#but the intricacies of this very specific moment

[truly-deceitful]

yes, quackity confessed to rubius and i am not gonna argue that he genuinely meant it.

but I am definitely gonna argue that while he did develop feelings for rubius and his reckless and mischievous nature at the very beginning of karmaland (because he was the perfect match to his own chaotic personality), he also developed strong feelings for luzu as time went on.

I think it was just perfectly bitter how the first interaction we had with luzu and quackity in today's finale was luzu teaching him vegettas song which he already knew and he HAD covered in front of them cause that was one of the first interactions they had that started the whole "omg maybe they could be a thing". (I also think it's canon that it's at that point where quackity started developing feelings for luzu as it was the same day luzu gifted him the pinnaple and I do believe luzu developed feelings a little bit before).

The time quackity was hooked onto the truth machine yes he could have been answering the first question which was are you in love with someone while thinking about rubius but I also don't think there was a mistake when sapo peta specified his question adding luzu and it showing quackity was lying, at that point I think he was just too emotionally overwhelmed that everything regarding his feelings was mixed up cause then he did explain he considered luzu his 100%.

So when he confessed and he said he was thinking about rubius yes could be true cause he remembers loving someone but since his memories were wiped away the only person to fill that space is rubius.

[artemis32]

Lovelorn

Yandere Class 1A x reader

yeah, uh, i hate this, but you get what you get

mbe masterlist

Izuku was at a loss.

He'd tried everything - absolutely everything - to get you to open up. To talk. To partake in group activities outside of class

But no matter what he did, no matter how he tried to sell the idea, no matter how manipulative he was, you declined.

Every. Single. Time.

What made it worse was that he knew several other people in your class were trying to achieve the same thing.

Mina had invited you out more times than he could keep count of, and each time she was met with a short, harsh rejection.

Sero and Kaminari had joked with you, trying to get you to at least crack a hint of a smile.

No success.

Momo constantly offered to help you study, and when you inevitably said no, she would insist on tea parties and lunch dates and shopping trips with the rest of the girls in the class. You had stared at her with a blank gaze until she felt uncomfortable enough to leave.

Even Uraraka, as sweet as she was, was unable to crack your tough exterior.

Izuku realised that they were quickly running out of options. They'd run through the list of class members they could turn to for a solution, and sooner or later they'd have to accept the worst-case scenario.

They'd have to ask Bakugo for help.

****

You hated your classmates.

They were annoying. They were insistent.

When they were around, you never got so much as two minutes of peace and quiet.

It was bearable during the first few months of your first year, when you could go home and have a break from their never-ending questions.

But then the school had decided that it was in the best interest of the students to have you all move into dorms.

You hadn't known a single moment of peace since.

There always seemed to be someone attached to your hip, or trailing a few steps behind you, or eyeing you from across the room.

It was annoying, and you thought you’d made that clear.

In the beginning, you thought they had all been so insistent because they were curious about your quirk. 

That in itself was understandable - no one knew one another, so it was natural for everyone to want to get to know their classmates quirks.

You knew of everyone else’s quirks - of course you did, you knew everything about them - and for the most part, they knew about yours, or as much as you’d told them. 

Teleportation.

You thought that would be enough to satiate them, but evidently, you were wrong.

At first, your classmates, Izuku specifically, wanted to know about all the intricacies of your quirk - the parameters, drawbacks, limits, range, all of it. That had been the first warning sign. You were taught growing up to never tell anyone more about your quirk than they needed to know. That was enough for you to avoid Izuku.

All of your classmates seemed to be in awe of your power, which was strange.  You weren’t particularly fond of your quirk. It was just so boring.

Teleportation, especially at your current level, wasn’t very useful to a hero. You weren’t much good when you were only able to teleport yourself.

Regardless, you were working on improving your quirk as best you could.

A small part of your mind whispered to you that they knew about things they shouldn’t, but that was just the usual bout of paranoia getting to you. You’d know whatever they knew straight away.

****

You teleportation quirk had developed at four years old, which was slightly younger than your father had been banking on. He’d gone to great lengths to teach you how to control your ability - at four years old, you had a tendency to just disappear. Not because you wanted to, or because you were actively thinking about leaving. No, it was more because you had absolutely zero control over yourself or your quirk.

By the time you turned six, you’d mastered the control your father so desperately wanted you to learn. You found that keeping your emotions in check helped more than consciously thinking about not using your quirk.

That degree of control couldn’t have developed at a better time, because eight months later, right before your seventh birthday, you developed your second quirk.

Telepathy.

That’s what became the real bane of your existence. 

Sure, you were blessed to have two quirks. In fact, you loved it as a child. But controlling this quirk proved to be significantly more difficult than your first. 

You managed to get it under control, for the most part. You made sure that you weren’t blaring your thoughts out loud constantly, and you learnt how to talk to people one on one pretty quickly.

What you couldn’t control, even close to ten years after discovering your second quirk, was how to shut other people’s thoughts out. 

It was a never-ending battle, trying not to up and leave whenever you got too overwhelmed. 

You’re sure someone could have helped you. The adults in your life - middle school teachers, your friends, their parents, maybe even Mr Aizawa and your classmates could have helped you, but you would never breathe so much as a word to them about your quirk - not when you saw how people reacted to the idea of someone being able to read their every thought.

So you kept it to yourself, occasionally making use of your teleportation quirk to get a moment of silence, leaping far, far away from civilisation, from people’s thoughts.

In those moments alone, it wasn’t so bad. You thought about how incredible your quirks actually were, about how fortunate you were to have a quirk at all, never mind two.

Then you’d return back to your dorm, and the cycle would repeat.

****

You would admit, it was pretty funny.

Hearing how strangely obsessed your classmates were with you was actually hilarious, especially considering they thought you had no idea. Not to mention, constantly ruining their supposedly brilliant plans. 

Some of their ideas truly were brilliant, and they may have worked, had you not known about them in advance.

There were times that you almost felt bad for them. Almost. But playing along with them, seeing just how far you could push them without raising suspicion - it was fun.

Like right now, for example.

“-but I’m sure the weather will be clear enough for a picnic next weekend, since you don’t seem to like the idea of a tea party. What do you think?”

Yaoyorozu and Mina, who stood in front of your desk as you stared out the window, were still talking. Of course, what they were saying sounded nice enough, but their thoughts betrayed their true intentions.

Come oooonnnnnn, say yes, say yes! Just one bit of personal information, that’s all I need. I absolutely have to win this bet with Kaminari, so just give me something to work with!

Mina was someone who remained loud and talkative both within her mind, and when talking to people aloud.

The bet she was thinking about had been a running gag for a while now, something you had almost grown bored of.

Mina, Denki and Sero had made a bet; whoever was first to learn a tidbit of personal information about you, from you, got free reign of the communal gaming system in the dorm lounge for a month.

At least, that's what it started out as in the beginning.

It quickly reached the ears of the other students in your class, and everyone wanted in on the bet.

The promise of dibs on the game system long forgotten, their focus quickly moved on to bragging rights - after all, getting you to reveal any amount of personal information was seen as a great feat, one worthy of praise.

It had been funny at first, seeing how they scrambled to talk to you first, or the awkward ways they interacted with you to get even the slightest sliver of information.

Now, their thoughts gave you a headache whenever they were near.

You could probably have gone to Mr Aizawa if you had to - you were sure you could fabricate some evidence of their weird behaviour and have him intervene.

But the problem was, he was just as bad.

He had this weird, protective mindset.

It had creeped you out at first, but with time, you'd almost grown fond of his concern. It was... endearing. Kind of. Like a father. Or a puppy.

Regardless, he knew about their antics, and he hadn't bothered with them so far, so you decided it would be best if you kept your knowledge of the situation to yourself.

“No. Thank you though,” you reply smoothly, turning away from them to signal the end of the conversation.

But of course, they never really took no as an answer.

“Why? If it’s because you don’t want to be around a ton of people, then don’t worry about it - it’ll be like, eight of us. Please,” they ask, eyes wide and hopeful.

You’re saved, literally, by All Might entering the classroom with a silent shuffle.

“To your seats everyone, get to your seats please.”

****

Even without the use of your quirk, you can feel your class glowering from across the room.

You aren’t sure how your purple haired companion doesn’t realise that they’re glaring daggers at him - he really doesn’t even register that they’re looking at him at all.

But he doesn’t mention it, and no thoughts of them cross his mind, so you pay them no mind.

You liked Shinso. He was good company - quiet, polite, and his thoughts were the kind that barely skirted the edge of your consciousness. Being around him was like a breath of fresh air, so you clung to him.

It wasn’t often that you found someone who didn’t induce a migraine as soon as they entered the room. In fact, you could count on one hand the number of people you’d met that you could tolerate for longer than ten minutes.

Shinso was one, and Aizawa, surprisingly, was another. 

Even more surprising than that though, had to be that Bakugo of all people had a quiet mind.

If anyone had known about your quirk and you told them, you were sure they’d call you a liar.

But it was the truth. The angry blond had such a tranquil mind that, if he allowed it, you’d befriend him. But you’d grown an aversion to being near him, as wherever Bakugo was, a crowd of classmates was sure to follow.

You’re brought back to the present moment as Shinso shakes his hand in front of your face, throwing you a quizzical look.

“Ah, sorry, I zoned out.”

He nods in understanding, before glancing behind you.

“Just thought I’d let you know; your classmates look like they want my head on a stick,” he says in a bored tone, eyes sliding back to you a moment later.

You make a noise at the back of your throat.

“Yeah,” you wince, “I noticed that. I didn’t want to mention it.”

He shrugs, standing up and offering you his hand.

“Well, then let’s find somewhere else to sit, huh?”

You smile. Your classmates are outraged, seething as you accept his hand and sweep out of the cafeteria.

Thank goodness, you think, there were so many voices.

You only went to the cafeteria because Shinso liked the soba they served.

Honestly, braving the bustling centre felt like someone was hitting between your eyes with an ice-pick - pure torture.

The flood of thoughts fades as the two of you walk further from the main building, and your shoulders slump with relief.

If he notices, Shinso doesn’t comment. You’d thought originally that he was just extremely unobservant, but he really just didn’t think about or mention anything unless it raised any actual concern.

You’d realised that when you had accompanied him to a private training session with Aizawa, and you’d had a migraine from a long day of dealing with your classmates.

He only brought it up, openly thought about it when he saw how you grabbed at your head out of the corner of his eye.

Being with him was peaceful, you’d realised in that moment, because he had incredible control over his thoughts. That must have been because of his own predominantly mental quirk.

The thought made you happy, for some reason.

****

You liked when Mr Aizawa used his quirk on you.

The rest of your classmates hated it, and it really seemed to throw them off, but to you, it felt like sweet relief. It made everything quiet. Peaceful.

There were times where it threw you off, suddenly hearing nothing but radio silence, but after some adjustment, it was as if someone had released the pressure on your skull. Not that he, or anyone else knew.

Though, on some occasions, when he looked at you before you had time to mask the relief on your face, you saw the slight glimmer of something akin to realisation in his eyes. If he knew, he never brought it up.

It should’ve had you on edge - the fact that he might’ve known, but never said anything. But it didn’t. You didn’t know why.

If anyone were to discover your second quirk, you’d be in a world of trouble. Having an unregistered quirk, especially at your age, in UA of all places - it was unheard of. 

It was criminal.

So you should’ve been terrified at the thought of someone finding out, knowing about your quirk.

But surely if he knew, he’d have brought it up by now?

“Quiet down class,” Aizawa demands flatly.

They don’t listen. Of course they don’t. 

Their incessant chatter matches their constant barrage of thoughts, and it seems particularly noisy today. All their thoughts are focused on you, and it leaves a sharp throb in your temples.

Aizawa glares at them, eyes flashing crimson for a moment, and you feel all the tension melt away. You prepare yourself for the inevitable rush of returning voices, but it doesn’t come. Aizawa, for some reason, keeps his quirk activated, gaze roaming the class, lingering on you for a second too long before he looks away, brows furrowing as he blinks.

You mask your wince with an awkward cough, shifting in your seat. Now, most thoughts were centred around Aizawa and how scary he was.

The thought makes you laugh. They were so far off the mark, it was comical. Aizawa was like an overly concerned parent, thoughts constantly circling his students, how he could push them to be better. Honestly, it was quite heart warming, and the fact that his actions were so glaringly different to his thoughts made it ten times funnier.

Aizawa calls your name, drawing you out of your thoughts.

“Sensei?”

“See me after class.”

Before you have a chance to delve into his mind to see what he was thinking, a barrage of thoughts hit you from all angles, your classmates wondering, like you, what this was all about.

You don’t give much thought to his request, too overwhelmed to try and sift through the turbulent sea of thoughts.

****

Aizawa schools his expression, staring down at you blankly.

“Well?”

You looked so young like this �� wide eyed, trembling hands, pale, blanched face. You were panicked. He knew you were, but he made no move to ease your worries, waiting instead for confirmation.

“I– Sensei…”

He feels his brow twitch.

Not in annoyance. Not with you. Never you. You tended to tug at his heart strings, for reasons he didn’t fully understand.

Maybe because you were so young? You appeared younger still with that gleam of innocence in your eyes. Hero society was no place for someone like you - you were someone heroes should be protecting, rather than welcoming into their ranks.

“Answer the question.”

Your throat bobs as you swallow and turn your head to look out the window.

Were you thinking of a way to talk yourself out the situation? Were you trying to find a way to play off his discovery as nothing more than a funny happenstance? He didn’t doubt it.

“…yes.”

The word weighs heavily on you, shoulders sagging as you stand before him, curling in on yourself. His heart aches at the sight.

How overwhelming was it, to keep something like this to yourself? To live in fear of someone discovering your secret and hating you for it?

“And you’ve kept this to yourself for the past ten years? You’ve had no training or help whatsoever?”

You seem surprised at the shock colouring his tone, as if you’d expected him to be angry or fearful, rather than sympathetic. Again, he wondered how you’d dealt with this all alone for so long.

He sighs.

“You’re not in trouble. I’m not mad.”

He sees the tension melt from your posture in real time, as if someone had lifted an anvil off your shoulders.

“If you’d like, I can help you. We could do some training after classes; help you learn control? I can’t promise anything, but it might help.”

Of all the things Aizawa had expected to happen, you bursting into tears wasn’t one of them. Some long buried protective instinct rears it’s head at the sight of your red rimmed eyes as you try desperately to mop away the tears on your cheeks.

He awkwardly shifts from one foot to another, patting your shoulder in a pathetic attempt to comfort you.

“I’m really not in trouble? Y-You don’t hate me for listening in on your thoughts without permission?”

Again, that same painful clench in his heart.

“No, I don’t. Why would I hate you for something you can’t control? None of your classmates would either, I can promise you that.”

Aizawa spends the next twenty minutes clumsily comforting you, dismissing you as soon as your tears have stopped and he makes his way to the principal’s office a few minutes later. When he arrives, he’s immediately greeted by a very tense looking All Might and an oblivious, chattering Nezu.

He seats himself in the armchair next to Toshinori, posture sagging.

“You were right.”

Nezu cackles at that, hardly able to get a word in through his triumphant laughter. His reaction is in stark contrast to the other two men and their responses. The two share a tense, understanding look, glancing back at Nezu as he calms his laughter.

“Oh, this is most wonderful! I can’t wait to see what happens!”

Guilt eats away at Aizawa. He could only hope you wouldn’t hate him and Toshinori, or even your classmates for what they planned on doing.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + fourteen

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

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

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

cw/tw: fluff, angst, smut

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

masterlist

words: 15k (sorrows, sorrows, prayers)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The perfect place to create. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________

“Oh my god….”

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

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

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

“Is that….is that a private jet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wise Man.”

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

“How long have I been the Tribal Chief?”

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

“How old am I now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” 

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

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

“They’re….tolerable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Solana, I wasn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She answers in a soft voice. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Once more, he asks, “are you sure?”

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

She answers, “yes.” 

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

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

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

There’s not an ounce of discomfort in sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m—I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He thinks he has an idea. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Unless it could present a safety risk?”

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

Ever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s our bedroom?”

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

“This is all so beautiful…..”

“Hmmm.”

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

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

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

________

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve had that for years.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Truly a win-win for all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy

________

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

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

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

“I feel bad.” 

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

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

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

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

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

None whatso–fucking—ever.

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

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

“Solana—”

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

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

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

Xavier as well.

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

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

Roman would die before he let that happen to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has to table this conversation. For now.

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

________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimmy: Happy birthday, sis!

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

Bayley: Or forever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Truly.

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

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

Solana laughs a bit. 

Roman asks, “what did she say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________

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

Not that that’s a big deal, per se.

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

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

And she does. 

It’s full of smiles and laughter. 

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

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

If ever. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn straight.” 

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

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

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

“Which is?” 

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

How much I love you.

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

She can’t say the same for him.

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

It’s all she needs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His face reads a mixture of emotions, primarily confusion. 

And lust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Initiating this is major.

