those,” he says, drawing his brows together. A line forms between them, one you suddenly ache to reach out and smooth away. You feel a chill sneak down your spine.

“Well,” you say, puffing out a breath. “Quit falling on dubious looking metal and you won’t have to get them anymore,”

He hums, closing his eyes. You let the medicine do its job and lull him to sleep.

The next morning–or night, you’re not really sure–Leon’s cot is empty. You frown, knowing that he got up and went out without checking in with you first, which sparks a bit of anger in your chest. He knows better than to do that. At the very least, he tells you he’s leaving and lets you give him a once over before he disappears. You hope he knows he’ll be getting an earful when you see him next, a few choice words already spinning in your brain.

You busy yourself by cleaning your station. You patch up a few people here and there, sewing stitches like you were made to. It’s oddly calming. You know you’re good at your job, you just wish it were under different circumstances.

You wanted to be an EMT. That was always the dream. You’d watched them save lives hundreds of times, and that was what you wanted to do, too. But fate had other plans for you, namely in terms of bioweapons that changed the chemistry of human beings. This is not where you’d thought your life would go, but you’re playing the cards you were dealt nonetheless.

It’s day six when you see Leon again. He’s with a few men that you don’t remember the names of, hauling a black body bag into your tent. Leon’s gaze locks with yours, and you can feel the apology in it all over your skin. A lump forms in your throat that you try desperately to swallow.

“Got something for you to look at,” he says, plopping the bag onto a work table near your small station. You feel sick. “If you wouldn’t mind,”

“I don’t think I have a choice,” you mumble, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. Gloves have become your security blanket. They keep the blood off your skin for the most part, which makes the job somewhat easier. Before, you’d never had an aversion to blood, it was just part of life. Now, you can never seem to wash it from your hands. Your frown deepens.

Leon hovers near you as you unzip the bag. It’s a horrid sight. The stench would be the worst part if it weren’t for the large amounts of flesh that slough off the body at every area. Whoever this was died a horrible, painful death, and you’re not even sure they knew it. You withhold a gag. They’re missing their nose, a few fingers, genitalia, and most of their bottom jaw. With as deep a breath as you can muster, you begin your work.

“What is it?” Leon asks. You shrug, breaking through their soft ribs. The crack is near silent. They were decomposing as they lived.

“Can’t be too sure yet,” you say, peeling back layers of sinew and muscle that were once taught and strong but are now lumpy and soggy. “Can you hand me a few of those dishes? I’ll need to keep samples to send home,”

Leon nods, moving around you to grab what you asked for. You place a few pieces of flesh and muscle into the dishes, closing the top and sealing away the smell. Leon’s nose wrinkles.

“You don’t have to watch,” you say, digging around further into the torso. “I know it’s not the most pleasant sight,”

“I’m the one who brought it, aren’t I?” he asks. You look at him. He’s fully serious, all hard lines and sharp edges. “It’s as much my duty as it is yours,”

You nod, continuing your work. You finally find what you’ve been digging around for. The heart is barely solid anymore. It was once healthy, capable of fueling the body better than any other organ, but it’s nothing more than a lump of tissue now. It’s oozing some kind of liquid.

“Can you hand me one of those vials?” you ask, keeping your eyes on the heart. It doesn’t look like it's been active in a while. Leon hands you a vial wordlessly, and you allow the liquid to drip into it.

“What’re you thinking?” Leon asks as you begin sewing up the sad sight of disintegrated tissue.

You shrug. “Infection of some kind. This person has been rotting a long time, whether they knew it or not. Places that should be healthy are not. My guess? They were sick long before any symptoms presented themselves and their body began to decompose and die. The infection took over,”

Leon lets out a breath. It’s not a great answer, and it’s even worse when given the context of your situation. “When will we know what it is for sure?”

“As soon as I get the results from the lab back home,” you say, disposing of your soiled gloves. “Probably two days,”

“That’s not ideal,” Leon says. There’s a strange amount of anger in his tone. You frown.

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but it’s the best we’ve got,” you say, words clipped. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to hose off somewhere. I’ve been rooting around in a dead body for the last fifteen minutes,”

Leon looks at you in a way that keeps you rooted in place. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, and says, “I’m sorry,”

The tension melts from your bones. “It’s okay,” you say. “We all have a job to do,”

You notice then how blue his eyes are. They’re glazed over with something you can’t place, but that doesn’t detract from their color. His face is so symmetrical, too. You’re almost jealous. You wonder, for a moment, what it would be like to touch him. Before you can sweat over it, you remove yourself from the situation and go find somewhere to get clean.

On day nine, after the results have returned from the lab, Leon takes a seat on your cot. You’re worrying over some files, attempting to connect this mystery virus to anyone who would make sense. You hate this part of your job more than any other. You’re built to do things, make changes, use your hands, not whatever this is.

“Find anything interesting?” Leon asks, handing you a granola bar. Something twists in your stomach.

“Not really,” you say. “Since Umbrella’s been mostly dissolved over the years, there’s no real leads. Every doctor is either dead or missing,”

Leon hums, mouth full of his own granola. You cut a glance at him. He looks comfortable, probably more than he has in days. You wonder why. When you’re surrounded by so much death and destruction, it’s hard to find a moment to relax. You, for one, haven’t gotten much sleep considering you’re either taking refuge on your cot for a few measly hours or sat directly upright in your chair. Your back aches.

You blow out a breath, leaning back in your chair away from the files. Leon watches you. “How’s your side?”

Wordlessly, he lifts his shirt to show you the mangled mess that is your cauterizing job. “Still hurts, but it’s not bleeding or opening, so that’s good,”

You smile. “Definitely a good sign. Feeling sick in any way?”

He shakes his head. “Other than dead tired? No, I’m healthy as a horse,”

You can’t stifle the laugh that erupts from your lips. It isn’t often that Leon is kind and gentle with you, so you try to enjoy the moments where he is. “I wouldn’t go that far, Kennedy. You’ve still got a ways to go,”

He narrows his eyes playfully at you. “I’d like a second opinion,”

You roll your eyes, grabbing the granola bar he’d given you. You haven’t really been eating since you touched down nine days ago. A few snacks here and there, but nothing concrete. It’s mostly been military rations, which are dry and too filling to be satisfying. You turn your eyes back to the files spread out on your table. It would be far more helpful to study these in a place with people who knew what to look for. You’re better at getting the information rather than analyzing it. Pouring over files isn’t exactly your forte.

“We leave tomorrow,” Leon says. You look at him. “There’s not much left for us to do here until we figure out what we’re fighting,”

You nod. “And the people?”

He pauses. You know the answer, so you’re not sure why you asked. “We’ll come back for them,”

Either with a bomb or help, you’re not sure. Probably the former. “Right,”

“We’re helping them by doing this,” he says, standing up to move nearer to you. He towers over you in your chair. You feel your breath catch in your throat. “You have to believe that,”

“I know,” you say, though you’re not sure how true that is. “We’re helping people,”

“You are helping people,” he says, voice soft and serious. “More than I am, that’s for sure,”

You shake your head. “Don’t say that. We’re both doing our part,”

He sets his lips into a hard line, nodding. He leaves you with that, and you return to your files. You don’t like the way he’s been making you feel. It’s confusing and makes you worry you’re reading things wrong. He’s never this kind to you, often opting for clipped responses and scowls. He still does that, but it’s softer now somehow, more playful than angry. It causes a stir in your stomach that you’re not positive is just from a lack of eating. It makes you twist up your features in order to focus.

The next morning, you’re packing your things. Your bones are anxious, ready to leave and be done with this hellscape. You feel Leon’s presence behind you before he speaks.

“Don’t tell me you’ve brought bad news,” you murmur, placing your tweezers back into their place in the kit. “I’d really like to have a real shower,”

You turn to face him then, and he’s watching you carefully like you’re a specimen to be studied. “No bad news, just coming to make sure you’re ready to leave,”

His tone is short. It makes your mouth sour. “I’m just about done here. Just…trying to recollect, I guess,”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps his gaze on you. You nod, and return to putting things away. You feel him lingering behind you like he has more to say, but chooses not to. You almost want to ask him why he’s just standing there, and if he’d rather make himself useful, but he turns away before you get the chance. It makes a bit of anger spark in your chest.

Guess we’re back to that, you think. It makes you scowl.

You haul your bag onto your back, along with a few more bits and bobs that you snagged from the tent that you’d need later. The files are tucked snugly into folders that you’ll hand to Leon the second you get onto the helicopter. You want them out of your possession as soon as possible. A frown makes its home on your face as you duck out of the tent.

The stench of rotten bodies hits you quickly, and it occurs to you that you haven’t left this tent almost the entire time you’ve been here. You’ve been too busy patching people up, digging through mutilated corpses, and taking notes. Not that you’d want to leave if you had the chance; it was a warzone out here. You suppress a gag.

“Took you long enough,” Leon says as you approach. Your frown deepens.

“You didn’t give me a time limit,” you snap. Leon’s face flashes with an emotion you can’t discern before it’s replaced by his cold exterior again.

“Shouldn’t have to,” he responds, taking your bag from you. He places it on the floor of the helicopter. His tone lacks the distinct playfulness you’d grown used to these last few days. It makes you angry. How dare he give you an olive branch and then rip it away from you just as you’d grown used to it? He’s being cruel.

A loud blast shakes the earth beneath your feet. Leon’s arms snake around you as he hauls you into his frame. You can’t even find it in yourself to look at where the explosion came from, you’re too busy staring up at him. His focus is elsewhere, of course, his calculating gaze scanning the area.

“We need to go,” he says, turning his head to look at you. You feel your knees weaken, and you’re thankful he’s holding you because you’re sure you’d collapse under his gaze.

You nod, mostly because you can’t trust yourself to speak. You hate that he suddenly has the power to render you speechless. He helps you into the helicopter before jumping in beside you. You’re lifting off as he hands you the headset.

“Okay?” he asks, voice hushed. You nod. He scans you for injuries.

“I’m fine, Leon,” you say, reaching out to squeeze his arm. Whether from the action or the circumstances, his face sours, and he nods. You retract your hand.

When you land sometime later, Leon is silent as he helps you unload. You trek downstairs to your office, mulling over the last week and a half in your head. You’d found yourself looking forward to the next time Leon would invade your space. He’d provided a much needed distraction from the viscera of the job, and you’d welcomed it. You wonder if that was his intention and he was just being kind. But you didn’t know Leon to be kind, especially to you. You reach your office, feeling more alone than you have in a while.

It’s dark and empty in the room, save for two desks, a chair, and a few computers. It makes you sigh. You throw your bag onto one of the desks, and realize you’re still clutching the files you’d meant to give to Leon. You toss them onto the desk as well. If he wants them, he can come get them. How are you supposed to trust him when all he does is have mood swings? With a sigh, you sit in your chair. You’re only granted a few moments of peace before Rebecca bursts into your office.

“You still have those files?” she asks. You nod, turning to hand them to her. She thumbs through them for a moment.

“Any leads?” you ask, exhaustion heavy in your voice. Rebecca cuts you a glance.

“Nothing concrete yet,” she says, tucking them under her arm. “Leon wants to take them home so he can look at them tonight,”

Your brows raise. “Why couldn’t he come get them?”

Rebecca shrugs and gives you a soft smile before bustling back out of the room. Of course. You’re only helpful in the field, you should know that by now. You try to remind yourself that you and Leon are an unwilling team. Neither of you asked to be saddled with the other. There’s no real reason for you to be friends–or anything more, for that matter–you only need to be friendly. You’ve been content with that for so long, so you don’t know why it’s such a big deal now.

Your apartment feels like heaven when you finally return to it. You stand in the shower until the water goes cold, which you feel like you deserve. You can’t get the sight of that body that Leon brought you out of your head. It was so ugly, so mangled, and you feel a pit of dread in your stomach. That was once a person, with a family, with a job and a life, and you reduced it to a science experiment. It makes you cry. You cry on the bathroom floor until your tear ducts run dry and you physically can’t anymore. Your face is red and swollen by the time you finally get into a pair of sweatpants and a shirt from a long forgotten boyfriend.

And then you sit on the couch. You stare at the television, not quite watching the old movie that’s playing. All you can think about is that body. You don’t know their name, you don’t even know their gender, and they are all you can think about. You know you won’t be able to sleep, so you don’t even try.

The phone is dialed before you can even notice what you’re doing. He picks up on the second ring.

“I hope this is important,” he answers. You sniff. “You okay?”

You huff a laugh in spite of yourself. “Yeah,” you say, wiping your nose on your sleeve. The whole ordeal is gross and unbecoming, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. “I don’t know why I called. I’m sorry,”

You don’t hang up, and he doesn’t either. The line is silent for a while before he says, “You don’t want to be alone,”

It’s not a question, more of a statement, but you answer. “Yeah, I guess. This one was…harder,”

“I know,” he says. “I’ll be there in ten,”

Before you can protest, he hangs up. That wasn’t your goal, to get him trapped in your apartment, but you can’t say you’re displeased by it. You don’t want to be alone. And you can’t say you have anyone else to call, either. Things could be worse.

True to his word, a knock sounds at your front door ten minutes later. You answer it, eyes still swollen so much that they’re almost shut, and you look at Leon with slightly blurry vision. He looks so put together, so handsome, and you wonder how he manages it. It makes you frown.

“Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to stare at me in the hallway all night?” he asks, that playful tone back again. It almost makes you smile. You let him in, and he takes a minute to survey your living space. There’s a few knick knacks scattered on shelves here and there, a few pictures from high school, and your award of excellence you received when you graduated.

“I’m sorry,” you say. He turns to look at you. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here. I’m sure you have better things to do,”

He shakes his head. “Not really. You needed me,”

The softness of his tone makes your lips quiver. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Pretend not to care about me half the time, and then get all soft when something is bothering me. Half the time, I can’t tell if you hate me. You did it on this last mission, and you’re doing it now. I’d rather you be mean to me all the time than do…whatever this is,” you ramble. You can feel yourself grinding your teeth as he considers you.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, then takes a seat on your couch, making himself comfortable. “I’ve never hated you,”

You frown more, if that’s even possible. “Then why do you act like you do?”

He shrugs. “Easier that way, I guess,”

Your shoulders deflate and you settle in beside him on the couch. You feel suddenly calmer being next to him. He warms your bones and eases your tension, and for a moment, you hate him for it. You hate that he’s suddenly able to chase away your darkest parts, whether he knows it or not. It almost makes you angry.

“Get some rest,” he says, voice low. You nod, eyelids already slipping closed. Your head falls onto his shoulder.

“Will you stay?” you ask.

After a moment, he says, “Of course,”

[marasvenus]

How An Author Would Describe You & Your Person ┊ ༑ ࿐ྂ。

Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

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Pile 1 ࿐

This is actually a very cute energy 🥹. If you were in a book, I think the book itself would be about your child/children but you and your person would play such a huge part in it.

An author would describe the two of you as a couple that had been through so much but came out of all of it stronger than ever. Maybe the two of you got together very young and struggled through some of the most transformative years of your life together, loving each other through a million different stages as you worked to find yourselves and each other. An author would write a lot about the bond the two of you share, the way it’s almost like you can read each others minds and understand each other on a level that is rare and beautiful. An author might write about financial struggles or loss that you may have faced together early in your relationship and how those struggles shaped each of you and your relationship as a whole for the better. There’s a strength and stability in your relationship because you survived your lowest points together and loved each other through your worst moments so you could become your best selves together.

Because this books seems to be from the POV of your child, it seems as though your relationship and the strength/stability of it would be referenced a lot in this book. You and your partner would be written in as voices of wisdom and words of advice when it was needed, helping guide the story in the right direction and give the reader hope and a sense of peace. I heard “the book wouldn’t feel whole without you” for some readers, you’d make the book really worth reading.

Pile 2 ࿐

An author would describe this love as a beautiful, all encompassing kind of love. Possibly a first love, the kind of love that you only feel once. There’s a rush of so much emotion and excitement but also fear of the unknown. This love is about embracing the uncertain and opening yourself up to another person in a way you haven’t opened up to someone before. Laying all your cards out on the table and hoping the other person is prepared to do the same. This love would be described as watching curiosity and infatuation bloom into love and admiration for someone that you’ll never get tired of getting to know. It’s about taking someone in for all that they are, mind, body, and soul.

This love would be described one of the most beautiful things that we get to experience as humans and part of what makes life so worth living, written as every beautiful emotion that makes all pain and suffering that we face at some point so worth it. I think you would be the author of the book this love is written in, writing from a place of wisdom and looking back on the past and everything that made you the person you become to be, writing about all the moments in your life that shaped you as a human and shaped you for better or for worse.

Pile 3 ࿐

This love is a love you haven’t found yet. Some of you may be going through heartbreak and I think this reading is meant as a beacon of hope, your guides reminded you that there is better for you out there and it will come when you least expect it. I heard “don’t hold on so tightly to something that no longer serves you”

This love would he written as devotion and certainty from the point of first eye contact. A love that never weavers and doesn’t leave room for any doubt. A love that you are deserving of. This love is a love worth fighting for. This is something you’ve dreamed about since you were a child, to finally receive everything you’ve been giving for so many years. It would be written as kind, gentle, forgiving, safe. This love is pure happiness and bliss and you will never be left doubting it or wishing for more.

This book would be a fantasy or fairytale book. Filled with beautiful scenery. You and your person would be apart of some sort of series of books, a couple that readers root for and want to see succeed. The book would provide readers with the same sense of comfort and safety that you and your person provide each other with. Stories of your love would give readers hope for themselves and their future.

[tabarkraed]

Giving birth is a profound and transformative experience for any mother, but the stark contrast between bringing a child into the world during a war and in a peaceful environment is heart-wrenching. Imagine the emotional turmoil and physical hardship faced by mothers who deliver their babies in the midst of conflict, within the confines of a makeshift tent, surrounded by the constant threat of danger.

For my friend’s @bilalhammadsblog sister and sister-in-law, the journey to motherhood was fraught with fear and uncertainty. Instead of the calm and controlled environment of a hospital, they endured labor amidst the chaos of war, with explosions and gunfire as their background noise. The tent that served as their delivery room was a far cry from the sterile, well-equipped birthing suites that most mothers have. There was no access to pain relief, professional medical care, or the comforting presence of loved ones.

The conditions were harsh and unsanitary, increasing the risk of infections and complications. The lack of clean water, proper nutrition, and essential medical supplies made every moment perilous. These mothers had to summon unimaginable strength and resilience, not only to give birth but also to protect and care for their newborns in such dire circumstances.

In contrast, mothers in peaceful settings prepare for childbirth with a sense of excitement and anticipation. They attend prenatal classes, have regular check-ups, and often create a birth plan with their doctors. Their biggest concerns might be about the birth itself or the baby's health, but they are surrounded by support and resources. Hospitals are equipped with advanced technology, skilled professionals, and all the necessary amenities to ensure a safe and comfortable delivery.

For these war-affected mothers, there is no such assurance. Their overwhelming joy at meeting their babies is tinged with the constant worry of how to keep them safe and healthy in an environment that is anything but. The basic comforts and reassurances that should accompany childbirth are replaced by the harsh realities of survival.

Every cry of their babies is a reminder of the fragility of life in a war zone. The emotional toll is immense, as they grapple with the fear of losing their children to preventable illnesses or injuries caused by the surrounding conflict. The physical exhaustion from childbirth is compounded by the stress of providing for their newborns in such conditions, often without adequate rest, food, or medical care.

Despite these overwhelming challenges, these mothers display an extraordinary level of courage and love. They hold on to hope and fight every day to give their children a chance at life, even in the face of such adversity. Their strength is a testament to the incredible resilience of the human spirit, even in the darkest of times.

Please open your hearts 🤍

and donate to support these courageous mothers and their precious newborns. Your generosity can provide the essential care and comfort they desperately need during this harrowing time. Every donation is a lifeline of hope and love for these innocent lives. 🙏🏻🙏🏻

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part Seventeen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, depictions of violence, breeding/pregnancy kink, oral sex f receiving, some good ole p in v

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I’m baaack (for now). My plan for this part was for Feyd and reader to fight/argue more but I love them too much and I just couldn’t do it

It takes a tremendous effort not to look at Feyd. You can only imagine the expression on his face, the depth of hurt in his dark eyes. Even the image in your head is enough to plant a seed of despair, spiraling through you like crushing vines.

“What baby?” Feyd asks again. His voice has taken on a steely undertone, perceptible only to you. You’ve heard a plethora of emotions running like currents in his voice, disguised by years of training and practice, but this one guts you the most. There’s a single layer of vulnerability.

Of questioning hurt.

You inhale and force yourself to say, “Our baby.”

There’s no way to know how he will react. You’ve seen every side of him — the lover, the monster, the soldier — and you’ve examined each with a careful eye, peering into the mouth of his being and inspecting its teeth. But no amount of familiarity can prepare you for his calloused hand encircling your wrist and tugging you to face him.

“Say it again.”

Tears burn your eyes. “Our baby.” And suddenly it comes tumbling out, all of it. “I’m pregnant. I haven’t known long. I-I was going to tell you after you healed because I knew you would fret over me. You have to understand.”

Your explanation hastens as he stares back at you blankly. You would’ve preferred him to lash out at you, hit you, call you any number of insufferable names. But this…

“You didn’t tell me,” he says. He’s mastered his voice enough that it feels like the prick of a blade under your ribs, waiting to push in.

“You couldn’t afford to think about me,” you tell him, “you needed to focus on your health.”

There’s a flicker there, in his expression. “It is not solely your decision to make. The child is both of ours. You should’ve told me.”

“Feyd —”

“Enough.” Feyd releases his grip. “I’ve heard enough.

“Feyd, please —”

His jaw feathers with suppressed emotion. Feyd whirls on the heel of his boot and storms off, leaving a wake of silence. You watch his retreating form, sorrow clenching in your chest like a fist. Only once he’s disappeared around the corner and you’re sure he won’t return, do you lash around to confront Chani.

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” A lazy smile unfurls on her face. “I assumed you told him already.”

“Fuck you.”

“Again?” Chani asks.

No one dares stop you as you dress for battle in your stillsuit. Chani better pray to her gods that you don’t find her alone in the battle field, you can’t promise not to take out your anger. The public argument between you two simmers as the group gathers, reviewing the attack. A familiar movement in the corner of your eye distracts you, and surprise grips you in response.