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

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

“Do you trust me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Solana nods. “O–okay.”

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

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

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

“Oh my god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Roman…..”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A strange yet wonderful dichotomy. 

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

She owes him so much.

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

He seems so hungry for her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His strength doesn’t scare her. Not anymore.

Just makes her feel safe. 

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

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

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

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

The answer is easy. 

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

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

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

“I want all of you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Te quiero mucho.”

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t ever want to pull out.

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

Possibly.

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

Her pussy is premier and just for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She whimpers against him, “god, yes.”

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

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

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

Roman just looks at her. 

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

A bond. 

Unbreakable. Unshakable.

Eternal. 

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

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

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

Her better half.

Her missing piece 

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

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

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

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

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

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

This settles her almost instantaneously. 

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

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

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

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

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

----------

translations:

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

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

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

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

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

[vamphorica]

Because I hate being happy for more than two hours at a time, I've been considering to what extent Matt knew that Takada's kidnapping was a suicide mission.

I've been looking at this screenshot while I've been using it as a reference for a drawing and given that the poor boy is only designated sixty-nine seconds of screentime in the anime, I think it is interesting that there's a substantial pause on this specific frame. Matt is surrounded by Takada's bodyguards, unable to get out of the predicament he has found himself in. At this point, he believes there are two possible outcomes: he will either be arrested, or shot dead. You could interpret his expression here as apathetic, as that is how he tends to be characterised, but he sits in his car and looks out towards the row of headlights for about seven seconds. He considers his situation, acknowledging the number of men pointing their guns at him, and then he leaves his car.

The question is, did it occur to him then, or had he known beforehand, that his death was inevitable? Remember – Matt is one of a few characters in Death Note to be killed 'traditionally'. Should we take the Shinigami Eyes into consideration here, we have to assume that Matt is fated to die at this exact moment in time, regardless of circumstance. There is nothing that would have saved him from his demise that day.

However, I do wonder if, at nineteen years old, he is truly apathetic about his own life. I genuinely believe Mello sees his own death as an inevitable sacrifice, but I am not so convinced that Matt actually cares enough about defeating Kira to lay his life down for the cause alone. The manga suggests he leaves his car almost immediately upon being caught, and his final words, sadly, suggest a lack of foresight about the gravity of danger he is in.

Kira's world is not one in which justice prevails as Light envisioned, but rather it is an autocratic reign of terror. There is absolutely no chance in which Matt would be detained in a society in which death is considered the appropriate solution to crime. He is a Wammy's boy, but even if he had not have been associated with the House, Matt would have still been aware that his risk of death is heightened exponentially through his association with Mello alone.

In the anime, when Matt looks out the window of his car, we hear his inner monologue. Nonchalant, there is no fear to be heard in Drew Nelson's performance of the lines, and Matt's awareness of his impending death is presented as being limited. Is it an act? Or is Matt portrayed as lacking self awareness to such an extreme extent? Perhaps to 'justify' Matt's position as the third successor to L, Ohba felt the need to present Matt as ignoring the inevitable, but at least to me, this feels like it greatly undermines his intelligence. He may not be competing against Mello and Near, but that does not negate the fact he was still raised in the same institution that they were. All the children are freakishly smart, that is the whole point.

Did Mello propose the plan to kidnap Takada to Matt with the acknowledgement that they were both likely to be killed? Mello's final thoughts in the manga and anime are asking Matt for forgiveness, his death apparently unanticipated by the former, which feels like a failure in writing the deaths of these two in a manner that reflected who they were.

Matt is, by all accounts, a fandom project rather than a fully developed character within the Death Note canonical universe, but we are aware that Matt was created for Mello. I hardly expect Death Note to explore the intricacies of such themes in the series (particularly given, as much as I hate to admit it, Mello and Matt are not the main characters within the franchise). However, even with the rather minimal source material provided to us by both manga and anime, we are made aware that the two have a very unique relationship. They know each other intimately, and Matt does not fear Mello as many of the other characters in the series do.

Mello does not want Matt to die. He values Matt and while one could attribute the gratitude for him to the popular fan narrative that Matt is the one to look after Mello after the explosion, or indeed the idea that the two are in a relationship, their interactions with one another already set up their alliance as one that appears to transcend the regular boundaries of friendship. Again, I'm pulling a lot from fanon here, I know. Take it up with Ohba.

Narratively, if Mello has to die, so too does Matt. Ohba could not foresee this character that is so dependent on another to live beyond him. Yet I simply refuse to believe that Mello would have placed someone so important to him in a compromising position where the likelihood that he will be killed is almost certain. As much as I believe that Mello's final thoughts being directly addressed to the deceased Matt demonstrates an important ode to their relationship, I cannot understand how Mello would have been shocked to hear of Matt's death, given the risk.

We know Mello was fully aware that he was going to die that night. If he did not die, Near would have, and I think to Mello that would have been the greatest loss he could have suffered in their ongoing conflict. Regardless of whether you believe Mello cared about Near to any extent or not, I genuinely cannot imagine Mello would have been happy to succeed as L had it been attained through Near's 'sacrifice'. I am actually exploring an AU of this very idea in a fanfiction I intend to publish early next year, in case you're interested, haha.

This returns to the question as to when Matt realises he is not surviving this mission. Presumably Mello asked for his cooperation, and in doing so, he would have had to explain the plan to Matt which, quite frankly, reveals Mello's intent to die as soon as it is advantageous to do so. Given that Mello did not want Matt to be killed, did Mello reassure Matt that he had created the plan to guarantee his safety? Did Matt believe him? Was Mello deliberately vague, only telling Matt that he needed to set off the smoke gun, then hit the gas and get away from Takada's security team?

As far as I can tell, there is no reason as to why Mello would have been dishonest with Matt, explaining what he was planning to do and why. Perhaps he even suggested to Matt that he could find someone else to take on his position, given the danger he anticipated they would be in. Matt is, as I think the series makes clear, very loyal to Mello, and so I doubt such a proposal was even considered, but I think it is safe to assume that if Mello knew how this plan would end, so too would Matt, whether Mello explicitly told him or not. He would have figured it out.

When Matt and Mello part ways for the final time, not shown to us in either the manga or the anime, they both know that they are saying their last goodbye to one another. I think Mello hopes that Matt will survive somehow, experience a Kira-free world and move on with his life, but I believe Matt knows, well before he got caught, that there is no escape from the inevitability of his death.

Maybe, when he steps out of the car, confronted by the 'big guns', he holds out a little faith that at least he might see Mello again soon.

[heartofbusan]

Nuanced

It's always very telling, isn't it when people think jikook should behave a certain way towards the other. That Jungkook should always treat Jimin a certain way, or that JK should show his love for JM a specific way. Always adoring, always soft. Lmao.

They don't know that love is a game of endurance.

These people haven't lived enough in order to understand that relationships, especially long-term ones like friendships or romantic ones, are held together by the intricacies of human behavior and that you're navigating blind all the while trusting your partner to not give up at the first sign of trouble.

That you can very well be bitchy to your lover *especially* because he is your lover or partner. Because you know them very well and understand that their love isn't conditional on you being nice all the time. That you are allowed a bad mood, a misspoken word, or just a bit of zoning out. That your love isn't dependent upon one set of behaviors.

These people think in tropes instead of seeing the vast layers that hold a couple like jikook together. Rainy day fight? FOUNDATIONAL moment for Jikook. One of many! But probably the first one, and that's why it's memorable for them.

Tbh, I think there is absolutely room inside jikooks' relationship for what society deems ugly or unfavorable behaviors. Yet, jikook dare show us these little shards of glass, and some idiot is up in arms about their 'baby princess doll' not being treated correctly.

Don't these idiots understand that the more we're shown of the nuances of KM's humanity, the more KM get to break free from expectations of what 'normal' romantic relationships are supposed to look like? Especially for idols?

[princesskenny1998]

Harry Potter | Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Muggleborn!reader ~ Unobtainable, PT. 1

You sat at the long Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall, absentmindedly pushing a piece of toast around your plate as your friends chattered around you. Your eyes, however, were glued to the Slytherin table. More specifically, to Draco Malfoy.

There he sat, surrounded by his usual group of Slytherins: Pansy Parkinson practically glued to his side, Blaise Zabini and Crabbe and Goyle sitting nearby. Draco had that haughty, almost effortless air about him, his platinum blonde hair falling perfectly into place, his pale eyes scanning the hall with that signature sneer on his lips. He looked bored, as he usually did, but to you, even that bored expression seemed... alluring.

You sighed quietly, tearing your gaze away from him before anyone could notice where you'd been looking. It was embarrassing enough to have a crush on Draco Malfoy, of all people. A Malfoy, whose family made it very clear what they thought of Muggleborns like you. A Malfoy, who never passed up the opportunity to make a cruel remark or flash a superior smirk at you and your kind.

Yet, despite all that, your heart raced every time you saw him.

It had started in third year, a time when you were still figuring out your place at Hogwarts. You had always been a bit shy, more comfortable blending into the background than standing out. But one day, you'd caught sight of Draco in the corridor, his robes billowing as he walked with that confident stride of his, and something had just... clicked. You couldn't explain it, but from that moment on, you couldn't stop thinking about him.

It was ridiculous, really. He would never notice someone like you, a Muggleborn Hufflepuff who kept her head down and stayed out of trouble. Draco only associated with the elite, the purebloods. And yet, you found yourself daydreaming about him far more often than you'd care to admit.

"Are you even listening?" your friend, Megan Jones, asked, snapping you out of your reverie.

You blinked, realizing that you'd been staring blankly at your plate while Megan had been talking. "Oh, sorry," you said quickly. "What were you saying?"

Megan raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "You've been staring at the Slytherin table again, haven't you?"

Your face flushed, and you quickly shook your head, trying to deny it. "What? No, I—"

"Come on, Y/N," Megan said, laughing. "It's obvious. You've had a thing for Malfoy for ages."

You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you, your cheeks burning. "I don't—it's not like that," you stammered, but Megan just grinned knowingly.

"Right. Sure it's not," she said, giving you a playful nudge. "It's okay, though. I mean, he's... he's not bad-looking, I'll give you that."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. The last thing you wanted was for your friends to know about your hopeless crush. They would never let you live it down.

"It's just... he's so out of my league," you muttered, feeling the weight of the truth in your words. "He doesn't even know I exist."

Megan’s teasing expression softened slightly. "Well, I mean... yeah, he's a bit of a prat, to be honest. But maybe that's a good thing? You deserve better, Y/N."

You appreciated her attempt to cheer you up, but it didn't make the ache in your chest any less real. You knew you were setting yourself up for disappointment by harboring feelings for someone who would never look twice at you. But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself to get over it, you just... couldn't.

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur, and soon you found yourself in Potions class, seated at your usual table with your Hufflepuff classmates. Professor Snape was droning on about the intricacies of brewing a particularly complex potion, but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t help but steal a glance at Draco, who sat a few rows ahead, his posture relaxed, yet his concentration sharp as he took notes.

You had always admired his intelligence. For all his arrogance and disdain, Draco was smart—there was no denying that. It made you wish, irrationally, that he would notice your intelligence, too. You weren’t the top student in your year, but you did well enough, especially in subjects like Charms and Herbology. Maybe, in another world, he might have noticed that.

But this wasn’t another world. This was Hogwarts, and Draco Malfoy was... untouchable.

The lesson ended, and you gathered your things, heading out of the classroom with Megan by your side. As you walked down the corridor, you couldn’t resist looking over your shoulder, watching as Draco and his friends made their way toward the Slytherin common room.

"You really need to stop torturing yourself," Megan said gently, noticing the direction of your gaze.

"I know," you sighed, feeling a heavy knot of frustration settle in your stomach. "It's just... ugh, I don't even know why I like him."

Megan gave you a sympathetic look. "Maybe it's just because he's so... unattainable? I mean, people always want what they can't have."

"Maybe," you mumbled, though you weren’t entirely convinced. There was something about Draco—something that drew you in, even when you knew it shouldn’t.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself in the library, trying to focus on your Transfiguration homework. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the thoughts of Draco from your mind. The way he walked, the way his hair fell perfectly into place, the way he looked so effortlessly put-together—it all swirled in your head, making it impossible to concentrate.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes. Maybe Megan was right. Maybe you needed to stop torturing yourself. After all, Draco Malfoy would never look at you the way you wanted him to. He barely even acknowledged your existence. To him, you were just another face in the crowd.

But as you sat there, lost in thought, you heard a voice that made your heart stop.

"Y/N."

Your eyes flew open, and you turned to see Draco standing there, his expression unreadable as he looked down at you. For a moment, you couldn’t believe it. Was this really happening? Was Draco Malfoy actually speaking to you?

"Uh, hi," you managed to say, your voice coming out shakier than you intended.

Draco’s gaze flickered over your face, then down to the book in front of you. "You dropped this," he said coolly, holding out a quill.

You stared at the quill for a moment before realizing it was yours. You must have knocked it off the table without noticing. "Oh, thanks," you said quickly, taking it from him, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment.

Draco didn’t say anything else. He simply nodded, turned, and walked away, leaving you sitting there in stunned silence.

Your heart was racing, your mind spinning. Draco Malfoy had just spoken to you. He had picked up your quill. It was a small, insignificant interaction, but to you, it felt like the world had shifted ever so slightly.

For the rest of the day, you replayed that moment over and over in your head, analyzing every detail. The way he had looked at you, the sound of his voice, the brief touch of his hand—it was all burned into your memory.

But even as you clung to that small interaction, a part of you knew that it didn’t mean anything. Draco had only spoken to you because of the quill. He hadn’t sought you out, hadn’t noticed you for any reason other than that.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope.

Over the next few days, you tried to push the thought of Draco out of your mind, but it was easier said than done. Every time you saw him in the corridors, your heart fluttered, and every time he passed by without so much as a glance in your direction, that familiar ache settled in your chest.

You knew it was silly. You knew that you were setting yourself up for heartache. But even knowing all of that, you couldn’t stop the way you felt.

One evening, as you sat in the Hufflepuff common room with your friends, Megan nudged you playfully. "You know, you should just talk to him," she teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You rolled your eyes, though the thought of actually approaching Draco made your stomach twist with nerves. "Yeah, right. And say what? 'Hi, I’ve had a hopeless crush on you for years, please don’t laugh at me.'"

Megan laughed, shaking her head. "No, seriously! You never know. Maybe he’ll surprise you."

You smiled weakly, though you didn’t share her optimism. As far as you were concerned, Draco Malfoy was as unreachable as the stars.

And yet, despite everything, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if, just once, he saw you the way you saw him.

As you lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, you allowed yourself to dream. To imagine a world where Draco noticed you—not just as the girl who dropped her quill, but as someone worth noticing.

It was a foolish dream, you knew. But it was your dream, and for now, it was enough.

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #6: BREEZE BLOWS

(also on spotify!)

Welcome back… to Constant Companions Closeups…. a series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions…

Last time, we talked about Cadmium Colors! Today, we're keeping the alliteration but moving back a letter in the alphabet! Breeze Blows, with Marcy Nabors and Marlow Jacobs!!

---

oh baby mental health

Last post, I mentioned as an aside that I have OSDD-1b - a kinda complicated diagnosis that is defined by not quite being Dissociative Identity Disorder but being similar enough. And obviously that's super reductive but I'm not an expert on this I just have brain peculiarities. I won't fully explain how this functions, or every intricacy of how I deal with it, but I can try to convey what it feels like.

My sense of self is comprised of parts. Not an exceptionally high number, but nonetheless distinct parts that fit together like puzzle pieces to make a full individual. They talk to and interact with each other, and most times it is one specific part that takes the lead while the others simply follow, but ideally, they all move in sync and work together.

This collaborative effort is relatively new and was an incredibly hard-fought state of being. For many years, it felt much more like there was just me and a bunch of nightmare voices in my head constantly lashing out violently!! My own inner monologue felt completely out of my control... and it ultimately turned out that it kinda was, but not for the reasons I thought.

Showing those voices kindness and starting a conversation was the big moment of revelation for me, that there was this whole other half of me that had been locked in a box for god knows how long. She was scared and lonely and just wanted to be understood, and really, that was all I wanted as well.

Writing these self-directed songs of love and companionship became a really important part of becoming 'whole', in some sense. Not that there are no more individual parts or anything!! Just that my inner monologue these days is far more of a conversation between friends.

...

Constant companions, if you will.

---

As a couple people have pointed out, this song is very much a counterpoint and companion piece to weathergirl, a song by my band FLAVOR FOLEY! Neither song was originally written with the intention of complimenting the other, but the parallels simply emerged naturally, and it only felt right to reinforce them. At 2:14 in Breeze Blows, you can even hear the icy little keys motif from weathergirl front and center!!

On that note, while I would love to make MVs for every song on the album, Breeze Blows is the one song I am dead set on putting out an MV for no matter what... A yellow, very natural aesthetic to contrast with weathergirl... ANRI in a sundress, fluttering in the wind and clutching her hands to her chest...

the fucking yuri...

Of course, this song was a collaboration with some other dear friends of mine, Marcy Nabors and Marlow Jacobs! We've been fastidious friends for freaking forever. Marcy, especially, has been with me through thick and thin - together, we've gone on road trips, worked on Homestuck music, bounced countless ideas off of each other, embarrassed ourselves in front of each other's parents, queued for probably a triple digit number of FFXIV instances, and of course, collaborated on some of my favorite music I've ever released. Not to discredit Marlow or anything!! These two are genuinely some of the coolest people I know, and I love them wholeheartedly. Hopefully we can play some mahjong again sometime so I can kick their asses and feel like I'm even a tenth as cool as them

Our initial ideas for this song came together while we sat at the piano at my parent's house, aimlessly banging out chords together while I left my phone recording on the other side of the room just in case. Ultimately, the voice memo barely sounds anything like Breeze Blows, because the process of translating things to MIDI on Marcy's laptop also introduced a lot of defining creative choices, but it's still at least amusing to hear.

Apologies and/or you're welcome for the shorter post this time around!! Thank you for reading regardless; If you have any more questions, I'd be glad to answer them below!! Tomorrow... we can grow so big.... (aggrandicize)

[misc-obeyme]

Ah, you want lucifer sub? I have another idea for you then! Feel free to ignore if you had enough nsfw drabbles tho lol Theres a card in NB where lucifer tries to force mc a truth apple or whatchamacallit to see who mc really is, but Beel ended up eating it instead. Anyway in p4 he tries to earn mc's forgiveness by going to the castle for barb's cooking. What if then, at the table, mc remembers that in the og timeline, lucifer and mc constantly played with shibari on each other? Hmm... So then, that's his punishment. Early Avatar of Pride, getting tied up in his own room. Blindfolded Anyway, hope you like the idea. 🍄 Love you CC

Augh, 🍄 anon, shibari is like one of my favorite things ever. It just looks so pretty!?!? And Lucifer is also very pretty????

Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed writing this. I do have that card and remembered this particular Devilgram. It had an excellent line from Barb that I took the time to screenshot and then forgot about until much later. Something about having cake, I don't remember exactly. It's in my posts somewhere lol.

Anyway! Sub!Lucifer is everything to me, so here he is. I like the idea of NB Lucifer specifically not understanding why he trusts MC. He even says in the Devilgram something about how there was a connection between them the moment MC showed up. But this is a minor detail, I just find it interesting.

GN!MC x Lucifer

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: sub!Lucifer, dom!MC, shibari, blindfold, praise, hand job

Lucifer held himself incredibly still. He would not squirm. He would not give you the satisfaction.

It was difficult. He wanted to give in already.

You had spent quite some time carefully tying the black and red ropes around his body. Securing knots, ensuring they were tight but not too tight. Perhaps he should have been anxious as you brought his hands behind his back and tied them in place. Perhaps he should have been concerned when you tied the blindfold over his eyes. Perhaps he should have been worried about how vulnerable he was allowing himself to be with you.

And perhaps he was all of those things. But the fire it ignited in his belly was too powerful to ignore. The thrill of your touch, the way his skin tingled any time you brushed your fingers against it. Knowing that you were seeing him completely exposed, that he was entirely at your mercy, that you were in control of him in a way no one else has ever been.

The ropes rubbed against him, an uncomfortably pleasing sensation. The blindfold was his own tie, which you had utilized for this purpose and its soft silkiness was an exciting contrast to the harsher feeling of the ropes.

When you were finished, you moved away and left him there.

Lucifer was kneeling on his own bed, tied up and blindfolded, waiting for you to touch him again.

He couldn't see himself, but he could imagine the sight. You seemed to already know the intricacies of shibari. The pattern was elegant and complex - turning him into a sensual work of art.

Lucifer waited. He could be patient. He refused to let you see just how affected he was. He couldn't do anything about his obvious erection, which was straining. But he would keep the rest of himself as composed as possible.

"So," you said and your voice was close. "Are you sorry for trying to get me to eat that apple?"

Lucifer hesitated. "I've let you tie me up and blindfold me, haven't I? Is that not proof enough?"

"I won't make you say it," you said. "I could see it in your eyes as I was tying you up. You trust me, don't you? Despite being suspicious of who I am and what my motives might be, you still trust me."

Lucifer frowned. "I don't-"

You pressed a finger to his lips. "You don't need to lie about it. You can trust me, Lucifer. I promise."

Lucifer was about to disagree with you, but whatever he might have said left his mind immediately as you took his cock in your hand. He sucked in a breath. Your hand felt soft, slightly damp with your sweat, which soon mingled with his precum.

Lucifer's resolve not to squirm crumbled. He couldn't hold perfectly still now, his hips moving involuntarily to thrust into your hand. He bit his lip, determined at least not to moan.

"Don't do that," you said, putting your thumb on his lower lip and pulling it gently out of his teeth. "Let me hear you."

Lucifer felt his skin grow hot as the moan he'd been trying to hold back escaped him. As soon as it did, it was as though a dam had broken and he couldn't stop making noise.

"Ah," he cried. "MC, please, ah!"

"Good boy," you said sweetly. "Now come for me."

Lucifer immediately came all over your hand, a strangled cry ripping itself from his throat as he did. Lucifer was panting, his body's muscles relaxing, but he was still tied up so stiffly, he couldn't go anywhere. You allowed him to lean on you long enough to catch his breath.

Lucifer quickly learned that he was far from done with his apology and it was much later into the night before you were willing to forgive him.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[g0ry0re0]

"Two Sugars" - Part 2, Derek Danforth (The Beekeeper, 2024, Film) - Imagine

Description: As promised by Derek Danforth himself, an at-home coffee date takes a turn for the not-so-unexpected. / Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

General Notes: 18+, MDNI!!, Pure Smut, Some Plot (barely), Gender Neutral Reader (no use of Y/N, no mention of specific genitalia, "hole" and "entrance" are used), A Little Bit Of Nipple Play, Not-Sanitary Kitchen Sex, Oral Sex (reader and derek), Use Of Lube And Spit, Fingering (reader), Penetrative Sex (reader), No Use Of A Condom, Creampie (reader), Second Person POV, Use Of Pet Names ("sugar", "baby", "pretty thing"), Dirty Talk/Banter, Some Degradation (toward reader, "slut"), Some Praise (toward reader), Use Of Curse Words (derek says fuck a lot + others), A Little Bit Of Abuse Of Power, Reader Has A Little Internal Dialogue (italics)

Author's Note: Author's first smut! Lol. This took a lot, so I'm totally open to any critiques regarding this! This is also officially the longest thing I've ever written on Tumblr. Shoutout to @anal-spaghetti-monster for helping proofread this! Enjoy!

Word Count: 3,712 Words

Part 1

This car was way too fancy for your taste. You nervously pull down on your top as you look around, fiddling with the edge of it and slightly fraying the ends. It's got practically an entire bar lined up behind the driver and a goddamn sunroof. You're almost tempted to stand out of it like you're straight out of a coming-of-age film. Are those all-around seat warmers? You continue to ogle at the intricacies of the vehicle currently taking you to a billionaire's house. Your boss's house. This was almost too much for you to handle.

Before you can spiral over the thought, the car pulls into an extremely lavish-looking mansion, completely glazing over any thoughts you have on the mode of transportation. The vehicle stops and the driver runs around the car to open the door for you, holding his hand out and almost bowing as you step out of the car.

"O-oh," you stutter out, not used to this sort of treatment. "Thank you."

You look up toward the large staircase leading to the mansion's front door and see a figure standing at the top. You can see smoke flowing from the figure briefly before dissipating. The wind blowing made you realize you forgot to bring a coat. You shiver as you walk up the stairs to meet the figure, which you can see clearer now. Mr. Danforth himself. He was smiling as he took another hit from his pen, blowing the smoke toward you with little remorse. Once the smoke clears, you take in his attire. He hadn't changed. Still wearing that ugly green print button-up and orange jacket. Still very tacky. He sticks his pen in his pocket and reaches his hand out to you, still smiling.

"Hey, sugar."

You roll your eyes playfully, smiling back as you reach your hand out toward his. He brings your hand up to his lips. Ever the charmer...

"Come on in." He gently pulls you closer to him and leads you inside his house, the door being opened by another one of his staff members.

Derek walks in first, taking you with him as he lets you look around. The inside was just as impressive as you imagined it'd be. It was more formal than you anticipated, but still expensive-looking nonetheless.

"Nice, right?" He smiles at you, looking you up and down.

"It is...really nice..." You trail off, still taking in your surroundings.

You're not sure if you've ever even been in a mansion before. He lets you admire for a few moments longer before breaking the silence.

"Well, I did promise you coffee, didn't I? Follow me."

He pulls you away, fixing your gaze back to him and leading you to an adjacent room. The kitchen, where a couple of his staff members are standing at attention, waiting for him to bark whatever orders he has at them. He shoos them away with a wave of his hand before turning back to you. Well, alright, I guess. You make a bit of a face, unintentionally, causing Derek to glance at you.

"Don't worry about them, baby."

He drops your hand and looks toward a large bar-looking wall in the kitchen, affixing your attention to it as well.

"This," he gestures to that section, "is my drink bar. Coffee, teas, cocktails, mocktails. You name it, I got it."

You stand there, gaze fixed on the counter in awe. He doesn't give you a chance to say anything before speaking again.

"I can make you anything you want. Flat white, matcha latte, piña colada..." He trails off before looking back at you. "A black coffee with two sugars." He adds teasingly.

You give him a knowing smile before moving closer. He lets you walk around it, observing its many details for a few minutes. A Jura double brew machine? A Simonelli espresso maker? Not to mention, a million different kinds of liquor and juices. How could someone even fathom owning this much stuff?

He looks you up and down without your knowledge, taking his time ogling at your curves. Both of you are in awe of different things. When you take a moment to lean on the counter, Derek makes a bold move of coming up behind you, pressing you against the edge with his hands on your hips. You gasp and try to look back at him, almost unsuccessfully because of the angle. He rubs his hands along your clothes waist.

Bringing his lips close to your ear, he purrs, "I think we all know why you're really here though, sugar."

You knew this was going to happen, he wasn't subtle about it even in the office. But it still took you by surprise, how quickly he got into it. You can feel him start to press kisses to the back of your neck, recapturing your attention. Derek begins lifting the slightly frayed edge of your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin on his slightly cold hands. He leaves a few pecks behind your ear before speaking.

"This alright?" He asks, giving you a tender squeeze.

You nod your head, reveling in the feeling of his touch, which is visibly overwhelming your senses.

He makes a noise of disapproval. "Need to hear words, sugar, or we're not doing this."

"Y-yes. Please." You almost can't believe how eager you were already. You can only hope that having sex with your boss doesn't have that terrible of repercussions.

He hums in approval now. "There they are." He comments, almost to himself.

He lifts your top up higher, ghosting his fingers over your skin, his touch warmer now. You shiver for the second time that night. You allow him to pull your top over your head and toss it somewhere on the floor before you turn around. His hands slide further up your waist, getting closer to your chest as he looks up at you for permission.

"Wait." You pause as he looks at you with concern. "What if someone comes in?" You whisper and Derek chuckles.

"Trust me, no one will come in. I made sure of that."

You hesitantly let out a breathless, "Yeah, okay," before he brings his hand up, toying with both of your nipples. You release some soft noises as he lightly twists and runs his thumbs over your now stiff peaks. He brings his mouth down to one of them and moves his tongue, circling it. He gently bites down while pulling on the other and looks up at you.

You look back down at him as he starts kissing up your chest, making his way up to your neck where he leaves little love bites. He sucks on your skin in between soft bites, making his way up and down your chest, marking you as his. He makes his way back up, leaving kisses on your jaw before finally making his way to your lips, pausing briefly. You nod, his lips already practically pressed against yours, your breaths mingling.

He goes in for the kill, pressing his lips on yours fully. Your lips molded together feel like heaven, smacking against one another in the wettest, messiest way possible. His hands go from messing with your chest to groping your waist. To pushing on your hips. To fondling that fat of your thighs. Your hands weren't doing much different, one hand gripping and rubbing his shoulder. The other was tangled in his hair, pulling and tugging lightly, causing him to let out some groans into your mouth.

He pulls away enough to talk with his lips still pressed to yours. "You're driving me insane..." He breathes into you.

He bites your bottom lip to open your mouth up to his, shoving his tongue in unceremoniously. You're letting out soft noises of pleasure in his mouth, enjoying what little he's giving you, but you need more. You give his shoulder a squeeze, breaking away from one another after a few moments with a string of spit connecting you both. He maintains eye contact as he lowers his body, dropping to his knees in front of you, and running his hands along you as he goes. It feels almost surreal, to see the CEO of the company you work at submit to you, wanting to please you.

He begins to pull down your bottoms, still maintaining eye contact, taking your undergarments with them. You let him pull them down, stepping out of your shoes before kicking them away. He leaves a mix of sloppy kisses and harsher bites on your shins, calves, and thighs as he makes his way closer to your throbbing arousal. You wince every time he leaves a bite, but it feels undeniably so good.

The tension in the room was so thick, it could be cut with a knife. Derek looks up at you one last time before finally putting his mouth on you, causing you to let out a loud moan before you slap your hand over your mouth. He circles his tongue while he pinches your thigh, signaling that he wants you to uncover your mouth, which you do reluctantly. He alternates between sucking and licking before moving down to your entrance, wetting it in preparation.

He brings your leg up on his shoulder as he focuses on your hole, every once in a while sticking his tongue in, stretching you out just enough to keep you on the edge. Your core tightens as tears line your eyes and you bring a hand down to tangle in his bleached, curly hair again; the other gripping the counter for dear life. The air is filled with the wet sounds of Derek stroking your flesh with his tongue and your nearly pornographic-sounding moans. There's no way his staff can't hear you two right now. A rush of embarrassment runs through you before you realize that he probably does this enough to where they're used to it.

Before you can let that thought spiral, you feel Derek groan in you before slowly removing your leg from his shoulder and rising back up to your level. Wordlessly, he brings a hand up to your face, almost tenderly ghosting his thumb over your chin. Before you can lean in for another kiss, he holds his middle and ring finger up to your lips. Knowing immediately what he wants, you take his fingers in your mouth. Derek bites back a groan as you seductively swirl your tongue around his fingers, lubing them up for what you're sure he's going to do.

"Good slut..." He says offhandedly, almost moaning it before pulling them out of your mouth with a wet-sounding pop.

He makes his way back down your body, still keeping eye contact as he puts your leg back over his shoulder. He brings his fingers to your entrance and delicately circles it, teasing you. Just as he pouts his mouth back on you, he slowly inserts his fingers, stretching you open slightly. As his fingers and mouth bring you closer and closer to the brink of pleasure, you focus on chasing it as his fingers scissor you open.

"Fuck...oh, Derek. God..."

Your stomach tightens again and your legs threaten to give out as you let out the loudest noises you think you've ever made. Derek can feel your hole fluttering around his fingers, which makes him groan into your flesh again. Before you can even think of reaching your peak, Derek pulls out his fingers and makes his way back up to you, getting face-to-face.

"How ya doin', pretty thing?" Derek inquires playfully, going back to toying with your nipples.

You take a moment to catch your breath, only egging Derek on even more.

"What's that? Cat got your tongue?" Cheeky bastard...

"You're good at that." You finally whisper, not able to say much.

He laughs a bit.

"I can think of a few other things I'm good at." He pinches one of your nipples.

"'M gonna fuck you so good you won't wanna sit down for long at the office tomorrow. Then I'll fuck you some more. How about that?"

"Please." You breathe out desperately.

He leans in to kiss you once more, even messier this time, teeth practically clashing from the eagerness on both of your parts. Feeling bolder, you bring your hand gripping the counter down to Derek's waistband, gently running your fingers across it, asking for permission. He smiles into the kiss and pulls away, only slightly.

"Go ahead, sugar, I'm all yours."

This gives you the confidence to reach into his pants and grasp at his dick, still concealed by his boxers. As you grope him, you realize just how underdressed you are in comparison and look up at him. He looks back at you, biting his lip to conceal his noises as you bring your hands to remove his jacket, dropping it to the ground. Then you bring your hands down to unbutton his shirt, going at a faster pace. He tears off his button-up and you run your hands over his now-exposed chest after throwing it somewhere in the kitchen.

You slowly get down on your knees as you pull down his pants and he rests his hand on your head. You look up at him as you pull down his boxers, his length slapping up to his stomach causing him to hiss. You start to tentatively run your fingertip up the side of his member, tracing a prominent vein; you didn't want to tease him for too long, though. Both of you were too excited for that. You grip him softly and run your tongue along his tip, smearing his precum around before finally wrapping your lips around the first few inches. Derek is having trouble stifling his noises now, as he has been letting out whimpers with every little touch you provide him. You rest one of your hands on his tensed stomach now, almost comfortingly, and your other hand is wrapped around the base of his shaft as you take most of him in your mouth.