“What are you doing?” You breathe out, ashamed to admit how relieved you felt, however fleeting.

“Did you think I’d let you go out alone?”

Feyd avoids your gaze, keeps his own focused on Stilgar as the bearded man explains his plan. Your husband is so heartbreakingly beautiful. You commit his profile to memory, the essence of him — wrath and death, the god of war, but also the softer side of him that only you’ve seen. Before, on Giedi Prime, you didn’t know the pain of losing him, of seeing him bleeding out in the sands of Arrakis.

The memory flashes in your mind. The level of desperation in your voice is frankly pathetic, but you wouldn’t allow it for anyone else. “You have to forgive me, Feyd. I thought —”

“Save it.” His gaze slides, finally, to you. You might imagine the softness that forms there when he looks at you. “We’ll talk later.”

Your legs are cramping. You’ve laid on this fucking sand dune for what seems like a small eternity now, covered in a mesh blanket to disguise yourself. Feyd rests next to you. The Fremen are buried in the sand for ambush. You don’t know why you would want to help the Harkonnen, but they were insistent upon you being removed from the initial attack.

Your decision to move your leg is forgotten at the droll sound of a ship in the distance, a dark shape in the sky that grows exponentially larger. Feyd stiffens next to you.

“Rabban might be on that ship,” you say as loud as you dare.

Feyd’s mouth forms a firm line. “I hope he is.”

It strikes you that you’re quite grateful to be on the side of the Fremen as they launch their ambush, bodies upon bodies emerging from the sands like desert wraiths and immediately killing every foot soldier. You and Feyd launch from your hiding spot once the ship opens fire — Feyd to join the fighting on the ground, you aiming the blasgun given to you. You follow him with your eyes as he moves through the bloodshed like it’s a well-choreographed dance, both graceful and gruesome, his blades glinting.

Shot after shot you take out as many Harkonnens as you can, trying not to think about how you might know them. You focus, instead, on the fact that they would do anything to erase the life growing inside your womb, the promise of unity.

The Messiah.

From your vantage point the ambush looks to be waning when a figure disembarks from the ship. The last time you saw him, you’d tried to kill him.

The feeling hadn’t gone away.

Feyd kicks in the knee of a fellow Harkonnen, who drops to the ground. In a fluid movement he removes the helmet and slits their throat, then regards his brother. There’s no doubting that Rabban recognizes his brother, even in a stillsuit, recognizes the man he trained and fought with.

Every instinct in you is yelling at you to tumble down the dune to join the fight, but the rumble of a sandworm hums beneath your feet and you know that you don’t have time. Already the Fremen are retreating. Almost all of the Harkonnen soldiers have been cut down except for the spare few who stayed behind with Rabban. The ship whirs to life. You can’t tell if the brothers exchange any words before the ship lifts back into the air and Feyd is clamoring back to you, his face paler than normal beneath his protective helmet.

You know not to question him about it until later but when you return to the sietch, the ambush team rejoices in their triumph. You’re jostled back and forth and away from Feyd. “The Messiah paved our way to victory!” Stilgar exclaimes, dirt and blood smearing his face.

A roar of approval echoes him and you smile weakly at the Fremen patting you on the back and reaching out to touch your abdomen. An actual growl over your shoulder wards them off, though, Feyd appearing in your peripheral.

“Y/N!” Jessica emerges from the festivities, expression concerned. “Are you alright?” Her attention drops to your stomach.

Irritation has you grinding your molars together as you bite out, “I’m fine.”

“Where were you?” Feyd levels this question to your mother.

Jessica says, “I was doing my duty. Here.”

“You say you have the interest of the Fremen at heart but you make yourself conveniently scarce whenever the opportunity arises to prove it.”

You suppress a smirk. While healing, he missed most of your mother’s Bene Gesserit propaganda. It pleases you that he sees through her bullshit right off the bat. Even if he doesn’t completely understand it, or your participation in it, Feyd knows that Jessica is not as genuine as she says.

“Do you doubt me?” She asks him.

Feyd’s silence is response enough. A flicker of irritation crosses Jessica’s face.

“You need to speak to them,” she says to you, “tell them that you foresaw this victory. That with our help, with the support of the Messiah, they will succeed in this war. That today is just a taste.”

Feyd cuts his gaze to you. Well, he knows your participation now.

“No,” you tell her.

Jessica has the good sense to look taken aback. “No?”

“I am tired. And I wish to reunite with my husband. You speak to them.” You grab Feyd’s hand despite knowing that the contact is unwanted, dragging him away from the crowd and your mother’s palpable anger. For your sake he clings to you until you’re out of sight, then wrenches his hand away.

“I have not forgotten what you done,” he snarls.

You double check to ensure that no one is around to overhear what undoubtedly will become an argument. “I know.”

Soft to his unyielding fury.

“Tell me everything.”

Unable to look at him, you find a spot on the wall past him, regret burrowing into your heart. “I-I’ve known for roughly three months now. I didn’t know if he would survive the crash.”

“He?” A single word.

“Yes.” For the first time in his presence, you let your fingers drift to your abdomen. Feyd’s hands twitch but otherwise he’s motionless. “It’s…a boy. He’s strong. I can feel it.”

Feyd wavers slightly, the news leeching from the reservoir of his anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you, I knew you would never give yourself the time to heal if you knew.”

“It’s my duty to protect you. My privilege. And all this time, not knowing—” Feyd cuts off abruptly, a spasm of pain crossing his expression. “I thought we told each other everything. No more games.”

Your heart pangs. “I wasn’t playing a game, Feyd. I wanted to protect you. I had to watch you nearly die in front of me. I can’t lose you.” You blame the pregnancy hormones for the tears that spring to your eyes, the emotions thick in your throat. “Please don’t hate me.”

“Nothing you do can make me hate you,” Feyd murmurs after a heartbeat. He steps closer, his thumb swiping over your cheeks, your tears. He seems to be wrestling for what to say next and finally whispers, “You’re pregnant.”

“I am,” you say, laughing, nearly delirious.

A moment passes in which he stares at you in disbelief, before he loops his arms around your waist and picks you up off your feet. A smile graces your face, buried in his neck, as he whirls you in a circle and sets you back down with a rarely-heard laugh — clear and deep.

“A son,” he breathes. Realization encroaches his delight. “What does this mean? For us? For…him?”

Sorrow eclipses your own happiness, however brief. You keep it close to your heart, a memory for later, when it will be scarce. “The Fremen have been condition by the Bene Gesserit to believe our child is their Messiah.”

“Isn’t he?”

“Yes.” You cringe. “And no.”

“Explain.”

“As you know, we’ve been bred for generations to produce the Kwisatz Haderach. But according to the Fremen, to what the Bene Gesserits said, the mother must also be Bene Gesserit. And I am…not.”

“But they believe you are.”

Guilt punctures you like a blade to your lung, slipping between your ribs and expelling all of your breath. “Yes, they do. It’s all by my mother’s design. She wants the control.”

Feyd’s brow furrows. “Against my family?”

“The person in control of Arrakis is in control of the whole universe,” you say, “she wants to orchestrate everything from behind the scenes.”

To say it out loud devastates you, how you and Feyd have been only pawns in a scheme much larger than the both of you. And now your child.

Power drove your family apart.

“What do we do?” Feyd asks.

“I don’t know,” you reply honestly.

Feyd’s attention drifts to where the sietch is still celebrating their victory. “These people have been oppressed for too long. We can’t allow it to continue.”

“We need their allegiance, though,” you tell him. “We won’t win this war without them.”

“Wouldn’t we just be falling right into the Bene Gesserits hands? Lending ourselves and our son to them? Enslaving them?”

“I want justice for them as much as you.”

The slightest of exhales from Feyd. “What’s your plan?” When you look away without a reply, he reaches out to take your hand. “We’ll figure it out. But we don’t have much time.”

“Y/N.”

You turn to face your mother, wreathed in yellow fabric. The intensity of her blue-on-blue eyes is frightening. You haven’t dared to look into any reflective surface to see if yours possesses the same hue but, judging by the tint in Feyd’s, you probably look the same.

A visible sign of the way your life has transitioned.

“We aren’t done,” you say to her flatly.

“It can wait.”

Feyd bristles. “She said we weren’t done.”

Jessica lazily assess your husband. It incites a flare of anger in you; no one has ever looked at Feyd-Rautha before with such indifference. He simply did not command it. Out of the corner of your eye you peek at him. Shutters have drawn down on his face, making him entirely unreadable. The slightest of muscles jumping under his eye tells you of the turmoil beneath the surface of his composure.

“You think you own her?” Jessica asks. “Just because you’re wed? Need I remind you that it was by my design.”

Feyd snarls, “No one owns her.”

“You belong to centuries of Bene Gesserit design,” your mother reminds you, “this is your destiny.”

“It’s the destiny that you’ve manipulated,” you snap back. “What will they do when they find out that I’m not a witch? That everything is a lie?”

“It’s not my fault that you failed to live up to your potential,” Jessica shot back.

It hits you like a slap to the face.

“I suggest that you take your leave,” Feyd says into the stunned silence. He steps forward, half shielding you with his body.

Jessica’s upper lip curls. “The failed heir to the Baroncy. A weapon, but nothing more. Except perhaps a sire. Congratulations.”

“Enticing us into an argument isn’t going to make us give in to your demands,” you say. “I refuse to take part in your indoctrination anymore.”

“Fine. Tell them it’s a lie. They’ll kill you before you can say another word.”

Feyd curses under his breath. You both know that she’s right, that the link of your son is the only thing keeping you alive. It’s a tremulous relationship between you and the Fremen, one that not even the victory today could completely reconcile. You hate that Jessica still has such a firm hold over you. Over Feyd. Your son.

At your sides, your hands tremble with suppressed rage. “This isn’t over.”

“Isn’t it?” Jessica’s lips curl into a smile.

You lay side by side later that night, mulling over the events that had unfolded. The darkness obscures your husband but his presence beside you is solid, unyielding. Safe.

“He saw me today. Rabban.”

“Do you think they’ll come for you?” You ask.

His silence stretches on for quite some time before he answers. “Perhaps. I’m not sure whether I want them to or not. Probably not.”

“Why wouldn’t they? Surely they thought that you — we — died in the crash.”

“That’s just it,” Feyd says, “Rabban undoubtedly reported our deaths and, by admitting he’s wrong, will suffer for it. I suspect that he’s fuming right now actually.”

“Hopefully long enough for us to figure out our next step,” you murmur in reply.

The cot that you both have squeezed onto rustles as Feyd turns on his side. You can just barely make out his face, the shape of his shoulder. His hand moves to your abdomen, where it hovers before finally landing. His palm is warm on your skin, alighting a fire inside of you. No matter how many times you touch your entire being reacts to him, surging up to meet him. And there, as weak as a fluttering pulse, your baby, too small for Feyd to notice rejoicing in his closeness.

“Our next step is just to take them one at a time.” His eyes glisten in the darkness. “I do not want to miss out on these moments because I am worried about a future that is not promised.”

Feyd dips down, presses a kiss to your navel. You can’t help but sigh in response, hips rising, eager to feel his lips elsewhere. He chuckles, deep and rumbling, fingers dancing over the waistband of your pants. “We have conceived a child. Some would argue that our obligation to one another is finished.”