"Your mouth feels so fuckin' perfect..." He trails off, nearly mumbling.

Looking up at his minuscule expressions, you start bobbing your head at a slow pace, using your hand on what you can’t fit in your mouth. Derek grips the back of your head harder, now freely letting out moans of pleasure as he moves your head to go faster. You pull off briefly to let a glob of spit drip down onto him, spreading it along the length with your hand before putting him back in your mouth. You can start to feel the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag lightly, even more drool dripping down the corners of your mouth. He looks down at you, bliss written all over his face, eyes drooping as he tries to look at the mess you’ve become underneath him. He begins thrusting into your mouth, gently at first, getting a feel for your mouth and your tolerance before he starts thrusting a bit harder, gripping your scalp.

“God, you look so fucking good choking on my cock.”

Before you can process it, he pulls you off of him, nearly yanking you up by your shoulders and stepping out of his black pants, kicking them off somewhere on the floor along with his shoes. He turns you around and bends you over the bar as he presses kisses to your lower back.

“You get off on this, baby? Sleeping with your boss?” He taunts. “You get off on fucking the CEO of the company you work at?” He mirrors his words from earlier that day as he runs his hands along your sides.

All you can let out is a meek moan as he laughs.

“Too fucked out already to talk?” He asks and moves his hand down to repeat the pinch of the skin on your thigh playfully.

You can feel him leave for a moment so you briefly turn around. You see him rifling through his pants pocket before finding what he wanted: a bottle of lube. This asshole… You raise an eyebrow at him as he smirks.

“Can never be too prepared, right, sugar?” He teases.

“So, you can have lube at the ready but not a condom?” You ask, jokingly, gaining your voice back.

He looks back at you, giving you a goofy smile. “Feels better without one, baby. You know that.”

You roll your eyes as he pours a more-than-generous amount on his middle fingers before moving them back to your entrance. He presses his free hand on your lower back to bend you further over the counter as he circles your hole. You whimper out of desperation and push yourself back, wanting more. He presses harder on your back to keep you still as he finally inserts his fingers, gently loosening you up and providing the stimulation you need. You can feel the excess lube dripping down your legs, making a mess on the kitchen floor. After a few blissful moments, he slowly pulls his fingers out, watching the way you clench around nothing as his fingers fully leave your body.

“Fuck, look at you, baby.” He slurs as he presses your face into the surface with his clean, dry hand.

Finally, he lines himself up with your lubed-up entrance. He doesn’t take the time to tease you before he slowly begins to ease himself in, inch by inch. The stretch almost burns as he slowly bottoms out. After a few moments, his hips are connected with yours and he stills for a minute, causing the burning feeling to only grow slightly.

Derek groans. “Jesus, fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbled, starting to ramble.

“So fucking good,” he repeats, starting to move inside of you, only a little bit at first; quite gentle as he was getting a feel for you. One of his hands was holding your hip, pushing it against the edge of the countertop, causing it to dig into your hip bone almost painfully. The other was still pressing your face on top of the surface roughly. The roughness didn’t stop there, as Derek began to thrust harder and with longer strokes, moving even faster after a few minutes.

The only sounds that could be heard in the kitchen were your meek whimpers, Derek’s groans, and the lewd slaps of wet skin on skin. You began to move your own body with his as much as you could under his grip, and he let you. Both of you move in unison, sounds of absolute sin filling the air making the scene an unruly picture for anyone who might walk in. Your eyes start to roll to the back of your head as you muttered nonsensical strings of curses along with some sobs and wails.

Derek runs the hand that was previously on your hip along your back, smearing it with lube as you are now fully moving with him. “You’re driving me insane. You look so fucking good like this. Bent over my bar, stuffed full of my cock, in my fucking mansion.”

“You’re mine.” He growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

The mix of lube, spit, and precum you could feel building up inside of you, slicking each little movement, was an intoxicating feeling for the both of you. Derek was letting out little whimpers now as your moans got louder.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day.” He mutters out, his pace growing even faster. “God, you’re such a whore. Fucking your boss like this. Bet you do this everywhere you’ve worked.” 

His thrusts start to falter, the harshness rising in intensity as you ground your ass against him harder. Derek pulled you away from the counter roughly and reached around you, stroking your heat. You started grasping at nothing, your fingers curling on the cold marble surface as your back arched. Without warning, Derek hit a spot inside you that had you yelling, your screams and chants of his name being heard as you finally came. Both of you could feel your hole clenching hard around Derek’s length as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“You’re gonna make me cum, baby.” Derek slurred as his body stuttered.

Your release covered Derek’s hand as his hips stilled, pumping hot ropes of cum inside of you. He only moved a little bit as he hits his peak, just to feel his own cum being pushed deeper into you. You both stay still after a few moments, catching your breath and coming down from your simultaneous orgasms. Derek stayed inside of you for longer than you expected, causing you to finally look back at him, eyebrows raised. He smirks back at you, rubbing his hands soothingly along your waist again.

“What? I like being inside you.” He slaps your ass playfully as he pulls out, both of you moaning at the loss as his release and lube run down your legs and drip onto the tiles below.

You turn around to face him for the first time in a while and look at one another. Derek brings his hand up to your chin for the second time that night, tenderly running his thumb along your lips as you maintain eye contact. He glanced at your lips before pressing them together, the softest he’d done all night, contrasting almost every move he’d made since you arrived at his place. Despite being taken by surprise at his softness, you kiss back eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck as his other hand grips your hip. He pulls away and looks at you, an indescribable look in his eyes before smiling. He pulls away and walks over to the Jura machine, just beside you, and starts the coffee maker with the press of a button. He grabs two coffee mugs from the cupboard above you and places them down before glancing at you.

“Look like you need something to wake you up.” He turns to smirk at you for the millionth time that night, and definitely not the last time.

“Two sugars?” He inquires, holding up two fingers.

You smile back, turning your body towards him to the best of your ability, your legs shaking. “Two sugars.”

I have a little one-shot for this AU (?) planned, so keep an eye out because I'm pretty excited about it!

Masterlist Link

Divider: saradika and saradika-graphics on tumblr

Gif: mockingjaysnakes

[inkmonster21]

I have a request for Noa. Where human reader has been with Eagle Clan for a while. And when a male echo comes and stays for a bit, the reader gets close to him, and Noa doesn't like it. But the reader is only doing it because she thinks Noa wouldn't like a human. But Noa confesses to the reader that he does like her.

I hope that wasn't complicated and it makes sense. 😌

🤣This… I enjoyed this a lot 🤍 thank you for your request! I hope I met your expectations!

AN: my dyslexic ass just reread the request and I totally see where I missed HUMAN MALE and not ape male. My bad y’all! 🥲

~

I Can Do Anything Better Than He Can

Noa x human!reader!

~o0o~

You had travelled along side Mae on the journey to find the divice that could help humans speak again. Help us communicate with others around the fallen world ran by the apes. A lifetime of indoctrination had shaped your perception of apes. You had been taught to fear them, to see them as the invaders who had taken over what once belonged to humans. The idea of understanding or even coexisting with them was a foreign and unwelcome concept in your mind.

Or so you thought.

When the dam exploded and the water rushed in, Mae life you to fend for yourself. Your escape from the flooding vault was a harrowing ordeal, the water rushing in and threatening to consume you. In the chaotic moment, you slipped from the hold you had, falling into the churning depths below, seemingly destined to perish. But then, like an unexpected lifeline, a strong hand grasped your own, pulling you upwards and away from the dangerous current. It was Noa, his grip steady and sure, who had saved you from certain drowning. “I have you.” You still remember his words. No doubt about them.

As you sit alone in your hut, the reality of your current situation sinks in. The very concepts of wrong and right have been turned on their head. Everything you were taught, the doctrines of fearing and hating the apes, seem foreign now. You are now living amongst them, coexisting and interacting with them every day. The realization is both liberating and confusing, a swirling mix of emotions that leaves you questioning everything you once believed to be true.

These creatures, the very beings you had been taught to fear and distrust, have shown nothing but care and kindness towards you. The realization leaves you with a sense of unease, a nagging sensation that everything you had been taught was a lie.

Time had passed, and your life within the eagle clan had become a comfortable and familiar routine. The elders treated you with respect, recognizing your intelligence and resourcefulness. Meanwhile, the younger members of the clan were drawn to your human ways, finding joy in the playful games and activities you brought to their lives. You had found a place for yourself among them, your presence accepted with openness and curiosity.

Noa observes from a distance as you interact with the young apes, a soft smile on his face. There's a gentle affection in his gaze as he takes in the sight of you laughing and playing with the children of his kind. He watches the way you engage with them, effortlessly switching between human and ape gestures and mannerisms. It's a sight that fills him with a mixture of warmth and wonder.

In the countless interactions he had with you, Noa discovered that he was beginning to distinguish your individuality from the collective whole of human society. Your openness and willingness to share your knowledge and experiences intrigued him, sparking a deeper fascination. He found himself not just interested in the history and culture of humans, but more specifically, in the intricacies of you as a person. He longed to understand the nuances of your thoughts, feelings, and perspectives in ways that extended beyond the general human experience. This new fascination both excited and puzzled him.

“You are staring… again.” Anaya teases Noa as they sit together, their duties done for the day. Noa snaps out of his thoughts, realizing that he's been caught once again staring at you. He looks away, a hint of embarrassment in his eyes. "I was not staring… I am watching," he mutters, defensively.

Anaya shoots him a knowing smile, a sly glimmer in her eyes. "Oh, just… watching, hm?" she replies, her tone playful. "You do that lot." Noa huffs, “Echo is here to help teach. I watch. I learn.” Anaya laughs, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You tell yourself that, Noa," he teases, clearly not buying his excuse. "We both know… something more than just watching and learning.”

Noa struggles to deny the truth, his efforts to repress his feelings proving futile. No matter how much he tries to push them aside, they keep returning with a constant insistence. Every time he looks at you, every time he hears your laughter, the feelings only grow stronger and more intense.

You make a swift escape from the energetic young apes, seeking shelter behind Noa. You giggle, breathless and flushed, your body pressed lightly against his as you use him as a shield. “Help me.” You beg Noa.

The young apes follow you with quick steps, their playful energy undiminished. They spot you behind Noa, their eyes lighting up with excitement as they close the distance. Noa stands his ground, attempting to block the young ones from reaching you. Noa grins at the young apes, his tone playful yet authoritative. "Go on," he says, coaxing the young ones to leave you be. "You have all played with her all evening…Let her rest." The young apes begrudgingly obey his words, their disappointment at their game being cut short obvious, though they reluctantly disperse, off to find other mischief.

You come to sit beside Noa. Resting your head on his shoulder. “Thanks.” You say with a laugh. “They’ve had me running everywhere!” Noa chuckles softly, your head resting on his shoulder sending a surge of warmth through him. "I saw," he responds with a smirk. "Young ones have a lot of energy. Could hear you running around from here."

As Soona takes her seat next to Noa, you reluctantly remove your head from his shoulder, feeling a pang of disappointment as you do. Over the seasons, your feelings for Noa have grown into a full-blown crush. Every moment with him is both thrilling and agonizing, as you struggle to keep your emotions reigned in. But you were not blind, he had such a beautiful bond with Soona. They were sure to find their way to each other one way or another. You wouldn’t stand in the way of that. You couldn't for Noa would not have a human as a mate, as the clan's mother. It was not right.

The sun starts to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the village. The air is filled with the hustle and bustle of the clan preparing for the evening. With a final glance at Noa, Anaya, and Soona, you rise from your seat. "I should head back to my hut. I'll see you tomorrow."

Noa's gaze follows you as you walk away, disappearing into the small hut he spent countless days constructing to ensure your comfort. He lets out a soft sigh, a mixture of resignation and longing etched across his features. The thought of spending his nights in that very hut, with you, is a tempting fantasy that he can't quite shake off.

“Echo is going hunting… with Khan tomorrow,” Soona says as she watches her friend's eyes stuck on your hut. Both Anaya and Soona could tell Noa felt something for you.

Noa's gaze is still fixed on your hut as Soona's words reach his ears. He turns to face her, a hint of surprise in his expression. "Hunting... with Khan?" he echoes, his mind momentarily distracted from his thoughts. Anaya and Soona share a knowing look, their observant eyes picking up on the subtle indicators of Noa's feelings without him even realizing.

Noa's eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of confusion and perhaps the slightest hint of jealousy in his gaze. "Why would she go hunting with Khan?" he wonders aloud. "She's always hunts with me..." Anaya and Soona exchange a glance, both silently recognizing Noa's unspoken emotions for you. If they could only get him to stop being so stubborn.

It's Anaya who breaks the silence, her voice gentle but pointed. "Perhaps Echo wants a change of pace," he suggests, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Maybe wanted to spend time with other apes… not just Noa.”

Noa lets out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes at the suggestion. He retorts, his tone a mix of annoyance and growing suspicion. "She knows all of the clan. There's not an ape who does not enjoy her company…Why would she want to hunt with Khan…of all apes?"

Anaya smirks, “Noa is jealous.” He is quickly smacked by Soona with a disappointed glare. "Jealous?" Noa scoffs, attempting to backtrack, his denial not as convincing as he'd like. "not jealous... I do not understand why Echo… would choose to go hunting with Khan… instead of me." Khan, while a decent hunter, paled in comparison to Noa's own skills. Noa knew, deep down, that he could provide you with everything Khan couldn't. The realization only serves to fuel his growing jealousy.

You step out of your hut, greeting the morning with a weary smile. The dawn light filters through the trees, casting a faint glow on your face. A sense of anticipation mixes with exhaustion in your expression, the upcoming hunting trip adding to your weariness but also sparking a hint of excitement.

You make your way through the village, exchanging warm greetings with the apes you pass along the way. As you approach Dar, you come to a stop, a friendly smile on your face. "Good morning, Dar," you say, your voice still tinged with a hint of sleepiness. Dar, as usual, embarrasses you with the fond gesture, her forehead touching yours in a warm greeting. Despite the early hour and your half-awake state, you can't help but smile at her affection.

As you look around the area, a hint of disappointment crosses your features when you don't spot Noa among the apes. You had hoped to catch a glimpse of him before departing on the hunting trip, but it seems he's nowhere to be found.

You turn your gaze to Dar, curiosity and a hint of disappointment in your voice. "Where is Noa?" Dar cocks her head to the side, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "Noa?" she muses. "He was here earlier… was packing for trip.” Your brows furrow but brush it off just as quickly.

You head towards the horses, your mind still preoccupied with thoughts of where Noa might be. As you approach, you spot Khan, diligently preparing his own horse for the upcoming hunting trip.

“Almost ready?”

Khan looks up from what he's doing, a confident smile on his lips. "Almost ready," he responds, his tone assured. "Just a few… adjustments.” He pats the side of the horse, his hand gently grazing its neck in a soothing gesture.

Khan had always been kind to you, a friendly presence in the clan. He would often bring small collections of berries to you and offer his help with gentle gestures. In many ways, he was a good ape, and you found yourself drawn to his affable demeanor. But deep down, you knew that your heart longed for Noa, and as much as you wanted to move on, it wasn't as easy as flipping a switch.

As you're about to mount Khan's horse and feel his touch on your lower back, a familiar voice cuts through the air, making you pause. You turn around to find Noa, sitting atop his horse and looking at you both with a steady gaze. "Care if I join?" he asks, a determined, almost smug expression on his face.

You smile at him and walk a step close to him. Simply drawn to his form. “Noa!”

Noa smiles back at you, his eyes locking onto your form as you move slightly closer to him. Your voice, saying his name, ignites a flicker of warmth within him.

Khan, his expression neutral, considers Noa's request. "Why do you want to come?" he asks, a hint of suspicion in his tone. The two had never been close, simply acquaintances. Noa's gaze is firm as he locks eyes with Khan, his voice carrying a hint of bitter determination. "As the leader… it's my duty to provide for the clan," he responds, emphasizing his role and responsibility.

Khan, choosing not to test Noa's leadership, simply nods in acknowledgment. He extends his hand towards you, silently offering to help you mount his horse. Noa's hand quickly finds your arm, pulling you towards his horse with a firm but gentle grip. "Ride with me," he states, his voice matter-of-fact. He steadies you as you find your balance on the shared saddle, a silent act of declaration.

Riding together wasn't an unusual sight in the clan, but there was something different about this time. There was a sense of forcefulness in Noa's actions, as if he was intentionally asserting his presence, making it clear that he was there, right behind you. As to where Khan was merely feet away, alone, on his horse.

Khan dismounts from his horse and crouches down to observe the tracks on the ground. He carefully studies the marks left behind, his eyes focused and analytical. You slide off Noa's horse and move closer to Khan, crouching down to observe the tracks that have caught his attention. Pointing forward towards the lush forest, you indicate the direction you believe the prints lead to. "This way," you suggest, your voice certain and sure.