“And what would you argue?”

He pretends to pause, to consider this. “I would tell them that I must be cold in the ground to miss an opportunity to fuck my wife.”

A laugh escapes you as he masterfully removes the barrier of cloth between you, relying on touch to guide him down your body. Hips still wriggling, Feyd quells your impatience with his tongue. He slides through your folds like he’s savoring the experience, like he might never taste you again, tracing over your entrance but denying you the admittance. You buck up in frustration.

“Patience, jewel,” he murmurs against you, “I want to relish touching my pregnant wife for the first time.”

Your cunt clenches at this. You’re forced to squeeze your eyes, as the sight of him between your legs is almost too much to bear. Your whole life you have been chasing home and now, here, you have found it in him, in his ruinous touch. You were his, marked before by the band on your finger and now the child in your womb, not a sign of ownership but belonging.

“Such a good, perfect wife,” he says as he pleases you, a mixture of his fingers and his mouth. “Taking my seed so well and giving me a son. I cannot wait to see you grow with him in your belly, my child. Our child.”

He withdraws long enough to stroke himself, clearly aroused at the thought. Your thighs press together, slicked by his mouth and your own arousal, but Feyd pushes them apart with one hand while pumping himself with the other. In a single, fluid movement, he then pushes his cock into you with decisive force. You bite down on your lip to keep from crying out as he fills you completely, stretching your walls.

Feyd draws back and thrusts into you, over and over, building in ferocity. You bury your fingers into the cot to anchor yourself. Stars burst across your vision.

He speaks through each panted breath as if he might perish if he does not say the words. “I have given my heart to you, my soul, and in return you have given yourself to me. To my son.” There’s a hitch in his voice. Feyd presses his body to yours as he drives into you, holding you close. “You have given me the ultimate gift.”

Tears splatter on your chest. You realize with a lurching heart that he is crying, overcome with his emotions. You hold on to him just as tightly — there are no words fitting for this confession. Instead you pour yourself into him, into the push and pull of your bodies. And when you come together, crashing into your release, there is no distinction between you or him; you are only one. One breathing, pulsing being, utterly entwined.

Afterwards, when you have kissed the tears off his cheeks and he’s thoroughly cleaned you, Feyd curls up beside your abdomen. Adrift in your post-orgasm bliss, you’ve nearly succumbed to sleep when he says:

“I see him.”

Drowsy, you ask, “Who?”

“Our son.” This piques your interest, leading you to squint into the dark at him. Feyd, sensing your confusion, elaborates, “I see him in my dreams. Nightmares. I didn’t understand at first but now I know that it’s him.”

“Really?” Your voice is soft.

Feyd nods. His finger trails up the curve of your belly, not quite shaped by your pregnancy. “He looks like you and I’m so…I’m so proud of him.” There’s an edge of sadness in his voice now. “Even though, in my nightmares, he —”

You wait for him to continue but he does not. Feyd shudders against you, wrought with whatever pain the poison-induced dreams leave.

Feyd finally whispers, “Do you think we can change our fate? What’s been laid out for us?”

“I like to think so,” you say with honesty. Every instinct in you is raging at whatever has unraveled your husband so, but you know that the matter must be delicate. You don’t want to press.

“But what if we can’t?”

You ghost your fingers over his head, desperate to comfort him. The words unnerve you but you don’t dare let him know that you’re frightened by the same thing.

“I will love you until the very end of it,” you breathe, “that is all I can say for sure.”

Feyd replies, full of fear and regret, “I know.”

Part Eighteen

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1 @unnisumi @aoi-targaryen @psychoffin @lauratang @austinswhitewolf @bloodyziggy

[acciotaitlynn]

⋆｡˚꒰sharp desires꒱˚｡⋆

You hand Zayne a list, each bullet point revealing your most secret desires. Instead, he devises something infinitely better than anything you could have imagined.

⤵

⟢ zayne⌇fem!reader

⟢ 18+ graphic sexual content. unprotected sex/no pulling out. p in da v. oral. fingering. light bondage. knife play. teasing. slight sub/dom dynamic. triggering situations such as depictions of cutting, staged assault, and a staged break-in. teensy bit of blood. i don’t normally write themes like this bc i feel i can’t do them justice, but this man and his scalpel been on my mind for a whileee now

* i know that last part is probably unrealistic but i think it’s hot sue me 🙈

⟢ 4,008 words

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You woke with a start, your senses immediately on high alert despite the grogginess of sleep. The dark room, bathed in eerie moonlight, sent shivers racing down your spine while fluttering curtains and an unsettling silence prickled your skin with goosebumps.

The digital clocks glow, flashing 2:44am, seemed unnaturally bright, amplifying the sudden creeping fear tingling through your body.

Gripping your firearm tightly, you moved with cautious steps to the kitchen, systematically checking the bathroom and closets for any signs of intrusions. Finding nothing, the unease settled deeper in your gut as you poured a glass of water and headed back to bed.

You were halfway down the hall when powerful arms wrapped around you from behind, a hand clamping over your mouth to suppress your screams. The glass shattered on impact as you struggled fervently, but the grip remained unyielding.

In all black attire, a hood masking their face, the intruder exuded a possessive aura that felt unnervingly familiar. Thrown onto the bed, you were pinned down with a roughness tempered by gentle caresses. Bright hazel eyes, burning with an intensity you'd never seen before, met yours.

Recognizing the intruder was Zayne brought an initial wave of relief that quickly dissolved under his predatory gaze. His eyes traced your form with an unfamiliar hunger as he held your arms over your head, watching raptly as your breath hitched in an intoxicating blend of fear and arousal. 

Despite your angelic demeanor, you had often shared desires for darker, more intense experiences, even recently presenting Zayne with a list that truly challenged his boundaries.

He had grappled with the idea of inflicting pain without mutual arousal, ending up in a struggle to align your fantasies with his own pleasure. Thankfully, a realization had dawned on him, igniting a surprising, twisted excitement that fueled a resolute plan.

In the midst of trying to persuade him to explore some of the acts you had listed, your main selling point was the notion that letting go in such a way could potentially alleviate the intense work-related stress he habitually bottled up. Zayne, however, failed to grasp this perspective—in his view, causing you pain would likely only escalate his stress levels. Yet, the night he had endured was nothing short of harrowing, and it was thoughts of indulging in precisely that release that saw him through the ordeal.

Apart from the moments he was forced to focus solely on a surgical procedure, visions of you beneath him—just as you lay now, eyes swirling with an utterly captivating blend of fear and desire—danced persistently in his thoughts, gradually consuming his mind entirely. Abandoning his unfinished paperwork on the desk, with plans to return to the hospital once his encounter with you concluded, he hastily made his way home.

The bag, meticulously prepared and awaiting its moment ever since he first conceived this plan, beckoned him from the edge of the bed.

“You’ve haunted my every thought today,” he confessed in a low voice laced with longing, his eyes fixed on yours, fervently searching for a response that mirrored his own tumultuous emotions. “Perhaps your theory was correct—it's as if the weight of the day is beginning to melt away… It’s intoxicating.” 

Zayne found it intriguing to see the way your eyes had flickered with relief upon seeing him, only to quickly morph into anxiety as you realized the darker intent lurking behind his gaze. There was a faint question lingering in the recesses of his mind—what was happening to him? Never could he have imagined that witnessing your struggle against him, and the realization sinking in that he had no intention of releasing you, would stir such a potent, almost primal arousal within him.

His breath brushed lightly against your skin as he drew close. His voice, low and teasing, carried a startlingly cold edge as his lips ghosted over your jaw. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Number 5 on the list, correct? ‘Use force to use me, Zayniee. Even better if u break into the apartment and scare the ever-loving shit out of me when u do this,’ in squiggly brackets with a smiley face—technically, I’m just following orders.”  You glared at him, irritation flashing in your eyes, which only earned you a cocky smirk before his lips crashed onto yours.

There was nothing gentle or tender about the kiss—something you had come to expect from Zayne. It was bruising, possessive, and all-encompassing, his mouth devouring yours as your body instinctively stiffened under his touch.

While you had indeed asked for this, the intensity of his actions caught you off guard—the thrill he was exuding from instilling fear in you left you feeling a bit queasy. His entire demeanor was different—charged with an excitement that was both unsettling and exhilarating. But mostly, it was just incredibly hot.

His dark hair framed mocking, sultry eyes, which gleamed beneath the hood of his sweatshirt as they roved over you. Dressed casually in sweats and a hoodie, with giddy eyes and tousled hair, Zayne exuded a youthful energy that starkly contrasted with his usual professional appearance.

For so long, you had wondered if it was even possible for Zayne to let go like this. Now, seeing him so unrestrained filled you with a happiness that you could barely contain.

Fear and arousal simmered within you, battling for dominance—but the fear was a relentless force churning in your stomach, no matter how hard you tried to push it away.

Your mind scrambled to remember why you ever thought this was a good idea. The notion of someone breaking into your home to assault you had quickly lost its appeal, even if the intruder was your fiance. He kept your arms pinned above your head, his weight still pressing you into the bed. You hadn’t even noticed the black bag resting there until he reached over and rummaged through it.

Your eyes widened as he pulled out a length of rope, a smile curling his lips as he caught your hesitant expression. “Zayne?” you whispered, uncertainty threading through your voice. He stayed silent, skillfully binding your hands to the headboard before you could fully comprehend what was happening. In a blur, your loose tank top and snowflake-print pajama shorts were pulled down the length of your body, a startled squeak escaping you as the fabric was roughly yanked down your legs.

Zayne’s full weight returned to settle beneath your knees, giving him an unobstructed view as his warm finger traced your folds. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and you looked away, unable to bear the sight of his finger glistening with your arousal, which he then licked clean with a grin. “It seems like you’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on, love,” he mocked, his voice dripping with amusement.

His fingers continued their exploration, sliding deep inside you, stretching you with a steady rhythm. Your hips began to grind against his hand, seemingly of their own volition. Zayne groaned lowly, his teeth closing over his lip as he watched your body’s eager reaction to him. Suddenly, he was consumed with the desire to help you push past your fear.

He captured your breast with his lips and teeth, eagerly sucking, licking and biting every inch of skin he could find. When your eyes met again, he was pleased to see that fear was slowly giving way to arousal.

His touches grew gentler, his fingers tracing soft patterns along your stomach and sides, drawing out those adorable giggles he cherished so much. His kisses became tender and lingering, no longer bruising. Hands cradled your face lovingly as his tongue danced passionately with yours. The room filled with a symphony of soft groans, gentle whimpers, and the cool night air, creating a beautiful, intimate melody. “Let’s see if we can’t make this everything you dreamed of,” he murmured against your lips, his voice softening with his touches.

The more he thought about it as his fingers traced your breasts, the more Zayne wanted this experience to be free of fear—at least for the first time. At first, he worried that his newfound tenderness wouldn’t be enough for you—but when your body relaxed beneath him, going almost limp in his hands after you released a deep sigh of pleasure and relief, his worries melted away.

His lips roamed over the marks from his earlier roughness, soothing them gently with every touch. He continued to straddle you, but his weight eased off, and his gaze sought yours with a sudden intensity.

The idea Zayne wanted to try tonight wasn’t on your lengthy list of fantasies, and he wasn’t even sure if you’d be interested—but he found himself hoping with all his heart that you would be; letting this go would be surprisingly difficult for him. A blush began to spread across his ears and cheeks as he began to speak, a faint hint of nervousness and hopefulness beneath his words. “I’ve wanted to try something new with you for as long as you’ve asked it of me,” he admitted, returning your soft smile as his hand brushed your cheek. “But I’ve struggled immensely to find something that would be pleasurable for both of us—I’m simply incapable of hurting you if it’s not appealing to me too.” Slowly, he reached for his bag and removed two small, identical items that glinted in the moonlight. Your eyes widened, locking onto him with curiosity and a tinge of returning fear as you realized what they were.

Zayne removed the protective cap from one of the scalpels, balancing it on his fingers as he turned it over slowly. His eyes, brimming with longing, drifted back to you. “If at any moment you want me to stop, I will,” he said softly, his tone unwavering. He searched your face, and the vulnerability in his expression struck you deeply. Zayne, always selfless, was rarely ever selfish, and more rarely did he ask for anything for himself. The hope in his eyes tugged at your heartstrings, and despite the fear once again coursing through you, you nodded softly, granting him the permission he sought.

His eyes sparkled with a mix of disbelief and adoration as he processed your answer, finally rewarding your trust with another passionate kiss. His lips moved to your cheeks and eyelids, pressing soft, thankful kisses as your eyes fluttered shut. He kissed you until you were breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your breasts swaying with every movement, practically begging for his attention.

“This first blade is very dull. I’ll use it to get you accustomed to the sensation before switching to the sharper one,” he explained, his calm, professional tone instantly reassuring. You nodded again, too anxious to speak, your mind racing as the metal inched closer. Your body tensed at the scalpel's cool touch, but you quickly relaxed as you realized it was merely the backside tracing a slow circle around your nipple. A groan escaped you when the dulled edge took its place, moving gently over the sensitive bud before gliding down your stomach. His hand eagerly replaced the scalpel on your breast, kneading it firmly as he continued to explore your skin; the dull blade traveling over spots you assumed the sharper one would later revisit.

As your body relaxed, you began to surrender to its unfamiliar, tantalizing sensations—the slow, deliberate dragging and tapping motions Zayne was applying with just the right amount of pressure brought you more pleasure than you'd anticipated. “How does it feel?” he whispered. “It’s… different,” you managed, your voice barely above a murmur. “But good. Really good.” A satisfied smile spread across his face as he continued his careful ministrations.

He was absolutely drunk on your reactions, and the two of you had barely even begun. Your eyes had long since drifted shut, soft sounds of ecstasy filling his ears as the blade danced across your skin. He could see it—you had completely surrendered to the pleasure he and the blade were bringing you. Setting the scalpel aside, he captured your lips in a fervent kiss, greedily devouring the beautiful noises spilling from you.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen and glistening, eyes bright with excitement as you beamed up at him. The joy he felt at your newfound eagerness was overwhelming. He couldn’t decide whose excitement was greater—yours or his—as he reached for the second scalpel, a small smile playing on his lips. You couldn’t help but burst into a wide grin at the look on his face. His smile didn’t waver as he met your eyes, raising an amused eyebrow. “What?” he asked. “Nothing, it’s just… you literally look like a giddy schoolboy right now, Zayne—it’s adorable,” you teased. He huffed a gentle laugh. “Truthfully? I feel like one.” He paused. “Would you like me to untie the restraints?” You gave him an affronted look, as if he’d just asked the stupidest question of the day. “Absolutely not,” you answered firmly. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he chuckled and moved closer, the sharper scalpel glinting in the dim light. “Alright then,” he murmured. “Let’s continue.”

His fingers brushed the soft skin of your neck as he gently tilted your head to the side. His mind wandered, imagining how that first cut would feel against your flesh, and what delicious sounds you might make in response. Leaning close, his lips grazed the sensitive spot just below your ear. “I need you to stay very still for me,” he murmured, his voice a blend of calm and command. “If you feel the need to move, let me know so I can pull back the knife first. Do you remember your safe word?” You beamed up at him, eyes sparkling with excitement as you whispered, “Yes! Now come onnn.” A note of amusement crept into his tone. “I’m not convinced you were listening,” he taunted, noticing your barely-contained squirming. “I’m not coming near you with this until you calm down.” He ran the back end of the scalpel along your arm, sending shivers through your body.

Suppressing a giggle, you closed your eyes, willing yourself to relax. The sight of Zayne holding the scalpel was insanely arousing, but you focused on your breathing, trying to ignore the hard press of his body against yours. Gradually, your muscles loosened, and your breaths evened out. Tilting your head to the side once more, he brought the scalpel near the nape of your neck. As the blade lightly traced your skin, you let out a soft sigh of pleasure. Zayne's eyes widened, fixated on the faint line forming beneath his touch. Awestruck, his fingers brushed over the mark, gaze flickering up to meet yours. Seeing your happy, aroused smile, he knew you were okay, but you didn’t give him a chance to ask. “Keep going, please,” you softly begged.

With newfound confidence, he moved the blade with precision. His focus was intense, almost trance-like, and you couldn’t help but wonder aloud if this was what he looked like during a medical procedure. Breaking your thoughts, his low voice responded, “Such a situation would be missing two crucial elements—my arousal and you. So no.” Before you could reply, your nipple was in his mouth, tongue eagerly lapping at the bud as he ground against your core. He pulled back, his fingers pinching the opposite nipple as he methodically slid the the knife across your breast. “Holy shit,” you whispered, the mix of pleasure and pain sending shivers down your spine and heat pooling between your thighs.

“More,” you breathed, heated eyes locked on the scalpel. Zayne’s hand traveled downward, and with deliberate precision, he made a cut on your lower abdomen. The sting of the pain mingled with a faint soothing sensation, causing your body to relax deeper into the comforter on a deep sigh. “You have such soft skin here,” he murmured, admiring your body beneath him. He added a few more cuts there, each one followed by gentle kisses that felt like a balm to your burning skin. Pausing, his fingers glided through your folds, playing messily in the gathering wetness. You whimpered as he circled your sensitive clit, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. “You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, resting his head against yours as two long fingers slipped deep inside you, wiggling to press that sweet spot that made your back arch off the bed in sheer ecstasy. A soft laugh escaped him as he moved to kneel between your thighs, spreading them wide, his mouth replacing his hand as he devoured you like a man starved.

Tiny kisses and licks punctuated by quick, light cuts along your sensitive inner thighs intensified the experience beyond words. The initial pain was almost overwhelming, the safe word dancing on the tip of your tongue with the second cut. But then, it transformed—pain melting seamlessly into a pleasure even more intense than the last.

Zayne relished your response, pausing to savor your taste in between each pull of the blade, feeling you grow wetter and wetter on his tongue with every cut. He lingered between your thighs, mouth working fervently, fingers brushing over the shallow marks scattered across your skin. Peering up, his blissed-out gaze met yours, sending a sharp pain of need through your core. “Go ahead and come for me, love,” he commanded, his voice low and sultry, a caress in itself. His mouth found you again, hands squeezing your increasingly sensitive thighs as your hips moved eagerly against him. Whispers of his name filled the air as your walls throbbed around his tongue, your entire body succumbing to pure ecstasy. You were still floating in your high when Zayne’s cock pushed into you. Taking his time, he stretched you slowly, filling you completely, his low groans intertwining with your soft whimpers as he watched your bodies meld together.

You became a teary mess under the intensity of his thrusts, your breasts bouncing in his face as your love-drunk voice whined, “Feels so gooood when you fill me up," on a giggle. Without warning, his cock slipped out of you, and he reached above to untie the restraints. A protest was forming on your lips, but it died when he plunged back into you, stilling once he bottomed out. He took your wrist in his hand, guiding the knife just below the inside of your elbow. “Don’t look away,” he murmured. The pain in this spot was sharp, yet fleeting, replaced quickly by the throb of pleasure as his cock twitched eagerly inside you.

He'd made this cut the faintest bit deeper. Tiny beads of blood bubbled to the surface, and Zayne groaned, hips pumping into you before stopping to choose another spot. Again, the cut was controlled, precise, just deep enough to bring the smallest amount of red to the surface.

This tormenting rhythm continued—a few thrusts, then the gentle drag of the knife. It was exhilarating, made even more so by Zayne’s intense focus. His hazel eyes were bright and enchanting, a stark contrast to the rise and fall of his chest and the steadiness of his hands.

Feeling his orgasm approaching too fast, he pulled out, capturing your lips with his. “You are everything to me. You know that, right?” Your hands tangled in his hair as you nodded, deepening the kiss with a smile against his lips. He sat back on the bed, motioning for you to join him. As he lowered you onto his cock, he pushed you hard against him, your back flush with his chest. “Good girl,” he murmured, grinning when your body tightened around him in response. You began to grind softly on top of him, squeaking when you felt the backside of the knife trace the area around your shoulder blade. “Be still,” he reminded, flipping the knife to trace your skin with the edge. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder before making a cut directly beneath the first one, then moving to the area between your shoulder blades.

Even as your body trembled and silent tears streamed down your cheeks, your blissed-out, dreamy expression never faltered. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered, setting the blade aside to hold your hips tightly. He moved inside you, the sensation of your warm, tight cunt wrapped around his length and your ass clapping against him with each movement driving Zayne absolutely wild. Breathless utterances of his name escaped your lips, enough to ruin him completely.

He stilled within you, his hand keeping its grip on your hip to keep you from moving. The scalpel traced a delicate line down your spine, your body immediately tensing with a nauseating mix of anxiety and tension. But when Zayne removed the knife and continued to grind against you, cock pressing deeper with each movement, that tension transformed into sheer pleasure.

He kissed the fresh marks along your back. His hands wandering from your hips to your slick folds, each languid circle of his fingers promising to drive you mad. “Would it be okay if I finish inside tonight?” he murmured in your ear. You smiled, nodding eagerly—he knew the answer would always be yes, but ever the gentleman, he never stopped asking. His fingers and lips softly traced the marks left by the knife as he moved inside you, gently rubbing your swollen clit while you moved over him.

Suddenly, his hands dimpled your ass, holding you just high enough for his hips to pound into you harder. You glanced down, practically drooling at the sight of his cock pumping in and out of you. When he sat you back down, you pressed hard again, forcing him deep inside as you wiggled around him. He held you close, pressing worshipful kisses along your neck and shoulders as his fingers glided through your heat with more deliberate strokes, lifting you higher and higher until you were utterly drunk on him.

Zayne's own release was approaching fast, and this time, he didn’t want to hold back. As you came undone above him, your walls pulsing wildly around his cock, he watched with rapt fascination as you gripped his thighs tightly, your release trickling around his length. Holding you open with one hand, he reached for the scalpel with the other. Neither of you breathed as the blade hovered over your glistening skin. His fingers grazed the sensitive area around your opening lightly. “This is where a group of veins drains blood from this perfect cunt,” he whispered, his voice low and controlled. Gently, he made a tiny cut, just enough to part your skin and bring the pretty beads of red to the surface. You whimpered and gripped him tight as his cock pulsed inside you, coating you with his warm essence. His thumb idly played with the little cut until you had milked him dry.