Noa, his leadership instincts in full display, takes the lead without a word, striding ahead with an air of determination. He doesn't need to speak; his body language and actions alone convey his confidence and authority. Khan, watching from behind, cannot help but silently scoff at Noa's behavior. It's clear to him that Noa is attempting to assert his dominance, trying to outshine Khan in every possible way.

Khan, determined not to be overshadowed by Noa, moves to walk alongside him, maintaining a similar stance and speed. He doesn't say anything, but his body language indicates that he refuses to be dominated or intimidated.

You trail slightly behind Noa and Khan, your attention solely focused on the tracks ahead of you. You move with purpose, your eyes fixed on the ground beneath you, following the trail that leads deeper into the lush forest. You follow the trail in silence, Noa and Khan side by side. The forest is alive with the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds.

Suddenly, a faint sound, a squeal, reaches your ears. It's soft, distant, but undeniably out of place. Noa's ears twitch, expression furrowing in concentration as he picks up on the noise too.

All three of you freeze, your focus shifting to the bushes that had rustled. Noa's sharp eyes zero in on the movement, and he points, a tense whisper breaking the silence. "There!" Khan and Noa immediately sprint through the trees, their trained hunter instincts kicked into gear. They move with incredible speed, their bodies weaving through the forest with ease. The chase is on.

You reach Noa and Khan, your breath slightly labored, just in time to see the two warriors cornering a wild, enraged bore. Its tusks are blood-stained and its eyes burn with fury. The beast is trapped, but it isn't giving up without a fight.

Khan strikes the first blow, his determination to prove himself driving his actions. However, his effort is met with a swift and brutal response from the hog. It charges at him with a ferocious speed, easily brushing off his spear attack as if it was mere child's play.

As Khan cries out in pain and the wild hog continues its relentless attack, you instinctively move forwards to aiding him. However, Noa swiftly grabs your arm, preventing you from getting closer. Noa bides his time, waiting for the right moment, before springing into action to assist Khan. He cautiously approaches the fight, assessing the situation and finding the perfect opening to join the battle.

Noa waits until the boar raises up on its hind legs, preparing to plunge its tusks into Khan. Then, with a swift and fearless move, he throws his spear, aiming it perfectly into the beast. The spear pierces the boar's flesh, and the two start to fight, a fierce struggle unfolding between Noa and the wild animal.

While Khan had been easily overpowered by the boar, Noa was a different story. His strength and agility were much greater, and he managed to stay on top of the hog, struggling fiercely with the enraged beast. Noa, being the skilled hunter that he was, quickly put an end to the animal's suffering. He used his superior skill and strength to overpower and subdue the boar, bringing the fight to a swift conclusion.

Noa, his pride inflated after his successful defeat of the boar, turns around, expecting to find you watching him with admiration and respect. Instead, he sees you by Khan's side, inspecting his injuries with concern. The sight of you tending to the wounded ape triggers a pang of jealousy in Noa.

Khan sits on the forest floor, his expression a mixture of shock and anger. Had his leader really just allowed him to be mangled on purpose? He meets Noa's gaze with an intensity that borders on hostility. The two males lock eyes, the tension palpable between them.

You glance nervously between the two apes, your eyes darting back and forth as the tension between them builds. The air is thick with animosity, and you can feel the hostile energy radiating from both Noa and Khan.

Khan's words are sharp and accusatory as he looks directly at Noa. "You should have helped." The accusation hangs in the air, and you can feel the tension grow even thicker. Noa bristles at the comment, his expression clouding with irritation. Noa, his pride wounded by Khan's accusation, responds with a biting retort. "You could have more hunting skills," he shoots back, his tone laced with sarcasm. The two apes are locked in a battle of wits and male egos now.

You step forward and raise your hands in a gesture of peace, trying to diffuse the growing tension. "Okay, let's just all calm down," you say, your voice steady and calming. You turn to Noa, confusion evident in your eyes, wondering why he's behaving this way. His actions are so unlike him, and it concerns you deeply.

You assist Khan in getting back onto his horse, your touch gentle and supportive. Meanwhile, Noa remains behind, diligently tying the dead bore to the horse to transport it back to the clan. He's eager for the praises he expects to receive from the clan. Tries to push forward a civil expression. However, his emotions betray him and a deeper feeling - jealousy, fueled by his possessive and ego-driven behavior plants in his chest.

You assist Khan in getting back to his horse, your touch gentle and supportive. Meanwhile, Noa remains behind, diligently tying the dead bore to the horse to transport it back to the clan. He's likely eager for the praises he expects to receive from the clan mates. However, his expression betrays a deeper feeling - jealousy, fueled by his possessive and ego-driven behavior.

You look at Khan with concerned eyes, a worried furrow in your brow. "Are you sure you can make it back on your own?" you ask, clearly concerned for his well-being. Khan looks past you, his gaze lingering on Noa for a moment, likely noticing the displeasure on his face. He nods, responding to your query with a determined tone. "Yes… I will make it… it is not far." Despite his injury, Khan seems confident that he can make it back to the clan on his own.

You turn to face Noa, your eyes meeting his in a silent exchange. Khan, still suffering from his injury, rides off slowly and gingerly holds his wound. The air is filled with an uncomfortable silence. Noa expertly tightens the latch on the bore, ensuring it's secure and won't fall off during the journey back to the clan. His hands work with precision, and he seems focused on the task at hand, avoiding your gaze.

You stand behind Noa, your presence silent but palpable. When he turns to see you there, he huffs in annoyance. "You're still here." Your reply is brief and puzzled. "Yeah?" Noa's shoulders hitch as he speaks, his chest heaving with an undertone of jealousy. "Thought you would go back to the clan... with Khan," he reiterates, a hint of possessiveness in his voice.

You're surprised by Noa's possessive and jealous tone. This isn't the first time you've done things with Khan, but it is the first time Noa has witnessed it. You shake your head softly, your expression a mix of confusion and frustration. You respond with a hint of sarcasm and a raise of your brow. "Am I not allowed to have other friends, Noa?" Your irritation is evident as you scoffs at his behavior, challenging his possessive attitude.

Noa's gaze drops to the ground, and he mutters under his breath, sounding bitter and resentful. "Friends..." He clearly has doubts about the nature of your relationship with Khan.

You're absolutely stunned by Noa's bitter words and the tone he's using. You ask in a bewildered tone, "What are you talking about?" You're completely taken aback by his sudden display of jealousy and possessiveness. Noa's voice is firm as he turns to face you fully, his eyes locked on yours. "You and Khan...are not good for… mates," he asserts, his tone filled with possessiveness. "He can not protect you…He can not provide what you need to survive…" His words hang in the air, each one dripping with jealousy and resentment.

You're puzzled by his words and his intense focus on your relationship with Khan. Why did Noa care about who you chose as your mate? The possessive and jealous behavior was quite unexpected and out of character. It left you wondering what was really going on inside his head.

You decide to test him, playing along with the idea. "Why not?" you say with a hint of confidence. "He seems like a good choice." Your words are meant to provoke a reaction from Noa, to see if he's truly as possessive and jealous as he appears to be.

Noa's eyes burn brighter with intense jealousy, his words spilling out in a venomous tone. "Khan is weak...can not do everything...I can do." His stance is rigid, his pride wounded by the idea of you choosing anyone other than him. You meet his gaze, your expression filled with a mix of confusion and skepticism. "You?" you ask, your tone almost challenging.

Noa's demeanor is defensive, his jealousy and possessiveness bubbling just beneath the surface. He takes a step closer to you, his chest heaving with each breath. Noa, his anger and jealousy reaching a boiling point, yells out confidently, "I can do anything better than he can." He practically spits the words, clearly consumed by his intense feelings of possessiveness and superiority.

You can't help but feel amused as a smile slowly spreads across your face. Seeing Noa all worked up and jealous over the idea of you being with someone else was oddly entertaining. You fix your gaze on him, a hint of amusement in your eyes. "Noa?" you ask with a smirk, "are you jealous?" Your question hangs in the air, and Noa hesitates for a moment before responding, trying to mask his true feelings, but failing miserably. Your laughter breaks the tense silence. "Well looks like Anaya was right," you say, a hint of mockery in your voice. Noa's reaction to your words confirms your suspicions, and you're enjoying every second of it.

Noa's expression quickly changes from anger to surprise as you mention his friend Anaya. "Anaya?" he parrots, his tone laced with surprise and disbelief. You continue, saying that Anaya had warned you about him getting jealous, but you hadn't believed it. Noa's confidence wavers as he processes this new information, his jealousy now exposed.

Noa's shoulders sag, clearly embarrassed that his jealousy is out in the open now. He huffs, his expression a mix of irritation and vulnerability. After a moment, he looks at you, his eyes betraying the truth. "Fine, I'm jealous. Happy now?" Noa's tone is laced with a hint of defeat, his pride taking a hit.

You step closer to Noa, your touch gentle as you grab onto his arm. Your voice is softer, no longer teasing. "You shouldn't be," you say, looking into his eyes with a hint of kindness. Noa's gaze drifts away, avoiding yours as he asks, "Why?" His voice is laced with vulnerability and a hint of self-doubt. He's struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, and your words and actions have stirred something within him.

Noa's eyes meet yours as you gently turn his face back towards you. The words you utter, "Because, I like you, Noa," hang in the air, and you can see a mixture of surprise and relief wash over his features. His jealousy seems to melt away, replaced by a softness and vulnerability that was previously hidden.

Noa's eyes widen in surprise as he asks, "What?" He had been so blinded by his jealousy and possessiveness that he hadn't expected to hear those words from you. It was as if his mind was trying to process the reality of your admission. “Was I not clear enough? Who else do I lean on during dinner? Who else do I spend time with?"

Noa's expression turns from shock to a mixture of realization and mild embarrassment. ou can practically see the pieces coming together in his mind. Yes, he had been blind to your actions, but now they were so obvious. The subtle cues, the time spent together - all signs pointing towards your affection for him.

Noa sees the truth in your eyes, the admission of your feelings. "You like… me..." he says softly, his voice filled with disbelief and a hint of relief. The realization slowly settles in, and a mixture of emotions washes over him. There's a hint of surprise, a hint of relief, and above all, a growing affection. He looks at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign that this was all just a cruel joke. But he finds none. You genuinely like him, and the thought makes his heart race. You shrug, “I thought you’d never find an echo… suitable. I figured Soona would be your mate.”

Noa's eyes widen at your words, the mention of Soona bringing back a rush of memories. "Soona?" he asks, his voice tinged with surprise. He'd had a great bond with Soona but had never considered her as a potential mate. More as a sibling.

As his emotions at the surface, he quickly reached for you. He pulls you into his arms, and your foreheads touch in a gesture of deep connection. It's a moment filled with tenderness and intensity as he holds you close, the weight of his affection and relief pouring out through this intimate embrace.

Noa's resolve solidifies, and his grip on you tightens. The thought of you being his, and the whole clan knowing, gives him a sense of possessive pride.

[eldritch-spouse]

Is it safe to assume that Saudramar is the kind of guy that secretly stares at bathing humans?

[Absolutely, yes. Fem reader. No outright action but lots of fantasizing.]

He can't help it.

Most protectors deployed to the surface have a rather large group of humans assigned to them, kept under their wing, organized. Especially in areas of conflict, instability and susceptibility to demonic presences.

Saudramar, as the poster boy of siadar protection forces, has been entrusted with a considerable slice of humans, a group comprised of notable individuals and the most apt specimen who must not suffer any kind of grievous harm.

Is this quite a lot of responsibility? Yes. Does he feel bothered by the fact? No.

Other things bother him. Bigger matters, those of which Saudramar is powerless to change.

But, in moments such as these, he can almost accept his current circumstances, give into them, forget all that ails his soul.

It had been a troublesome night, to say the least. The Traitor's forces are ruthless yet cautious, a blend of patience and bloodlust making them proficient hunters in the cold shadow of night, where they see miles ahead and humans are about as blind as it gets. In those hours, there are only few forces that can help, the Protector and his warrior celestials.

Even still, with such a large group of humans, his numbers are few. The higher had to distance his angels into very specific areas, while he himself would roam from point to point, snatching stragglers and the most powerful of fiends that would dare invade his territory.

His warriors were left damaged and sore, while he was soaked in the dried blood of the hellish.

Saudramar tended to his deflated angels and reminded them, once more, that no lesser perished under their watchful eyes. And that is why they're the peak of their kind.

Instead of resting however, the siadar is now standing nearby while the humans begin their daily routines, bathing themselves.

Just to be sure that the invading forces wouldn't try to attack lessers in yet another extremely vulnerable moment, he would lie to himself.

Yeah. As if.

He may have four eyes, but only one needs to deviate from the perimeter for Saudramar to get the view he's been craving.

Lessers. Bare as they day they'd been born, as the day the very first were created.

This group's routine is peculiar. The adults first prepare meals for their younglings, rushing to bathe while their offspring feeds and plays in the care of guardians.

This leaves Saudramar staring at figures he wishes were less appealing.

Frankly, he shouldn't react like this.

He's seen thousands upon thousands of lessers, he saw the prints and manuals and many of the intricacies your species sports. And yet, no matter how many times they appear before him, Saudramar drools at their soft flesh, their molding skin, the delicious curves of their legs and glistening chests. Even their hair, something he'd previously find kind of unpleasant on creations, it draws him in.

Humanity is temptation itself. It's a dirty, lasciviously designed project constantly taunting him with its inherent carnality. And the worst part is that they themselves don't realize how seductive they are. Don't know they evoke such lusts in him. In more than a few, but especially him. Saudramar wants, oh he wants, he wants to grab a handful and lavish them from top to bottom, he wants them to beg at his feet for a chance to sample his malehood, he wants these lessers all but in heat, squealing and melting around him, broken by the pleasure only someone who loves them enough to protect them can offer.

His eyelids twitch erratically when droplets of water cascade down the back of a female he had eyed a bit more than the others lately. She arches her body and swings her soaked hair back, unknowingly lifting her leg in a way that has him letting out a tense hiss.

Torture yet irresistible. This view is his reward for a job well done.

And Saudramar continues to lie to himself, when he says that he's content with this. That he doesn't want more, that he can curb his own urges.

How many times hasn't he thought about it? Considered it.

How easy wouldn't it be to grab one and abscond to a deserted location. Like you, you always smile so sweetly at him, always work so hard to please, he enjoys your offerings the most too. Yet, just once, Saudramar wishes you'd offer him your body, and he could pretend to not know it's forbidden. He could keep it a secret, and so could you.

He can't forgive himself for the images of cleaning his own seed off the apex of your thighs just so no one would suspect how close you are to your Protector.

He should relax, the last thing Saudramar wants is to tent his cloth right now.

" My Lord... "

Oh for the sake of his sanity just leave, will you?

He thinks of the bane of his existence and you manifest before him like some blasted curse.

" Lesser. "

Your sweet little doe eyes gaze at his form, reverent yet completely at ease. Locks of wet hair cling to your pretty face, droplets racing down the peaks of your tits and crawling into the space between your supple thighs he'd like to occupy. You make him so disgustingly libidinous Saudramar nearly fumes.

" Please come join us! "

He actually physically flinches.

He's most definitely not hearing right. His silence makes you visibly nervous.

" ... Speak once more. "

" I- You're covered in... We would like to help clean you my higher, as thanks. "

Saudramar is trapped in a dream. Some foul force has him in the throes of vivid hallucination. This cannot be real.

Again, the lack of response has you squirming.

" We know it's not a standard offering, my Lord, and forgive us if we are overstepping our- "

" I accept. "

You blink several times. " Wh- You do? Wonderful! Please, come with me! "

This is a terrible idea, he will regret this later. But in the moment, all Saudramar feels is the tingling warmth of anticipation as he settles upon the mildly warm water your kin is using.

Other humans bow and scatter, making space for his footfalls upon the body of water that is inevitably displaced by his sheer mass. Unfortunately, as Saudramar removes his sparse cloths to sit properly, the water turns murky with the natural soot of demonic blood. This location will be unsuitable for bathing now.

The Protector subtly schemes his lessers, wondering wantonly if any dare cast their gaze upon his brilliant form.

Sure enough, many do. He catches the flickering gazes of males and females settle on his figure, both the familiar and unfamiliar parts of him. Saudramar catches a few daring glances escape to the water, where his pelvis is blurred. Beyond his slit, there's little else to see of course, but Saudramar is aware humans wonder.

He wishes he could show you all.

As is, the higher tries to remain calm at the sight of his lessers approaching him, still bare and wet, all warm smiles and murmured praises when those soft hands rinse and stroke at him. Delicious.

Saudramar tilts his head back and relaxes, legs parting somewhat in the water as he sighs a little too shakily to come off as natural. Fortunately, his debauched reactions are interpreted as no more than a product of tiredness.

" Look, he overwhelms himself for us... "

He hears one of them sadly exclaim.

" So dedicated! So loving! "

" We should offer this service every morning. "

He parts his mouth briefly, a quiet shudder coursing his figure when two pairs of hands work on his thighs.