Leaning against him, you both tried to calm down, his arm holding you tight as he rocked you gently. “Well, was our first time trying something new everything you thought it would be?” he teased. You nodded enthusiastically. “And more. Your idea was far better than anything I came up with.” His breath was a warm puff against your hair as he chuckled softly. Lifting you off him, he stood before scooping you up in his arms. Meeting your quizzical stare with an amused one, he explained, “We need to get cleaned up so I can treat your wounds before bed.” Your eyes turned imploring, using that voice you always did when trying to get your way. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed his cheek and grinned. “Maybe after we clean up, you could show me how to do some of that to you…” Zayne’s response was immediate, his tone leaving no room for negotiation—“Absolutely not.”

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + two

authors note: holy shit, i didn't expect so many people to be interested in this story! thank you all so much for the kind comments. this one is heavier than the first, but the following should be a little lighter.

i also just want to clarify something that a few of you mentioned: roman will not be abusive in this story. i know that's a plot used frequently, but it's not my thing, so i just wanna make that clear. :)

he is an ass though.....for now.

also, please, please, please heed to the cw/tw's! i will update them to reflect the content of each update. it's up to you, the reader, to prepare yourself properly by reading them to avoid being triggered.

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

cw/tw: language, violence against women, a scene of torture, depiction of ptsd, trauma responses (panic attacks), mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief line of dialogue referring to past childhood sexual assault, trauma response due to past childhood sexual assault

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

words: 7k

“You’re going to kill Roman Reigns for us.”

If Solana was capable of feeling and experiencing any emotion other than sadness and fear, she would laugh. 

She would laugh because no one sane truly thinks that they can kill the head of the table, least of all someone like her. But, it really does settle in that her father and brother truly believe that she, of all people, can do something like that.

Can take someone’s life. 

Just the thought alone unlocks a new level of dread and terror. 

Eyes watering, she shakes her head, protesting. “No. I—I can’t do that. I—I won’t.”

Rarely, if ever, does Solana push back on what she’s asked or told to do. It only results in more severe beatings that lead to ER trips vs having to patch herself back up in her bathroom. She’s accepted that acquiescence is always a better alternative. But this….this she can’t get behind.

Wes smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Solana knows exactly what’s about to happen next. Stupidly, she tries to escape, climbing up on her feet and making it centimeters past Wes when he fists her hair, yanking her body back. She hisses in pain and starts to cry and protest as he drags her across the first floor of the house.

“No! P-please! I–I’m sorry!” She begs, all the while Xavier follows lazily behind, keeping his cigar near his mouth. 

“Shut up,” Wes snaps. She cries, heartbeat sporadic, so much so that it’s becoming difficult to breathe. That’s one of the worst things to happen considering what she knows is about to occur. He kicks open the bathroom door, and sure enough, the tub is already full and ready.

“No…..” Wes shoves her toward the tub, kicking her in her back to force her to the knees, Solana’s head banging against the side of the tub. She can only blink two or three times before water is burning her eyes, filling her mouth, drowning her.

Solana flails against Wes whose strong hand holds her down under the water by the back of her head. It’s a wasteless effort, trying to fight against him, when her energy would be better spent trying not to drown.

Not that Wes will allow that. He’s adept at bringing her to the edge of unconsciousness, pulling back just in time to taunt her. And that’s exactly what he does, pulling her head back, finding a level of enjoyment at her violent coughs and tears. 

His favorite form of torturing her.

She’s not sure how long it lasts, only knows there’s a tremendous amount of relief when he finally lets her go long enough for her to plant her palms on the ground to gather herself. 

Xavier, who stood there watching the whole time with pleasure, walks towards her. Solana gasps and moves her body back against the tub, wanting as much distance between the two of them as possible.

His face is blank, no emotion in his eyes. “You either kill Reigns.” Solana’s eyes shut as Xavier caresses her wet cheek. “Or we kill you.”

It’s impossible to hold back her tears, as Solana breaks down in front of her father and brother, the both of which simply walk away with an astounding amount of indifference. 

They slam the bathroom door shut, allowing her the privacy of at least deteriorating without their judgmental glares. 

Pulling up her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she sobs into her thighs, confused as to just how in the hell she ended up in this situation.

Solana isn’t a killer. Has never even had the desire to kill anyone. Not even the two men who just made it abundantly clear that her only two options are to kill or be killed.

Just how all of this is supposed to work is beyond her. Roman is a boulder of a man, body covered in ropes of pure muscle with a kill count that rivals some of the world’s leading assassins. She’s barely 5'1, can’t seem to get the scale to budge no matter how many diets she tries, and trembles in the presence of anyone who has an XY chromosome combination.

Many have tried to kill Roman, and all have failed, meeting gruesome, torturous deaths. 

What chance does she have?

————

Any prayer sent up requesting some type of divine intervention to stop this unholy union is either denied, ignored, or planning to be answered at a much later date and time, because the next two weeks speed by faster than the speed of light.

Solana’s days are filled with wedding preparations that require little to no of her say in what she wants. Not that that’s any different from most things in her life.

Granted, there’s a small part of her that mourns when she’s presented with her wedding dress.

The dress she doesn’t want to wear for a wedding she doesn’t want to have. There’s an alarming lack of autonomy that suddenly feels so much heavier and suffocating despite it being a consistent, dominant theme in her life.

A large part of her recognizes how it’s probably largely due to the whole reason why all of this is happening.

Her father and brother want control of the bloodline.

Objectively speaking, she can see why this would be a goal. It’s everyone’s goal. To have control and power over the most powerful crime family in the entire continent. Maybe beyond. The Bloodline’s true stretch has never really been made public, per se. She’s certain that’s partially what makes them so dangerous. One can never really know who is a member and who is not, who has ties and who is an enemy.

A secret that gives them a forever advantage.

The day of the actual wedding, like everything else, comes much quicker than Solana feels prepared for. Truthfully, she doesn’t feel prepared for any of this, doesn’t want any of this, but much like most things in her life, her wants and desires don’t matter.

No one cares to hear them, and no one definitely cares to respect them. 

On the day of the wedding, shortly after arriving at the church, she’s left alone in one of the back rooms. Someone mutters something about the makeup artist and hairstylist to come in shortly before slamming the door and leaving her by herself. That’s mostly a bad thing. Being alone with the thoughts she’s been having lately……they typically don’t result in anything good. 

Overwhelmed and in her head too much, Solana grabs her purse and takes out the latest journal she’s been working out of.

And she writes.

Dear Mom,

Today is my wedding day. I should be happy. You should be here. None of that is the case though. The truth is that I feel so empty. This won’t turn out well. I either try to kill Roman and he ends up killing me as a result or I refuse and dad and Wes kill me.

There is no outcome where I make it out of here alive.

And mama, I know you always told me to never forget that life is a gift, but mine isn’t. It hasn’t been since they took you from me.

And truthfully……I don’t think I really care anymore.

Life is hard. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

I’d rather be with you instead.

The knock on the door startles Solana as she hurriedly moves to close up her notebook, stuffing it back in her purse as she calls out for whoever is on the other side to enter. The door slowly swings open as Solana quickly swipes at her eyes, feeling the burning of pending tears.

She can’t let them see her cry though.

No matter how badly she wants to.

While Solana expects another set of hard eyes and an indifferent scowl, she’s met with a woman around the same age as her with half her head shaved, the other side full of dark purple hair that grazes her shoulder.

“Damn, got the right room on the first try. Let’s fucking go.” Solana stands up as the woman walks over, adjusting the black makeup kit on her shoulder. “I’m Bayley.” She extends her hand out for a handshake, and Solana takes a second to reciprocate, caught off guard by her relaxed disposition. The way her smile meets her eyes, not a trace of irritation or disgust in having to assist her.

Solana has only had minimal interaction with representatives of the Bloodline, namely the women who accompanied her at the tailor shop and made comments, most likely about her, in their native Samoan. Nina always taught her daughter not to assume, but it’s hard to not believe cruel things are being stated when they’re conjoined with pointing, eye rolls, and curt exchanges when they needed Solana to move a certain way.

So Solana, understandably, is cautious. 

“Solana,” she shares, shifting in her seat.

“I know,” Bayley snickers, placing her makeup kit on the counter and starting to lay out products. “I’d be a bit of a shitty makeup artist if I didn’t know who the bride was, am I right?”

Solana doesn’t say anything. The silence doesn’t come from a place of rudeness but rather continued confusion. She can’t comprehend why this woman is being so nice to her?

If Bayley is bothered by the lack of responses, she does a damn great job of not showing it. “Now, I have a couple ideas of what look I think I wanna go for with you, but as it’s your big day, what are you thinking?”

That…..that is what triggers another one word responde. 

Cautious, she asks, “me?”

Bayley pauses in the midst of starting to pick out foundation options and leans back against the counter, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. “Arranged marriages suck ass. You already don’t get to pick who you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with. The least you can do is pick out some makeup.”

There’s something so insanely comforting about her otherwise simple words. Something freeing and liberating about being given an option, even if it’s about makeup. For the first time today, Solana actually smiles.

“I—I like neutral colors. Gold…maybe would be okay too.”

And just like that, the deep smile that revealed the dimple in Bayley’s right cheek returns. “Great minds think alike. That’s exactly what I was gonna go for.”

“And—” Solana adds, voice an octave lower, insecurity creeping back in. “If—if you could cover the scar as best you can.”

“What scar?” Bayley gives her a wink before finishing up the laying out of products. “I got you, girl.”

It’s not very often, if ever, Solana feels beautiful. And even when those once in a blue moon moments occur, they’re fleeting or surface level, typically dashed by a cruel comment from her family. But today, standing in front of the mirror, makeup completed, hair done, and dress on, she actually feels beautiful.

The first time she tried on the dress, it was an unpleasant experience for a variety of reasons, on top of the fact that she hated the style. Strapless and form-fitting with a sweetheart neckline. Solana hates her arms and especially bringing too much attention to her chest and body in general.

But conjoined with the hair and makeup, she actually doesn’t immediately want to turn away from the mirror when she sees the outcome.

Bayley comes behind her, still wearing that smile that Solana is now convinced, despite the odds, is genuine. “Reigns is a lucky bastard. You look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Solana really does mean it when she offers a sincere “thank you.” Bayley’s positive energy is exactly what she needed. It doesn’t change anything, but it definitely does help her not to be consumed by thoughts she hasn’t had since she was a teenager.

“Hey, uhh, I’m sure being married to Mr. Tribal Chief himself means you’ll probably have to make appearances from time to time, hold his arm and shit.” She hands Solana a small piece of paper. Unfolding it, Solana sees numbers scribbled down in red ink. A phone number.  “Ever need glam again for any of it, hit me up. Or even….even if you just need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you.” Solana’s voice is stronger this time, firmer, the small act of kindness traveling such a long way. She holds up one side of her gown to walk over and slide the paper in her purse. 

She’ll make sure not to lose it. 

There’s a hard knock on the door that reminds her where she is. Reminds her that people like Bayley are anomalies. One doesn’t get to experience kindness for too long. Not in her world. 

Solana honestly didn’t expect her father to walk her down the aisle, didn’t see it as something he would have any interest in nor find an exciting opportunity. And those two reasons are very much true, but his desire to issue last minute warnings outweighs both of them.

Xavier’s frame fills the door as he looks at Solana from head to toe. Instantly, he’s scowling with disapproval. 

“Why is her hair not down?”

Solana was partially worried about that. She knows her father has always told her she needs to keep her length so that she can always wear her hair down as it helps to “hide how fat your face is.”

She doesn’t know how wrong or right he is about that, but she’s wanted to cut it for ages, being unable to do so because she knows it’ll upset him.

Bayley, however, doesn’t seem to give two shits about Xavier’s disapproval. “Updo’s are typically better for formal events. Granted, up or down, she still looks beautiful.”

Solana can’t tell entirely if Bayley is defending her work or Solana. Either way, she has a tremendous amount of respect for this woman who doesn’t seem to give two shits about who Xavier Miller is.

If only Solana could do the same.

Xavier cuts his eyes in Bayley’s direction but says nothing, instead walking over to Solana and whispering in her ear. “You should have started your fast three days ago instead of two. You still look fat. Hold your stomach in as you walk down the aisle.”

Any relief or peace felt from her interaction with Bayley is dead the second those cruel words leave his mouth. As soon as he entered the room, really. But Solana doesn’t have time to be sad, because he moves to drop her veil over her face and loops his arm with hers. 

He walks her out of the room, depriving her of a chance to tell Bayley goodbye and thank you again. 

Xavier leads her down the hall, a left, and then a right before they’re standing before the double doors that lead to the sanctuary. She wants to ask for a second to gather herself, feeling the panic starting to rise, but Xavier barks for the guards standing outside the door to open said door.

And they oblige without protest.

The veil is more opaque than she remembers, partially obscuring her view of Roman and the others who wait for her at the end of the aisle. There’s a sea of people on either side of the pews, many and most, Bloodline members. But, she can’t focus on that.

All she can focus on is the low, warning voice of her father. “You will please him and do exactly as he asks.” What other choice do I have? “Earn his trust. We will tell you the rest when the time comes.”

Solana would give anything for that time to never come.

And once they reach the end, before he frees her hand for Roman to take it, he snatches the chance to put on a good display of faux love, leaning over for a hug. Solana instantly tenses at his touch.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he whispers and pulls away with a smile that has her empty stomach knotting.

Swallowing, Solana channels her focus back on Roman. Like the past two times she'd seen him, his hair is neatly pulled back, but unlike those exchanges, he’s dressed to the nines. Expensive, designer suit, all black, the only red in his appearance, the red Ula Fala he wears around his neck. Representation of his status as Tribal Chief, his role in his family’s dynasty.

Solana can admit that he looks good. Very good.

If only everything else just wasn’t so bad.

Roman has no reaction at unveiling her, and Solana can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. She’d like to just say he has no reaction to anything, really, but that’s untrue.

He’s notorious for his angry reactions to the most minute situations sometimes. 

So perhaps no reaction is the best reaction she can receive.

Still, it unsettles her. Has she upset him already?

The two of them are directed to kneel by the pastor, or maybe Shaman, or maybe just an official. She’s not really sure, but whoever he is, he wastes no time in starting with the formalities of the wedding. He says many things, but Solana’s mind is elsewhere, not that it’s an intentional avoidance.

Her father reminding her of the fact that she hasn’t had anything to eat for two days is suddenly bringing on the extreme exhaustion and weakness she’s pretty sure she’d managed to put on the back burner in exchange for mental anguish. 

She’s so incredibly tired. And it feels impossible to be present for the vows or to stand when she’s prompted so by the officiant. It’s even more difficult to stay cognizant enough to acknowledge what’s being asked of her, forced of her, with a set of “I do’s.”

But, it’s when a knife is pulled out that her face pales, flashes of numerous, previous exchanges where that little piece of silver was used to mentally and physically terrorize her. Roman somehow notices this and quietly murmurs, “relax. It’s tradition.”

Before she can speak, the officiant continues. “Now, as are the ways of our ancestors, we shall seal this union before God, family, and all with blood.” Roman offers his hand, palm faced upward and nods at Solana to do the same. Reluctantly, she follows, eyes shutting, not wanting to see whatever is about to happen next.

“Careful,” Roman warns. She’s unsure who it’s directed to, but it’s followed by a brief, burning pain across her palm. She’s been cut, nothing major, but enough to draw blood. 

Her hand is moved followed by instant, coarse, warmth. Eyes opening, she sees that her and Roman’s hands have been joined together.

“In the eyes of the ancestors, you two are now officially bound to one another not just by law, tribal and government, but blood. A curse be placed upon anyone who dares interfere with this marriage.” Separating their hands, Roman takes the red cloth and wipes her palm before his own, tossing it to who she recognizes as his enforcer/cousin, Solo. “And now, you may kiss the bride.”

For whatever reason, probably several good ones, Solana hadn’t thought about this part. The part where Roman would have to touch her, would have to kiss her, in front of everyone.

There’s a quick increase of anxiety and panic that ensues when Roman takes her hand, pulling to force her to angle her body toward him. Her heart is smashing against her chest with the weight of a ton of bricks. 

But just as quickly as the anxiety rushed in, it’s gone because Roman’s head dips lower to hers and his lips are on and off her faster than she can process, than she can freak out over.

She’s unsure about this brief interaction, a possible indication he’s just as uninterested in this union as she is. 

A business arrangement.

That’s what he called it.

That’s what he called her.

Even her hand in his as he leads her down the aisle, stoic expression the polar opposite of one would expect for what should be the happiest day of someone’s life.

She wonders if he views this as the exact opposite.

Because Solana certainly does.

————

Despite her best efforts to power through, the weakness gets worse and is complicated by a sort of dizziness that makes Solana partially grateful her arm is linked with Roman’s. She tries not to show that she’s leaning more on him than her own two feet, not trusting them to give out on her.

But, this man is perceptive as hell, she should know this. One doesn’t get to be where he is, accomplished all he has by being oblivious. 

He’s escorting her into the reception area, already lively and full of people, most of which she doesn’t know, many of which she’s not sure she wants to know. 

But instead of leading her toward an individual or group of individuals, he pulls her to the side, asking in a low but steel voice. “What’s wrong?”

Solana stills. The last thing she wanted to do was bring attention to herself, and that’s exactly what she’s done. Trying her best to do damage control, she answers in as firm a voice she can muster. “Nothing. I’m just—I’m just tire……” Free hand to her forehead, Solana only recalls her eyes briefly closing before her body sways into something hard and firm, arms around her, holding her up.

Roman says something, calls for someone, but Solana is solely focused on centering herself. 

A woman is suddenly standing before her with a deep, beautiful complexion similar to her father’s. However, that’s where the similarities stop, because this woman and her bold makeup is absolutely stunning. 

“You don’t look well,” is the first thing to leave the woman’s frowning mouth.She takes the back of her hand to Solana’s forehead and offers what could be perceived as a sincere, sympathetic smile. “Girl, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

Solana manages to answer, unfortunately being honest when she should probably lie. “Y-yesterday, I think. Maybe—maybe the day before.”

A deep frown falls on her face, but Roman is the first to speak. “Why the fuck haven’t you been eating?”

It’s the irritation and anger in her voice that makes her wince, but Solana can’t account for what makes her eyes dart over to where her dad and brother are watching closely. She does her best to redirect her gaze before Roman notices, but it’s a stupid thought.

He sees everything.

His expression turns dark as he mutters something she can’t hear and then directs the woman. “Naomi, take her to get something to eat.”

Naomi. That’s her name. For some reason, it just fits her. Naomi places her hand on the small of Solana’s back, gently taking her from Roman’s grasp as she starts to guide her away. “Come on. There’s definitely plenty of options to choose from.”

Meanwhile, Roman sets his sights on another goal, knowing Naomi will see to it that Solana is taken care of.

Xavier isn’t a hard man to find. He’s laughing it up with some of the other guests at the wedding who aren’t members of the Bloodline per se, more along the lines of allies. Not that Roman gives a shit. His stride is intentful and purposeful, Solo naturally flanking at his side, Xavier’s gaze falling on them with an insincere smile.

“Ahhh, the groom. Congratulations—”

“Why wasn’t she eating?” All Roman has to do is nod for the other men to disperse, and like ants, they do just that, leaving him alone with Miller and his boy.

Xavier steps forward, lowering his voice and clearly playing up the facade of a concerned, loving father. “I believe she said something about looking her best on her wedding day. And as you can see, Solana is not a small woman. She probably thought that was the best and quickest way. Poor girl.”

Roman has this thing he likes to do sometimes when people think they can get one over on him. He likes to tap into the deeply rooted part of himself that can maintain his temper, keep him from acting on his emotions, and instill some well crafted self-control. He puts all of that on the back burner in favor of something else almost equally enjoyable.

Playing with his prey.

Roman knew five minutes into the conversation with Miller that the man’s death would come at his hands. Preferably sooner rather than later. Xavier is the type of man Roman hates the most. The kind who fails in all important areas of his life and spends the rest of it making others miserable for his shortcomings. The kind of man who refuses to see the simpleton he has for a son yet seems keen on turning him into a mafia head.

It’s almost comical. The amount of delusion.

Wes also decides to answer, chin jutted, shoulders straightening. This actually is humorous to Roman, the fact this kid thinks that he comes off remotely intimidating. That shit may work on his sister, but not the Tribal Chief. 

“Solana’s a grown woman. She does what she wants.”

Xavier shoots his son a warning look. A look indicating that he can’t believe Wes would be foolish enough to challenge the man before him. “Wes….”

This only brings a smile to Roman’s face. He steps toward him, vowing in Samoan. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” His eyes dart toward Xavier. “The both of you.”

Solo also steps forward, asking in their same native language. “Want me to handle this for you, my tribal chief?” 

Roman shakes his head, advising in a deadly calm voice. “Patience, Solo. I’m going to have my fun first.” 

Xavier is visibly irked by the conversation happening in front of him that he can’t understand. But, he does a decent job hiding that irritation. “Perhaps I should go check on her—”

Roman extends his arm, blocking the man. “No.”

Xavier pauses. “What?”

Roman is suddenly ready to get the fuck out of here. He promised his cousins that he would go the day without killing anyone, but this fucker is pushing it. “She’s my wife. I see to it that she’s fine.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, but he covers it with a tight smile. “She is my daughter.”

“The same daughter you knew was starving herself yet did nothing about it?” Roman’s retort is blunt and to the point. He may plan to play with his prey, but that doesn’t mean he can’t call this man out on his bullshit along the way.

Xavier paints on a face of shock and indignation at Roman’s accusation. “I did—"

Roman is directly to the point, advising in a way that makes it clear there’s no room for debate. “Solana is my responsibility now. Any issues she has, I will handle. Any threats she faces, I will eliminate.” One glance at Wes shows that the younger Miller is struggling to control his temper, hand clenching and unclenching at his side. The impulsive side of Roman wants the kid to try something. This will be a beating he’ll enjoy. Thoroughly. 

The kid is as insufferable as his father.

Roman refocuses himself, talking and directing his conversation to Xavier. “Solana will be unavailable for the next few weeks.”

Roman swears he can see the vein forming in the older man’s forehead. “What? Why?”

“She’s a member of the Bloodline now. She must get familiar with our ways. Any messages you need to relay to her will go through me.”