Saudramar knows these humans would never dare touch him in intimate zones, but he can still thrill himself with the false anticipation that perhaps those hands will climb a bit closer every time.

He's bold enough to pluck you from his sides and place you over his chest wordlessly, watching you squeak in shock but quickly adapt, getting to work on the dried blood around his neck.

He pretends he can't feel your plump ass on his skin, that your tender touch isn't making his lowermost eyes lid in satisfaction, that he can't see your chest shift from up close.

One of the Protector's arms reaches beneath his leg and inserts two fingers into his own slit.

It's the only way to make sure his cock won't spring out at this point.

[heretherebedork]

I understand your feelings about the narrative stuff going on with Jack vs. Joke, but I just read a post from @poetry-protest-pornography commenting on the same issue ("Jack was always going to forgive Joke." is in bold on top, can't link to it in an ask) and I rather agree with their take on it- Jack habitually lashes out yet comes around later. Also, did you see Petty's theory that J&J is actually a sneaky retelling of "Journey to the West"? A ton of stuff makes way more sense in that light :)

I did see both of those posts and my honest answer doesn't change.

Because, yes, sure, there was always going to be reconciliation. I never really doubted that.

But the narrative that Joke's trauma doesn't matter is still going to bother me. Yes, Jack is going to forgive Joke and would have tried to find him again regardless.

But that doesn't change that the show is specifically downplaying Joke's habit of self-blame, including basically turning it into a joke with Grandma telling him he's made too many mistakes and to forgive himself.

Because his inability to forgive himself is never taken seriously by the narrative. The show takes his pain seriously at times but it's always because he was wrong and deserves pain and not because he blames himself for things that couldn't possibly be just his fault.

The show lets Jack forgive Save with a single apology and then has them plan a heist together instantly while Joke is entirely absent from the narrative for an extended period of time.

What was Jack's plan if Joke hadn't been kidnapped by Boss? How was he going to forgive him after Joke did everything he could to follow the last thing Jack had said?

And now the set up with the game leaves us with no room for the emotional reconciliation because we've got a hangman game going with bombs and that leaves very little room for deep emotional intricacies and for us to see Jack realize that Joke is also struggling with things besides being murdered.

How many quiet moments will we get in the next episode?

I mean, frankly, my criticism of the narrative goes beyond that and starts to go into 'why wasn't Save a bigger part of the show if he was going to be so important at the end' but if we get into that... let's just not.

Anyway, I do see both their points but I also think that the flaws with the narrative and this specific aspect of the narrative go much deeper than that.

Honestly, despite everything, I was so deeply hoping for a quiet resolution to their issues, for an actual conversation, for something where we got to see that Jack saw Joke's issues and could try to work on his own lashing out so he could push Joke to grow as well.

But nope.

I wanted Jack to have to chase after Joke because he left because of what Jack said. I wanted the emotional reunion to be about them. But now Jack is racing to save Joke's life and of course he's going to call him his boyfriend but it's going to utterly remove so much of the depth of Joke's possible responses and conversations and I am just... whatever. Whatever.

It's not a bad show. I'm enjoying parts of it.

But 'Jack planned on forgiving Joke regardless' is not the aspect of the narrative I have the most issue with.

[babyblue711]

Devotion

Osferth (The Last Kingdom) x Reader - Part 1 Summary: You are a Dane living in Rumcofa. After the untimely passing of your parents, you are now the sole supporter of your two younger siblings. Uhtred and his men have taken your family under their wing and you beg Osferth to teach you to use a sword to defend your family, an unusual request for a young woman. Osferth, being unable to deny you anything, agrees and your passion for him grows.   Words: 5.9K

Chapter Warnings: NSFW, Death and parent loss, children rearing children, mentions of virginity, mentions of battle, alcohol consumption A/N: At last, I apologize for the delay with this. This story is going to be slightly different than my other, smut heavy fics as it is definitely a SLOWBURN (but it'll be worth the wait, I promise). This first Part sets up the reader and her relationship with Uhtred's men and takes place at the beginning of Season 5. It won't follow every event from the season specifically, I've chosen what I wanted to keep as I went along. Thank you to my incredible beta reader, @arcielee, as always for her expertise. I swear she knows all.

Prologue

“Please, Osferth?” you plead, your voice carrying a tremor of desperation as you stare at him from across the campfire. Your eyes bore into his, seeking something within his big, blue gaze.

Osferth studies your face, a frown forming in between his eyebrows. He lowers his gaze and studies the fire, the crackling flames cast an orange glow upon his face as he contemplates your unusual request. 

The recent wave of Dane raids had left your town vulnerable as the most battle-worthy men were constantly away from home, defending the realm for one lord or another. They were spread too thin and those left behind were exposed and defenseless. You are tired of living in fear of the next raid and determined to do something to protect your home and younger brother and sister. No longer did you want to simply hide and cower from fright. 

“Please,” you whisper, barely daring to breathe. “Teach me how to use a sword. Show me how to fight so I may protect my family.”

Osferth sighs as he watches the flames of the fire. Never had a young woman asked him to teach her how to use a blade before. 

"Very well, my lady," he concedes, though his countenance still seems reluctant. 

"I shall instruct you."

“On your feet, my lady. I know you can do better than this,” Osferth’s soft but firm voice rings out over the practice yard as you struggle to rise from the dirt, having been knocked down yet again.

“You need to be quick and light on your feet, prepared to spring into action at any moment,” Osferth advises yet again, a note of frustration in his voice, and you let out an aggravated huff.

You were trying, you really were. Your right arm aches from the weight of the sword, even though it was smaller and lighter than the weapons the men wielded. Your back and left shoulder throbs from the strain of holding up your heavy wooden shield. When you had initially asked Osferth to teach you to use a sword, you hadn’t quite comprehended the physical toll it would take. When you lay in your bed each night after training, your whole body feels exhausted and sore as if it had been beaten. 

Osferth has been diligent in his instruction but equally tireless. When he first put a sword in your hand, one intended for a man as that was all that was available at the time, he quickly realized you could barely lift it, let alone give it a swing. He compromised by having you use a child’s wooden sword so you could “get the feel of it” before finding you a smaller one of steel that was more manageable for someone of your size. 

But further recognizing that your physical strength still needed substantial improvement before delving into the intricacies of swordplay, he had started your training with a rigorous workout routine. For a few weeks now, he had made you lift buckets of water, carry piles of wood uphill, sprint across the training grounds, and, in time, practice sparring as you were doing now.

Hefting your shield you turn to face Osferth again and assume the defensive position he had taught you. Finan, the Irishman, watches you from the sideline, bemused. At first, he and Sihtric thought Osferth was wasting his time on you. But as they witnessed your determination and subsequent improvement first-hand, they joined you in your workout and occasionally watched you spar with Osferth, calling out advice and encouragement when they could. 

“Wait, Osferth, I have an idea,” Finan says abruptly as Osferth easily knocks you off balance again without even trying. Finan walks over to you, a frown on his bearded face, his dark eyes accessing your shield arm. Suddenly, he reaches out and removes your shield. 

“This is too cumbersome and heavy for you, it’s only servin’ to slow you down,” he says with his familiar Irish lilt. “Your advantage is going to have to be your speed and quickness,” he turns and speaks directly to Osferth. “She won’t be able to catch a swing from a bloody Dane on that shield anyway. It would only break her arm.”

Relieved of the shield, you do feel much lighter, but now exposed to attacks.

Finan looks back at you as he retreats from the training yard. “Grasp the hilt with both hands and let’s see how you do now,” he nods encouragingly.

Following his instruction, you tighten your grip on the sword with newfound enthusiasm and launch an attack on Osferth. Ever the superior swordsman, he catches your first swing on his shield easily, but almost misses the second, not anticipating your speed. You gain confidence as you continue to swing, forcing Osferth to defend himself. Two handed, your swings are much more powerful than when you were only using one and you feel like you have better control. 

Osferth allows your assault to continue for a few more minutes and you quickly realize his strategy a moment too late. Your relentless attack has quickly tired your arms and you almost duck too slowly when he swings back. You dodge his arching blow and jump out of arm's reach. Since you no longer have a shield to block attacks, you have to rely on your quick feet to evade his counterattacks, but you’ve exhausted yourself attacking him first. 

You realize he’s taught you yet another important lesson. After a few more moments exchanging blows and deftly avoiding Osferth’s purposefully slow strikes, he calls an end to your practice session. For the first time, you feel like you have managed to genuinely spar. 

“Much better!” Finan yells from the sidelines, “I can’t wait to watch you properly kick Baby Monk’s arse soon!” His laugh booms across the training square and he gives you a wink before turning and strolling away. You can’t help but chuckle in response and Osferth catches your eye, pressing his lips together in a shy smile. 

“Come on, you two,” Finan shouts over his shoulder as he heads for the town square. “You don’t want to miss the festivities!”

“You did well today, my lady,” Osferth says quietly as you both return your swords and gear to the rack where the training materials are kept. A few townspeople mill about but most were already in the center of town, having begun the celebrations for Blood Month. 

 “Finan is right. I think we found a better technique for you,” he adds.

“I felt really good today,” you agree, “but I know I need a lot more practice.”

“All in good time, my lady, all in good time,” Osferth reassures you with a nod.

A cold breeze sweeps around you, welcoming the arrival of Blood Month, November. In honor of this month, commonfolk make offerings to the gods, typically by sacrificing their animals. You knew Osferth and Finan were on their way into town to meet up with Aethelstan, who has been tasked with slaying his first beast, considered a rite of passage from adolescence to manhood. The truth is though, he is a young man now and has been for some time, even without having to slay a beast to prove so, but only Uhtred refused to see him as such. 

You can feel the town start to stir with the excitement of the festivities. Under Uhtred’s leadership and guidance, Rumcofa prospers and flourishes, serving as a place where both Dane and Saxon can live together in harmony. It was one of the reasons your father had been drawn to Uhtred and had served him faithfully for many years; he thought it was to be a safe place to raise a family.

And it had been until tragedy had struck. Your father had been one of Uhtred’s best warriors and very skilled with a blade. But that didn’t stop him from falling from a poisoned arrow while chasing off raiders with Uhtred’s men near the same time the fever had taken your mother. At one and seven, you had suddenly found yourself as head of the family, responsible for caring for your home and raising your younger brother and sister.

As you trudge up the muddy lane back home, your mind drifts to your tasks ahead before you can join in on the celebrations and the weight of being the head of your family settles back on your shoulders, momentarily forgotten in the physical exertion of your training. 

Deep in thought, your fingers clasp the bronze Thor’s Hammer pendant of your necklace, one of the few material items that remained to you that had previously belonged to your father. You wish he could see you now and hope he would be proud of all that you were learning, of how you were valiantly trying to protect your family.

After their passing, Uhtred had personally come to your door to offer his condolences and so much more. So many questions had lingered since you had been so young. Would Uhtred turn you out of your home? Would he force you into marriage? How could you continue to care for your young siblings?

But you were pleasantly surprised by his soft tone and wide, gentle eyes. The brave face you were trying to maintain in front of him quickly crumbled and he held you as he cried and wiped your tears. He promised that you could remain safely in Rumcofa, under his protection, enabling you to stay in your family home and finish raising your siblings. He did not pressure you into marrying, moreover stating that any marriage would need his approval and that he would not allow just any man to marry you. 

The following few years had not always been easy but the small community had come together to help you in times of need and you could never repay them for their generosity. Your father had served with Sihtric, Finan, and Osferth and your families had been relatively close before their untimely deaths. You were overwhelmed with how quickly they took you under their wing.

It was because of Osferth that you now made a living as the local medicine woman. You had to admit though, the only reason you had shown curiosity in the art of healing was because of your girlhood crush on Osferth. It was a perfect excuse to spend more time with him. Although Osferth was only a few years older than you, at that time you were too young for him to give you any notice; if he was aware of your crush on him, he hid it well. 

After badgering him consistently when you were younger, he had taught you all he knew about the ways of healing and medicine. Those early days were filled with diligent study and hands-on practice, learning the delicate arts of setting bones, soothing fevers, and brewing potent remedies. 

Luckily, Rumcofa was in need of a healer and you remained consistently occupied, whether from fixing the local childrens’ playground mishaps or by patching up Uhtred’s men after skirmishes and you had come to enjoy your job and the value that you were able to provide to the townspeople. Osferth was always the first to praise your growing expertise and efficiency, which had now surpassed his own. Having known him since you were a young girl, you could see the look of pride on his face whenever you taught him something new.  Osferth’s mentorship had meant everything to you, and you always felt like you would be indebted to him for giving you a way to sustain your livelihood and carving out a valuable place for you in society. 

Sihtric and Finan had also become like surrogate uncles. Because of his growing family, Sihtric’s wife, Sigdeflaed, had plenty of clothes her children would outgrow and offer it to you as a hand-me-down for your growing siblings. And Finan’s wife, Ingrith, would often invite your small family over for dinner and she always packed leftovers to take home. But your familiarity with all three men was not just because they had served with your father, but also because of Aethelstan…

When you had been one and three, Uhtred had returned to Rumcofa after peacefully ensuring the succession of the Mercian throne with an extra person in tow; Aethelstan, the first trueborn son of the king and the child Uhtred had promised to raise as his own. Being more similar in age to this young newcomer, who was only two years younger, you had become Aethelstan’s first friend.  

At first, Aethelstan was a solemn boy, very shy and quiet. But under Uhtred’s care, you had witnessed his transformation into the tall, confident young man he was now, far surpassing your own height and strength. Uhtred had raised him to be a warrior and a warrior he was. 

But despite his prowess with a blade and upbringing in a predominantly male environment, Aethelstan remained incredibly tender-hearted and sweet. He had been your most steadfast companion after the passing of your parents. He had offered you comfort and a shoulder to cry on when the burden of raising your siblings and caring for your household began to take its toll. Despite being younger than you, he often offered advice and wisdom beyond his years. You would never be able to tell him how much you valued his support and friendship. 

You loved Finan’s booming laugh and Sihtric’s calm, quiet steadiness. During any downtime when Uhtred and his men were home, you’d always find Osferth huddled in a corner somewhere, reading The Holy Book. Although you had been raised a Dane, you’d often ask him to read you a few verses; his soft, warm voice was like a soothing song as he read to you and you enjoyed it immensely. He tolerated your endless questions about the intricacies of The Holy Book and you were always fascinated by his interpretation. He never seemed to tire of your boundless curiosity. 

Your thoughts drift to Aethelstan and his coming of age. You had been a woman grown for years now and you were starting to feel yourself longing for companionship; basically becoming a single mother of sorts was as lonely as it was tireless. Now at the age of twenty, most young women were married and had young families of their own. Although you were proud of all that you had accomplished at a young age, maintaining a household and an income and being able to provide for your siblings, you were more often than not wishing for a suitable spouse, someone who was willing to share your burden with small children in tow. 

You had your eye set on someone; you had for a long time. In your heart, you desire for your friendship with Osferth to evolve into something deeper, something more profound and meaningful, with possibilities for a future life together considering your siblings simply adored him as they adored all of Uhtred’s men.

You sigh as your thoughts settle on Osferth. That was part of the reason why you had also chosen him to help you with your sword training.  He was an excellent swordsman and teacher, and he had never told you “no” before, you knew he would agree to help you. But, deep in your heart, you had also hoped he would start to see the woman you had become rather than forever remain anchored to the girl he used to know.

Recently, unrest has been rippling through the countryside. Twice your home has been robbed by raiders; you and your siblings were safe and tucked away in your hiding place as the Danes tore through your meager belongings. But as the sole guardian and protector of your household, you were determined to do whatever it took to ensure their safety in these tumultuous times; the men were often gone, chasing these raiders away or offering their swords to one lord or another. You no longer wanted to be a helpless damsel in distress. Learning to protect your home was your top priority and you would do whatever Osferth said to see it done. 

You push open the creaking door to your modest home and are immediately accosted by your little sister, Liv, who is only seven years old. She bounds up to you on little feet, almost trembling with enthusiasm, proud to show you the bracelet she had crafted earlier that day. Her euphoria is infectious as she inquires as to when she would be allowed to join in the celebrations that evening. You give her a reassuring smile and tell her that after dinner you’ll all be able to join in, but she must help with preparing dinner first. 

The rhythmic clatter of knives against wooden cutting boards forms a comforting backdrop as you both chop vegetables for the evening stew. Your brother, Erik, a boy of eleven, wanders in a short while later as the stew simmers merrily over the fire in the hearth, proudly holding up a rabbit for you to add. Although so young, you knew he already felt the pressure to help you provide for the family and he was quite skilled as a trapper; your family rarely went without meat on the table. 

After an usually good meal shared with your siblings, you can hear the growing clamor from outside. Making sure your siblings are bundled from the chilly air, you grasp your little sister’s hand so she doesn’t get trampled by the crowd as your brother flies out of the house in pursuit of a friend he sees in the distance. 

“Be sure to be home by nightfall!” you call after him and he gives you a small wave, acknowledging that he has heard you.

You arrive into town at the same time as Finan and Uhtred. Most of the townsfolk have already had a considerable amount of ale, their raucous laughter fills the air and they wave their torches around in jubilation. Uhtred makes his way to the raised platform in the middle of the muddy square.

“Aethelstan!” he calls. “Why have you left your post?”

“His first hunt, Lord,” Osferth answers at first.

“It’s good luck for Blood Month, Uhtred,” Aethelstan adds.

Uhtred stands across from Aethelstan and considers him.

“You think you’re ready to slaughter a beast?” he asks. 

Aethelstan smirks. “You know I am.” 

You see the reluctance in Uhtred’s countenance but you know he can no longer delay this moment.

“Aethelstan says he is ready,” Uhtred says, turning to the crowd. “What do you say?” He poses the questions to the townsfolk and is immediately met by cheers.

“For Blood Month!” Uhtred exclaims, raising his hands in celebration to which Aethelstan imitates as shouts go up in the square, the men all laugh exuberantly. 

“Be careful,” Uhtred cautions seriously amidst the noise but you can still make out his words to Aethelstan. “The animal will fight to the death.” He cannot help the paternal energy that radiates through him at this moment. 

In the midst of the excitement, you spot Astrid in the crowd, who often watches Liv for you when you are busy working. A widow now with three grown sons, Astrid enjoys feeling needed again and is often responsible for watching over the younger children of the town when their parents are otherwise occupied.  

Liv runs up to her and hugs her around the middle. “You deserve a break too, dear,” Astrid smiles at you. “Let me take Liv for the evening. We will have lots of fun together!” She adds as Liv jumps up and down on the balls of her feet. She simply adores Astrid. You nod, relenting and Astrid holds Liv’s hand as she leads her through the crowd, towards where the other young children are playing.

You watch her go, your heart content to see her so happy and carefree. It was your ultimate wish that she remain a child for as long as possible; to not feel burdened to provide for the family. You were fortunate you had someone as trustworthy and reliable to watch over her when you couldn’t. 

“Let’s go kill the swine!” Sihtric exclaims, hefting his torch to chants of “Blood Month! Blood Month! Blood Month!” from the excitable crowd. 

When you turn back around, you see Osferth through the throng, yelling and cheering with the rest of the townsfolk as Sihtric starts to lead the hunting party. As the crowd disperses and the men start to head in the direction of the woods to hunt the boar, you tug on Aethelstan’s sleeve to get his attention.

“Hey,” he looks down and greets you warmly, smiling, but you can tell his thoughts are elsewhere, fire in his dark eyes. 

“Good luck on your hunt,” you say as you walk alongside him, smiling back. “Don’t let that boar gore you, I don’t want to be stitching you up later,” you tease playfully.

He rolls his eyes, radiating confidence as he leans down to whisper in your ear, “I’ll give you first pick of the meat when I’ve killed it,” he says, squeezing your arm lightly. Your breath hitches a little, mainly because it's your swore sword arm but you wonder if perhaps he could feel your growing muscle underneath. You hadn’t told him of your practice with Osferth and you aren’t sure if any of the men had bothered mentioning it to him. Uhtred’s constant demands of his time and attention had kept him so busy, you hadn’t had the opportunity to share your sword training with him yet.

“Then I happily await your return,” you smile genuinely and give him a light shove off into the woods as Finan spots the two of you and, in his typical boisterous manner, exclaims. “There’ll be plenty of time for kissing girls later, Aethelstan! Now come on!” 

You shake your head at Finan and smile, which he returns before following the rest of the men into the fog of the forest. You can barely make out Osferth’s retreating back in the distance and give a small sigh. You feel oddly protective and possessive of these men. Even though Finan and Sihtric are married and have families of their own, you knew that some piece of your heart would always belong to these strong, dependable men who had stepped in to fill the void left by your father's absence.

You decide to wait in the pub, knowing that will be their first stop when they return from their hunt to celebrate. All of the townsfolk are out tonight and the bustling pub is warm and welcoming, filled with hearty laughter and conversation. Ingrith offers you the seat next to her and you settle at a wooden table, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow upon the well-worn, ale-stained surface.

The two of you engage in lively conversation, swapping stories and laughter over tankards of ale that seem to flow endlessly. You find yourself sipping more freely than usual, the ale making you feel more lighthearted and comfortable as you relax for the first time in a long while.

A short time later and much earlier than expected, you hear deep muffled voices coming from outside and you exchange a look of concern with Ingrith as hunting the boar should have taken longer than this. The pub door swings open, heralding the arrival of the men as raucous laughter and jeering fills the pub. 

Your fears are abated slightly as all seems well until you spot Aethelstan. He looks a little worse for wear, his clothes are muddy and there are several long scratches on his face. You feel a surge of concern as the men begin sharing the story of Aethelstan's unexpected ordeal in the woods, the sudden attack by three unknown men. Your stomach drops as you hear of the danger, feeling as though you are not nearly prepared enough in your training to protect your family. 

But despite the blood and disheveled appearance, Aethelstan seems exhilarated from his fight, having killed two out of the three of his assailants. His eyes gleam with a sense of pride and adrenaline and he wears the bloodstains on his clothes like a badge of honor. You watch as all of the men pound their chests and raise their tankards of ale, shouting praises for Aethelstan’s bravery. To them, this is a symbolic moment that marks his transition into manhood. The pub erupts with cheers, and you can't help but share in their pride, even as a sense of worry continues to gnaw in the back of your mind.

Once the crowd settles a bit, you make your way over to him.

“Aethelstan, are you alright?” you say with a little alarm. You know your friend well and you think the adrenaline is the only thing keeping him from going into shock right now.  

“Might have a few scratches for you to look at later, but I’m fine,” he shouts back over the noise of the crowd, seeming delighted to see that you had waited for his return. He continues to absorb the praise of the townsfolk as you worriedly stare up at him. Sensing your gaze, he finally looks down at you and meets your eyes.

“I promise I’m fine,” he says with a smug grin and nonchalant shrug to reassure you, at least on the surface, that he's physically alright. You can't help but manage a small smile in response. The noise and commotion of the celebration make it difficult to engage in a serious conversation about the attack at the moment, but you make a silent promise to revisit the topic when things quiet down.

His wide smile is infectious as Aethelstan raises his tankard and toasts with you, just as Finan’s voice booms from above. He's clearly in high spirits as he stands on the table, commanding the room's attention. He sweeps his arms wide in a grand gesture. 

“LADIES OF RUMCOFA! WE HAVE A NEW MAN FOR YOU ALL TO ENJOY THIS EVENING!” Finan shouts joyfully above the crowd. 

Aethelstan’s face turns beet red and you feel your cheeks flush with secondhand embarrassment. You decide it’s your time to leave the celebration since Finan’s antics have taken a rather suggestive tone; and you'd rather not stick around to witness the more explicit details of his celebration for Aethelstan becoming a man.

You shout into Aethelstan’s ear as Finan starts asking for volunteers, “And now I shall take my leave,” you chuckle in amusement at his predicament. “Good luck!”

Aethelstan watches you go, looking like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole as Finan continues his spirited matchmaking efforts, identifying a seemingly willing participant in the enthusiastic crowd. 

You catch Osferth’s eye as you pass, his expression is a mixture of smug satisfaction and amusement. His eyes seem to dance with mirth as he observes the festivities and Aethelstan's evident uneasiness. It's clear that he finds the situation highly entertaining, and a playful smile graces his lips as he acknowledges your presence, nodding at you as you make your way out the door. 

Finally, once out of the alehouse, the cold night air is welcoming on your face and you gulp a few crisp lungfuls, allowing it to steady your thoughts. Aethelstan is younger than you, yet he is about to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh before you do. You can’t help but feel a small pang in your chest at the absurdity of this thought as you make your way home. Was it loneliness that made you wish for someone to share your bed with too? 

As you make your way home through the dusky evening, you pause at Astrid's house to collect your sister. In the corner of the room, you find her peacefully asleep, nestled amidst soft blankets, clearly worn out from the earlier festivities. You thank Astrid for watching her as you wake Liv, who groggily walks the rest of the way home as if she’s had too much ale to drink too but you know she is just tired. 

Upon arriving home, you're greeted by Erik at the hearth, tending to the fire. The flickering flames cast a cozy glow throughout the room, instantly dispelling the chill that lingers in the night air. You let out a sigh as you undo all your layers, welcoming the warmth from the fire. You ruffle his hair, a silent expression of gratitude for heeding your advice and returning home at a reasonable hour. 

You lay your sister in the small bed made up at the foot of your straw mattress and your brother climbs in next to her, you can tell from the look on his face that he’s had a full day of excitement too. You wash your face off in the basin and then get yourself ready for bed, stoking the fire and putting on your simple woolen shift that you sleep in. You're about to get into bed yourself when there’s a small knock at the door.

Immediately, your heart jumps into your throat as you and your brother exchange a fearful glance, but next a familiar voice whispers out. “It’s me!”

You sigh with relief and race to open the door, stepping back to let Aethelstan inside. Erik jumps out of bed and races forth to wrap his skinny arms around Aethelstan in a bear hug which he eagerly returns. Your siblings love him like an older brother. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask in a shocked whisper as the voice in your head wonders why he isn’t intimately wrapped around some other woman right now. 

“I escaped,” Aethelstan whispers back and makes a pointed glance down at your brother as he doesn’t elaborate. Erik, oblivious, excitedly whispers, “Aethelstan! Are you going to stay here tonight?” as he turns his big brown eyes on you, pleading for your permission.

Aethelstan looks abashed but then says to your brother. “As long as your sister allows me,” and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows heavily, eyes flicking back up to meet your gaze. 

You give a sigh as your brother immediately starts to plead but you’re tired and you don’t want to argue. 

“I was hoping you could clean these scratches for me too,” Aethelstan reminds you gently. You consider him for a moment and then nod; he is right, his wounds need to be cleaned before bed. 

“Yes, he can stay,” you pretend to be exasperated as you turn to your brother. “Now go fetch me my supplies so I can clean him up before bed.” Erik races excitedly to get the small wooden bowl and poultice that you use to clean wounds. You pull up a chair in front of the fire, indicating Aethelstan should sit.

The truth is, Aethelstan is a fairly frequent visitor to your house. As children, you often shared a bed and as you grew older, you found yourself keeping the same habit from time to time, especially once your parents had passed. You slept the best when he was here with you; finally feeling like you had a protector to watch over you. Further, he had never tried to do anything “more” with you. You felt completely safe with him and comforted by his presence. 

Your brother, who had somehow heard of Aethelstan’s attack in the woods, bombards him with questions as you clean his scratches. You listen to his story intently, worried that nobody seems to know who these men belong to or why they attacked Aethelstan specifically. You meet his gaze, unable to conceal the worry and fear you feel and a sense of foreboding.

Once finished cleaning him up, you snap your fingers at your brother to indicate he should get back into bed and he hastens to obey.

“Enough storytelling for one day,” you say easily, not wanting your brother to know your alarm. “Time for bed.”

You settle into your own bed as Aethelstan removes his layers for sleep as well. He props his sword next to the nightstand and slides down into bed with you. You both wait a few minutes, just simply staring at each other, knowing your brother will be out cold soon and then you can talk freely.

The light of the dying fire glows orange on Aethelstan’s tired face. You think the adrenaline is finally leaving him and can see his exhaustion in the bags of his eyes and the tired way he blinks.

At long last, when you hear deep breathing at the foot of the bed, you whisper with childlike curiosity. “So? Did you do it?” 

Aethelstan takes a slow deep breath and shakes his head as he reaches out and smoothes a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I couldn’t, the guys think I’ve gone off with some girl but I snuck off when she wasn’t looking,” the corner of his mouth turns up at his small feat. 

“You know you won’t be able to evade this forever,” you say. “Maybe you should just do it so Finan can stop shouting from the rooftops that you’re still a virgin,” you counsel him as if you, too, aren’t still a virgin.

Aethelstan stares at you for a beat and then lowers his gaze, blinking slowly. You know he’ll soon be fast asleep too. “Maybe, yeah,” he breathes before his eyes shut completely. Within a few minutes, he’s snoring gently.

You watch him sleep, feeling suddenly alert. You didn’t understand the big deal the men always made about virginity and you feel sorry for Aethelstan for constantly being their target. He was your friend and you wish you could help him. This wasn’t the first time he found a way out of sleeping with a woman.

You continue to watch him, admiring the length of his eyelashes as he sleeps and your mind wanders. Osferth’s joyous face flicks across your vision. If you didn’t already intend to give your virginity to someone else, you think you would have been ok with giving yours to Aethelstan, you muse. He was your first kiss, after all, not that it should really count. You had both been curious as children, having sneakily watched Sihtric and his wife once; you couldn’t stop fixating on the way they seemed to consume each other with their kisses. When things progressed, Aethelstan was sure he was hurting her by the sounds she was making. You remember clapping a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing at the horrified look in his eyes. 

Afterwards, you had decided to practice with each other out of natural curiosity. You smile slightly at the memory as you roll over, seeing the moonlight stream through your curtained window. Now that you are older, you often feel a certain curiosity about Aethelstan. He was the blood of the King; he would never be a proper match for you with his royal bloodline. But he has grown into a fine, handsome man, sweet, kind and gentle. Similar to someone else you consistently had less than honorable thoughts about…

But something nags at you and you can't really explain it. Even if you did offer yourself to Aethelstan, you didn’t think he would accept you and you didn’t know why. He had never shown any inclination towards women that you knew of. But he is one of your dearest friends and you love him regardless of his nature. 

You breathe a deep sigh and close your eyes, waiting for sleep while contemplating the ridiculous habits of men. 

>>>> Part 2

A/N: Did I get a little lost in Aethelstan's dark eyes in this part? Yes, yes I did. But more Osferth to come, I promise.

Tags: @peonamay @quinnquinn317 @multyfangirl @cyeco13 @aemondsscar @sylas-the-grim @chainsawsangel @boundlessfantasy @bellaisasleep @fan-goddess @pandemonium105 @megatardisbaby, @myfandomprompts

!!If you would no longer like to be tagged, please let me know and I will remove you!!

[saphig-iawn]

Brief Respite

One of my favourite kinds of people to hypnotise are doms.

They spend a lot of time bearing different pressures and exertions when it comes to kink, and I should know because I am one.

I also love showing them that hypnosis very much isn't a loss of control.

Much like taking a submissive and tying them in bondage, hypnosis is a relationship of shifting dynamic; power held in the hands of both partners.

This such dom came to me wanting to know more about hypnosis and wanting to be trained in it, and I've found one of the best ways to learn is to be a subject yourself.

So we chatted and negotiated, and it was very happy to try it so it could understand more about what its doll would be going through.

This dom wielded a wonderful analytical edge to its work. It found joy in intricacies and specifics, and was well versed in meditation and hypnosis but just never experienced it before.

It wasn't sure how it would feel, how it would react, how it would sink.

Well, dear reader, it sank for me.

It sank so, so deep.

Every time I called in the trance, its answer got softer and slower with every passing moment.

It felt everything I described, the warmth I spoke into its chest, the embrace my words made around its body.

It was a little in disbelief when we finished. It couldn't believe how well the hypnosis went.

I could hear the blush and the grin on its cheeks.

[smusherina]

the intricacies of werewolfism (and other afflictions) - chapter 1 (wenclair)

fandom: Wednesday (2022), Addams Family (all media)

pairing: (romantic) Wednesday Addams x Enid Sinclair (platonic) OFC/Reader x Wenclair

summary: You'd been keeping an eye out for Enid Sinclair since freshman year. There'd been a silent camaraderie between you, both sitting in the very back of the room during Furs specific classes. Things changed, though, after Wednesday Addams came around. For one, Enid shifted.

additional clarification: Wednesday and Enid have an established relationship. Story follows the POV of an outsider.

It wasn't like you were angry at her. No, you could only be happy that not only had they (whoever they were, that was never clarified to you) saved the school from, uh, genocide, but Enid had shifted for the first time. That was a pivotal moment in any young werewolf's life, especially for Enid since she'd been latent.

You were angry at everything that would change. You'd been different and she'd been different, so you'd sort of banded together, y'know? Now, she was no longer that while you still were. You were alone. Again. You couldn't bring yourself to not be bitter about that.

Then again, it wasn't like you were really friends. You didn't talk, ever. You just sat next to one another in Werewolf Studies class. Your bond was totally one-sided, with you having latched onto any kindness shown to you by a peer. Because just sitting next to you was a kindness. Gosh, you sounded pathetic.

You'd liked her and wanted to be her friend so bad, but had never gathered the courage. You'd spent your evenings alone in your room, wondering what it'd be like being a friend of Enid Sinclair's.

You sounded so creepy and stalkerish. Maybe you were. You didn't actively follow her around or anything, or fantasize about her, or do anything like that. That was gross and violating. You just... You were lonely.