It’s partially true. But mostly, he wants to fuck with Miller. A man who obviously gets off on control needs to be humbled, Roman knows it must kill Xavier to be humbled by someone younger and more accomplished than himself.

He’s also certain Solana won’t be heartbroken by not being around her abusive piece of shit family. 

“I don’t—”

“When she wants to.” He gestures to Solo, explaining, “Solo will accompany her for any outings she has outside of the estate. That includes your home as well.” 

Roman is certain Solo, if not for his adept skill at maintaining a poker face, would be looking at him with surprise. He’s yet to discuss this with his enforcer, but Roman’s word is law. So however his cousin feels about it is irrelevant. It’s painfully obvious Solana is incapable of keeping herself safe, hence her need for protection.

Solo would be the perfect person for just that.

Xavier clears his throat, wrinkled hand adjusting, loosening his tie. “Is that really necessary?”

“As my wife, she now has a major target over her head. I won’t take any chances.” Roman’s smile is mocking. “This is your daughter, right? Surely, you don’t want me taking any chances.” Roman adds on, partially to continue to twist the knife but also because it’s the truth. “I will keep her safe.”

Regardless of how he feels about this marriage, Solana is now a part of the Bloodline. That means, just like for anyone else in his family, he’ll protect her with his life. It’s his duty to do so.

Xavier’s deep complexion is tinged red. The man is fired up. But still, he knows better than to express that rage to the man in front of him. “That is—-was—-her home. What safer place is there to be?”

Now, Roman is getting pissed off. It’s obvious by the faded bruises and pure terror that Solana exhibits in the presence of her family that she’s anything but safe with them. 

Roman steps towards him. “With me.” Tired of these games, he gets straight to the point. “These are not suggestions. They’re orders. Orders you will obey.” He searches Xavier’s face for any signs of indication that he’d be stupid enough to try something. There’s nothing there. “Am I understood?”

With a clenched jaw, Xavier answers. “Yes.”

Roman’s intense gaze burns into him, his undisputed authority surely a thorn in Miller’s side. “Yes, what?”

“Yes…..my Tribal Chief.”

Roman smiles. Pleased with his assertion of dominance, he turns away, venturing off to find his bride.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

————

Solana spends much longer in the bathroom than necessary. She halfheartedly expects for Roman to come beating on the door, demanding for her to come out and fulfill her wifely duties.

But that moment never arrives, so she values every second of time she’s granted to prepare herself for what she’s refused to think about the past two weeks.

Her wedding night.

Solana knows what’s going to happen, what has to happen, but it doesn’t do anything to help the terror she feels in every corner of her body.

The shower water blends with the tears shed at the thought of what she has to do, the act she can’t even think about without her chest tightening.

She hoped that reminding herself this wasn’t that, that this isn’t that, would help. But, it doesn’t. Because this is Roman Reigns she’s about to be intimate with.

He’s not known for being gentle in any area of his life, and bedroom activities certainly can’t be an exception. That’s when her anxiety grows even stronger, especially as she forces herself to dress in the red lingerie that was provided to her.

The silk robe included provides a slither of comfort, and she makes sure to tie it so it covers as much of her body as possible. A silly act considering Roman will rip it off, along with everything else, the moment he gets her onto the bed. 

It’s only when she’s certain she’s stretched out every bit of patience this man is capable of offering that Solana decides she needs to leave the bathroom. Upsetting him is the last thing she wants to do.

So without an ounce of hope that anything moving forward will be remotely good, Solana hits the light switch and opens the door.

She finds Roman sitting almost slouched in his chair located in the corner of the room. He’s lazily scrolling on his phone when his eyes lift and land on her. She stills. There’s a brief second of a delay when he hits the button on the side of the phone and stands up. 

Solana refuses to focus too much on the fact that he’s about as covered up as she is, wearing only boxers.

Because of his size, it seems he’s across the room directly in front of her in a matter of seconds. Eyes taking her in from top to bottom, he asks, “you good?”

Far from it. 

Regardless, Solana nods.

If only that worked for the head of the table.

She gasps quietly when he brings his hand to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I don’t do non-verbals.” His eyes search her face for something she can’t identify. “Words.”

Blinking, she answers with a low, “y–yes.”

He pauses and then demands, “lay down on the bed.”

Solana licks her lips and makes her feet move over to the mattress, climbing on top and clenching her eyes shut as she lays her head back on the pillow.

Her fingers mess with the material of her robe, trying to distract herself from the sound and feel of him climbing on the bed. She doesn’t need to be looking to know he’s above her, intense eyes probably studying her.

His deep voice sounds at the same time she feels his finger glaze across her clavicle. “It’s just sex.”

If only that was true. 

Still, she manages to nod, eyes and mouth snapped shut.

Solana takes in a deep breath that makes her stomach cave when Roman’s lips are pressed against the soft skin of her jawline, moving downward at a tantalizingly slow pace at the same moment his hands move to her robe. 

She releases another shaky breath as her robe comes undone, revealing so much skin, so much of her she’d do anything to keep hidden away.

A thin sheen of sweat is starting to form all over her body. The room is suddenly much hotter than she remembers. There’s difficulty paying attention to what’s happening because her mind is taken to another place, another time.

A much much darker place and time. 

And suddenly, she’s not in Roman’s bed. It’s not him hovering over her, not his mouth on her neck or his hands on her body.

It’s theirs.

His stench is strong and almost sour, breath tinged with alcohol. “You’ve got some fire in you, girl.” A sinister smile reveals yellowish teeth contrasted against pale, dehydrated skin. “But, I like it when they fight back.” His strong fist connects with her jaw, forcing her head to the side and nearly knocking her unconscious. “Rob, come hold her down for me.”

Solana tries her best to stop it, tries to keep it at bay, tries to do what she’s never been able to do prior to this moment but somehow thinks this will be different. It’s a stupid thought, because moments later, she’s hyperventilating, her body feeling like it’s on fire. 

“No!” 

With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Solana shoves them, Roman, whoever, off of her, scrambling to climb off the bed. She’s standing in the middle of the room, doubled over as the demons overcome her.

Hand to her chest, she starts clawing at her neck. 

Deep down, she knew this is what would happen, knew that she’d fall apart the second he started to touch her. 

What she didn’t expect was a set of firm, calloused hands forcing her upright, carefully holding her arms away from her neck where she’s certain she just drew blood. And she definitely doesn’t expect Roman’s intense gaze on her, studying her with what one might consider to be concern.

But, Solana is too caught up in her panic attack to know for certain if it’s concern or not as she realizes that he’s talking to her.

His voice is distant but eventually travels close enough where she can make out words. “Breathe.” She’s still gasping for breath, trying to find that place of regulation as he continues to speak to her in an almost soothing manner. But, that can’t be possible. This is Roman fucking Reigns. Nothing about him is soothing. 

“Look around the room. Tell me five things you see.” 

Solana doesn’t know how, why, or even where she finds the wherewithal to be present for his directions, but she is. She’s even able to follow through. Eyes moving around the room, the first thing she lands on are the double doors leading to the balcony.

With speech still almost an impossible thing, she lifts her arm and points in that direction. 

He doesn’t even turn to see what she’s pointing at. “Keep going.”

Confused but also not wanting to make things worse by being disobedient, she scans the room, settling on the dresser. Solana points again.

Roman’s eyes bounce from her eyes to her mouth. “Three more.”

At some point in this random exercise, Solana’s breathing began to regulate, so much so that instead of pointing to the chair in the corner of the room, she whispers, “the c-chair.”

His voice grows seemingly softer. “Two.”

The next thing to catch her attention is the painting on the wall, and it’s after she does so, Roman provides her with a reminder that she still has one more. And when she points to the ceiling fan, he provides another set of directions, tasking her to identify four things she can touch.

She struggles initially, realizing she can use herself, going on and identifying several and actually feeling various parts of herself, like her hair and robe. 

And when she’s asked about three things she can hear, it’s only then that she realizes something she’d missed in the midst of following his guidance. 

She realizes that she can breathe.

Solana can actually breathe. That anchor isn’t on her chest, weighing her down to a state of unconsciousness, that heat that made her feel like flames were lapping at her body is extinguished. 

She almost….she almost feels calm. 

While panic was the dominant emotion not even 10 minutes prior, confusion is the primary emotion now. 

And it's with partial confusion and partial recognition that she acknowledges softly, “I’m okay…”

He doesn’t say anything, and it’s in that brief time of silence that Solana tries to process what just happened. Having suffered from panic attacks since she was a child, she’s never been able to calm herself down, never experienced one as short as this one. 

But he….he just changed that. He just helped her through it.

Shaking her head, she stammers, “how….how did you—”

Solana didn’t realize he was still holding her forearms until she looks down. Roman suddenly jerks and steps away from her, forcing her arms back at her side. 

Instantly, she’s contrite. He seems….disturbed. Triggered, almost. “I’m sor—”

“Quiet.” Solana watches with just as much confusion as he moves across the room, dressing himself, back towards her, like he’s physically unable to look at her. There’s a level of aggression in his movement, a wave of irritation radiating off his large being. “Why—why are you….”

She can’t bring herself to finish her sentence, but she definitely thinks it.

She wants to know why he’s leaving, even if it should be painfully obvious.

Truthfully, Solana doesn’t quite understand why she’s suddenly wondering why he’s leaving. It’s obvious she can’t do what needs to be done. More importantly, she doesn’t want to. Him leaving her alone should be sweet relief.

But it can’t be sweet relief because while it may fix one issue, several others are created.

She was told not to upset him.

He’s upset.

She was told to please him.

He’s far from pleased.

She was told to do whatever he asked, and she’s done the opposite of that.

So far, Solana is failing. She’s failing miserably, and that can only lead to one grisly outcome. 

“Where are you going?” Asking while holding her robe closed over her body, she weakly reminds, even if it kills her to do so. “We—we have to—”

“You think I’m dealing with that shit again?” Roman snaps, finally turning to look at her. “I can’t even fucking touch you without you having a nervous breakdown.”

His words, while true, leave a sting. It’s also a bit confusing. How is this the same man who only minutes ago talked her through her panic attack with such patience and compassion.

She suddenly feels even more embarrassed and stupid.

“But, we’re—”

“I can get pussy anywhere, preferably without the headache of dealing with someone clearly unstable.” Solana still isn’t quite sure how to take his sudden change in demeanor. Roman finishes dressing and curtly informs, “the room on the end of the hall on the right is yours. Don’t still be in mine by the time I get back.”

“When are you—” The sound of his heavy double bedroom doors slamming in the wake of his exit prematurely silences her question. 

It’s only when she’s certain that she’s alone that Solana breaks down again.

He’s upset.

She’s upset him.

Nothing ever good ever came out of an angry man. Not for her, at least.

Her mind creates and races with a million and one thoughts regarding not about where he’s going but what will happen when he’s returned. She wants to believe he’s going somewhere to work off his anger, but experience has proven she’s the way that men work off their anger.

Roman indicated that day in the library that he wouldn’t put his hands on her, and while she wanted to believe he was being honest, this was also before she pulled this. He has every right to be upset, but that anger and not knowing what will come from it….it terrifies her.

It terrifies the shit out of her.

Falling to the floor, legs against her chest, she sobs into her legs, one thought and only one thought on her mind now.

What the hell did I get myself into?