You had some time to get used to the idea. The fall semester ended early due to the normie teacher turning out to be a scheming bitch and resurrecting an evil pilgrim, apparently, so you'd have plenty of time to digest your new predicament.

Usually, for long holidays like summer vacation, you'd travel back to whence you came, but you hadn't had time to make arrangements amid everything. You knew your usual hosts wouldn't be pleased to take you in on such short notice.

You'd been given special permission from Weems to stay in school during winter break the previous years, which was shorter than summer vacation but longer than any of the other mid-season breaks, but considering she was dead you didn't quite know what to do. Was that permission still valid? Your roommate packed her bags as did everybody else. You watched from the balcony as everybody got in their parents' cars or boarded the bus. You packed up your essentials just in case they had some last-minute arrangements for you.

You expected to have a teacher come talk to you at some point. Tell you where you'd be going or if you were going to be staying. Pick-up day passed. The teachers and staff lingered for a bit longer. The cleaners left, then the cooks. A sinking feeling manifested in your belly as you realized there'd be no daily meals. Eventually, the others left too. You were alone at Nevermore.

Fuck. Fuck.

Fine. It was fine. Everything was fine. You got yourself into this mess. You should've opened your mouth and said something instead of assuming the teachers would check in on everybody. They didn't have that sort of time. In between hiring a new botany teacher and a new principal, buffing the sheriff's efforts to launch an investigation on the school, and assuring Jericho residents of their safety, obviously, they would forget about you.

Despite all your efforts to rationalize it in your mind, it did sting. But you made do. Once the initial panic wore off, you were able to make some plans.

You used the kitchen to make your own meals. You'd been cooking for yourself for a long time, so it was no biggie. There was plenty of stuff with a long shelf life stored away, so you didn't even have to go shopping that much. You made it a point to stay away from town as much as possible, only getting the essentials at odd, not-busy hours of the day. You were pretty invisible and unnoticeable, but you could appear only so many times out of nowhere before people began to wonder where that teenager lived if not in town.

It was actually pretty chill. A whole school to yourself. Sometimes, you pranced around, pretending like you owned the place. That was fun. Honestly, it wasn't that different from how you spent your days at school, except with less studying.

One key difference, though, was how you spent the full moon. For a wolf like you, it was vital to shift as often as possible in order to maintain a steady grip on reality during the full moon. Even so, due to your type being prone to feral behaviour, you were used to being locked up every full moon. You couldn't properly secure the cage from the inside.

You tried to do it the first time but woke up in the woods the next morning. Tough luck. Usually, you were able to maintain some lucidity during the shift, but you suspected that was due to the magical influence of the cage. Outside of it, your power was untapped and thus, you'd blacked out.

You'd probably attacked a mountain lion or something, maybe a bear, considering you were covered in blood and gashes. You were quite sure most of it was not yours. A lot of it was around your mouth. You felt it in your tummy, the large meal still roiling around.

Werewolf healing came in handy. The scratches healed in no time, though did take longer than usual. The predator must've gotten you good.

You didn't bother with the cages the next time around. You'd broken the one you'd escaped from and those things couldn't be cheap.

Every day, you'd wake up in the morning and do your routine. Pee, brush teeth, put on deodorant, go down for breakfast. Go for a run, first in human form then wolf form, shower, snack. Study, read a topical book, snack break, study some more, nap. Chores, like laundry or dishes, make dinner and eat it, go patrol the grounds, sleep. On nights of the full moon, you'd finish your day with the patrol and only go to sleep in the morning when you found yourself naked in the woods.

You weren't really Christian in the sense that you'd ever gone to church, but your family had celebrated Christmas. You treated yourself to a big slab of ham that you wolfed down. Ha.

New Year's was much the same. A slightly better dinner than usual. Then you went back to your room to play video games.

It was all pretty boring. A nice vacation, all in all, but nothing too thrilling. A little modern survivalist. Your roommate came back along with the rest of the student body. She scowled at you in greeting as always. It was quite jarring, going from the echoing, empty hallways to every corner being packed. It was loud.

Something you hadn't expected, though, was that your stay was cause for concern. You probably should've come clean immediately to avoid all this. They took stock of the kitchen and found things missing as well as some unaccounted-for fresh ingredients. God forbid you wanted to eat vegetables. The broken werewolf cage caused a stir, which you could understand. The common consensus was that those things were unbreakable.

People thought that somebody, an outsider, had broken in and lived in the school. There were rumours that they were still at Nevermore, lurking, watching. Some speculated it was Tyler, the Hyde.

That theory was disproven soon enough, as Sheriff Galpin came to the school to give a public announcement. His son had been missing for quite some time, as he had escaped the vehicle transporting him, but had recently been found. Or, rather, his remains had been found.

The sheriff implied that the person who'd invaded Nevermore might have likely been his son's killer. To the public, the case was made out to be as if Tyler had somehow slipped away from the cops transporting him to juvie, gotten lost in the woods, and been victim to an animal attack. Everybody knew what animal attack really meant.

If anybody knew anything, they were to come to him at once. Nobody stepped up. Not even you, especially not you. You were sweating bullets, antsy and sick to your stomach. Had you attacked him? Eaten him? Were you a cannibal now? Oh no, what if you got that brain disease from this? Oh no, you had probably eaten a person.

You should've said something. You should've given yourself in. The teachers would've made you go back to your carers despite them being labelled as unfit in your file, but that was just how things were. You should've been able to stomach that. You did so every summer. If you'd told the truth to the teachers or the sheriff, you'd have been arrested for murder, probably. It would mean proving every presumption about you and your kind right, and ruining your life forever. You didn't want that. Wasn't that what you deserved, though?

Weeks passed. School started up again. The snow was slow to melt, the frigid temperatures clinging to the stone walls of Nevermore, causing a permanent chill to permeate the halls. Adding to the dreary atmosphere was the sad reality of the principal not being a tall woman clad in all white at all times, but the frumpy vice principal Frankenfroot, and the unease created by the mysterious invader.

Amidst the all-around grey atmosphere, stood out one girl. Enid Sinclair. You hadn't been paying as much attention to her as before, with all this mystery bullcrap stressing you out beyond belief.

She'd skipped the first couple of Werewolf Studies classes, so it took you a while to be near her. You assumed she'd been given some private lessons to make up for the years she was unable to participate in the practical aspects of the class.

You hadn't seen much of her during or immediately after the whole ordeal last year, so the changes to her were very stark to you. The scars, now only slightly more pink than the rest of her skin, stood out. As far as scars went, they were pretty fortunately placed and fairly clean. No jagged lines or disfigurement. Aesthetically pleasing scars. And even if she hadn't had such luck, you bet she would've rocked them just the same. They looked nice. Was that okay to say about scars? How could you be a foot-in-mouth in your own head?

Also, she smelled different. More wolfy, less perfumy. You liked it. The musky earth smell definitely added to her usual floral notes.

"Um, hey, so..." Enid said as she packed her books into her bag. "Excuse me, uh, what's your name?" You tapped your finger on your chin, trying to put yourself in her shoes. You had plenty of scars. None on your face, though, There was a pretty gnarly one going from your collarbone to the back of your ear, though.

"Hey," Enid's voice came alarmingly close to you. You turned your head. She was looking right at you. Why was she looking at you?

"Are you ignoring me?" She asked, bag on her shoulder and a slightly offended look on her face.

"What?" You blurted out, looking around. The classroom had emptied. "Are you talking to me?"

"Who else?" She sassed. You supposed that should've been obvious.

"Sorry. Sorry! Um. What were you saying?" Trying to be as normal as possible, you got up to pack your own things. You hoped she couldn't see your knees wobbling.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to form a pack with me." She seemed to relax, maybe getting the vibe you weren't trying to agitate her on purpose.

"Huh?" Your hands shook. You held onto your backpack with white knuckles. "Aren't you gonna join the school pack?"

There was the school pack, which was led by the professor during full moon runs, but there was also the option of forming your own pack. Some of the seniors did that, mostly pack-leaders-to-be getting in some practice before the real deal.

You'd spent a good chunk of the break working to accept that Enid was going to be leaving you for the school pack. You'd been so prepared, so ready, to be ditched that now that she wasn't doing that, you had no idea how to act.

"I don't wanna be around them. They didn't give a fuck about me until I shifted, and when I finally did suddenly they wanna be all buddy-buddy!" She huffed and gestured with her arms. She was so animated. "I just feel like that's fake AF. That's not how you care about a person, y'know?"

"Totally." You whispered, sounding a little too reverent. "Um, I would love to, I really would, but I'm a lycanthrope."

You waited for her to grimace, recoil, make some sort of remark. None came. Only her confused face.

"Uh... I know. We're both werewolves."

"No, I mean, yes, we are, but..." You wondered how you could explain this in a sensitive but also appropriately informative way. "You've never heard of lycans, have you?"

"I thought werewolves and lycans were the same thing." She said. Oh boy. Not an uncommon misconception, but one that could cost dearly.

"Nope. Uh, the bare bones are the same but some relevant details are totally different." You chewed on your lips a bit. "I've read ahead a bit in the textbook, so I know we're gonna cover it this year. I'm kinda like an experience-specialist! Haha. Um, so, if you don't care that's totally understandable and no worries, so I could give you a brief rundown if you want, but-" You took a deep breath. "I could explain it more. In depth, I mean. Like, a slide show, or something."

You sounded like an idiot. Who the frick offered a private slide show to an almost complete stranger? You'd humiliated yourself. Utterly humiliated yourself and your bloodline.

"Oh my gosh! I would love that!" She said, probably just not showing how she felt bad for you. "Can I bring my girlfriend?"

You didn't know they'd begun dating. You would've expected to hear those news circulating around the school, but apparently not. Maybe it wasn't that big of a deal.

"Wednesday? Oh, yeah, she can come." You thought about that for a moment. "I think she'd find lycans very interesting."

"That..." Enid pursed her lips and tilted her head. "Huh. I see. Are lycans like, more bloodthirsty or something like that?"

"Kinda," That was sort of a disparaging stereotype, but it was rooted in some truth. The reality was much more convoluted.

"When and where?" She pulled out her phone. Probably making a note. You were important enough for a note?

"Um, my roommate doesn't spend a lot of time in our room so we could do it over the weekend at mine? I'm in Juliet Hall." Your hands trembled as you dug your phone out of your pocket. "I- I could add you. If you wanted."

"Yeah! What's your user?" You said it. "Got it. I added you, add me back!" You did as she asked, vision blurring with the intensity you were staring at the screen. "Fab! I'll text you details later tonight, yeah?" At your nod, she whirled around. "Gotta dash! Bu-bye!"

"Bu-bye..." You murmured after her.

Notes: A new series! This time Wenclair. Or, a platonic OC/Enid with a side of Wenclair. I've been ruminating on this concept for a long time, so I wanted to put it out there as soon as I finished my last series. I totally get if this isn't people's cup of tea, the focus is off the main attraction after all, but y'know. It's here. Do what you will.

This whole thing was borne of me wanting Enid to have a werewolf friend. She deserves a buddy to be dogs with! Also, world-building with werewolves is so fun! Fun fact about me, I'm a seasoned omegaverse writer :) We'll see if I get to do any of that in my later series teehee.

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[iridescentscarecrow]

the yoshida inside cover is so interesting to me because so far i've found that all the part two inside covers so far lean very hard into the texture of the city to create this atmosphere of claustrophobia and obvious tension.

it's a lead in from the chapter 98 scene with asa & the class president looking up at the buildings spanning the sky, the palpable lack of nature/plant/greens or any sort of reprise from the grittiness of the city & commenting on how corrupt the city is.

which is why the way the city & the lack of it manifests in the part 2 inside covers reveals so much about each character's reaction to this. i don't think i got at the meat of this though when i initially considered it – the way greenery then sets itself against the city in various instances. i'd got an anon about plant symbolism in part 2 a while back which set me off thinking about it. unfortunately, i am in no way well versed in plant symbolism intricacies so this discussion will only pertain to the way this works re: the narrative.

and the yoshida cover [the first cover to not feature the city at all, the first cover to be set within the wildness of the forest] is so meaningful when it comes this.

ASA & YUKO: UNOBSCURED CITY

all the covers very purposefully do not show the eyes of the characters in question. fujimoto's use of this detail in panels before [the bomb devil arc, the yoshida syringe scene] can be considered to reveal the interiority/obscured thoughts of which jarr with their actions.

here in asa's case the city shadows her. her eyes are bled out of focus, almost by its corrupted grit. yuko, though is different. she's turned her back to us, her eyes can concievably visibly exist in frame but she's looking away/at the city: assigning it its values & ultimately getting swallowed up by it in her quest for justice.

asa dominates the frame & her face is featureless / yuko's figure in contrast is small & diminutive when set against CITY.

i think specifically a lot about the asayuko encounters & the potted plants in their wake. they're set in moments that are potently releases of tension [an anti claustrophobia] which stems directly from them resolving their internal contradictions.

in comparison the leadup to the "don't come to school tomorrow" scene (chapter 105) is full of tension & also plantless: there is no shade, no intersperse. they're sitting in the glaring sun, their conversation occasionally cutting away to CITY attributes: telephone wires/buildings. later, yuko lights a bonfire. fire burns away plants and the fire devil is also the presence that burns down denji's house. the same house with the potted plants nayuta & denji grow.

ASA & KIGA: SHADOWED [] & FEATURELESS SELF

the movement of shade here is genuinely so impactful when considered alongside asa & kiga's covers. for kiga the classroom itself is dim. outside, the sky's light peels back the room's darkness and renders kiga within it.

kiga's setting within the classroom is i think extremely important. during the sisters' public safety breach, kiga makes asa & her keep their school uniforms on. she's never appeared outside it, in fact. she's so settled within this particular role that for her the grittiness of the city is instead manifested by the classroom. more on this later but:

what strikes me is the featurelessness to both of them. they're both horsemen & their faces are bled of indicators – the ringed eyes & the scars that portray their status. you are left with their hollow schoolgirl bodies. it's a very specific flavour of contextualisation, one that offsets the decontextualisation that is [removing families|ripping off uniform/clothes|turning the hybrids into weapons]. asa's power functions through context, through a thing's history, through the guilt of its weaponisation. kiga's appearances always occur at moments where asa is struggling with context (the fight with yuko & her mother's uniform, the aquarium date, her feeling things for the CSM).

KIGA & MIRI: OBSCURED CITY

> the grittiness of the city is instead manifested by the classroom for kiga.

but the miri cover is not that. its shielding (through the potted plants) works against the CITY so much to that the tension to it is almost invisible. the potted plants here are in a way indicative of miri's self illusion of agency and it's something i have a lot of fun comparing to miri's actual cover, with the lucky clovers & that grin on his face as he holds onto the beautiful butterfly of a sword that he materially is.

the nature of the CITY in these two covers is also something to be commented on: for kiga, as i said – the city is miniscule (the sky dominates). miri's presence in his frame is more visible yet simultaneously the city threatens all the background & the angle both emphasises his smallness & enlarges him.

i do find it interesting how miri's eyes are specifically cut out frame. they're visible: he has his own interiority occuring outside this narrative, his own story of himself, but it is inconsequential to the pawn that he is. yuko's eyes while also obscured by framing are within frame. her motivations are essential to the narrative she operates within.

MIRI & YOSHIDA: THE PLANTS

while the [potted] plants grant a reprise from the claustrophobia for miri, the forestry punctuates yoshida's inside cover's tension.

i've already talked about yoshida as a framer for part 2 in an earlier thread of mine (chapter 156, if i'm not wrong) but bringing this into light next to how yoshida excludes himself from the city is interesting. this exclusion is what brings him claustrophobic tension, this abnormality. he is not participating in the city.

i think a lot that surrounds yoshida's character right now is speculation but balancing this with the syringe/head pat scene & the theater scene does bring out a picture of very potent pain (self enacted) when it comes to his own circumstance. the plants around him are wild, undomesticated & unlabelled (his existence as the framer) – in sharp contrast to the potted things grown within cities as hope.

KIGA & YOSHIDA: STANCES

kiga & yoshida's postures mirror each other. they're both faced down, towards the ground, arms held limply at their side. they're both stagesetters: yoshida framing for us the narrative with his two choices, parasocial relationships dialogue / kiga pouring her hunger into the world of part 2 & directing asa's weaponisation.

they're both in areas that are NOT city & CITY is not what inspires their respective tensions. kiga is working within the classroom, education – feeding into people what hunger is and what it means and teaching them what to want. yoshida dons the school uniform to adopt his role before reverting to the public safety suit!

their conversation too, set into perspective for us the overarching plot of part two.

Afterword:

there's so much to tease out from these covers and specifically the urban and urban lifeforms presented to us in part two. there definitely can be analogies drawn to part one's city mouse/country mouse metaphor (*) but i also think that the way autonomy is written at this stage of the story makes this particular play of tension a far more nuanced iteration of (*) and it's one i'm particularly interested in seeing explored in future covers.

thank you for reading!