#please recognize how harmful this can be!!!

[hestzhyen]

Analysis: Hakuri & Abusive Backstories

Hello dear void. Hakuri is a character that is near and dear to my heart so I wanted to yap about him and why his story is so important to me on a deeply personal level.

This is a LONG yapfest- the Tumblr Edit Post UI is hitching and lagging while I try to type this little notice there's so much word vomit in here. I honestly don't expect anyone to read it all the way through. I just wrote this to figure out why I was so goddamn attached to a fictional character and decided to jettison it into the ambivalent embrace of the internet. I spent too many hours on this to just delete it all once I found my answers, so... if you wanna strap in, go ahead. But maybe make sure you've got a decent chunk of free time and high tolerance for extremely subjective interpretations first.

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DISCLAIMER: This is purely my opinion- I can't speak for anyone's experience but my own.

First, this isn't a trauma dump. Not for me at least. I'll be talking about what Hakuri endured and how it shaped his character in relatable ways thanks to the quality of the writing. But there won't be anything discussed outside of what happens in Kagurabachi canon, so rest assured on that front.

Second, please don't assume I had a terrible life because I latched on to a character that was literally tortured for years! Even though the major themes resonated with me and many of my thoughts were eerily similar to Hakuri's, nothing I experienced rose to such an extreme level. Like, I genuinely deserved the one time I was hit for being a shitty over-dramatic teenager so it doesn't even come close lmao. Fictional characters don't have to be 1:1 mirrors in terms of type or severity of trauma to be helpful self-reflection tools is all.

Third, I started writing this around chapter 53 and it's being posted as of chapter 58. If it ages poorly, well, I'm not saying I'm smart just because I yap a lot.

Without further ado... prepare for an expansion of massive proportions under the cut.

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All too often we see shounen characters have an abusive sob story background to give them a sympathetic hook and a reason to start from zero. There's little to say about them other than they go from zero to hero for the good vibes and catharsis. They begin their story as a victim first and foremost, and there are little or no lingering effects from trauma once they have their moment of triumph. In the "good" cases they're healed and whole. In the "bad" cases they have negatively warped personalities for the rest of the story. There's not much in between the two extremes.

Portraying the abuse characters endure in such a shallow way is not the best way to write about it, from my point of view. Writing it as something that can be overcome with strength of will alone is harmful. So is writing the victim as a permanently damaged, defective person. Instead, we need more characters like Hakuri that are shaped but not wholly defined by their abuse, and aren't completely healed by putting the manifestation of their torment in the dirt.

Hakuri is the first character the [abusive past] attribute that actually worked as a hook for me. This is largely due to two key writing decisions: not centering Hakuri's entire narrative around overcoming the abuse he suffered, and carefully depicting how trauma influences his actions. It's necessary to read between the lines of what he says and does to see how much he hasn't said about himself- what he won't admit or recognize, despite how core it is to his character.

Chapters 19-23, Meeting and Getting to Know Sazanami Hakuri

Mantis imagery for courage!

The very first things we learn about Hakuri are as follows:

1) He pushes through hardship with sheer force of will 2) He lost his whole family and has probably been on his own for a while 3) #1 is a lie

I've brought it up before, but food symbolism is all over the place in Kagurabachi- it's often a short-hand for comfort and connection. So Hakuri spilling that metaphor out of his mouth right after telling us he's able to "push through" is a sign that he actually isn't coping with his situation that well. His thoughts about himself and his actual status don't match up. But it's ridiculous imagery that puts us off and pushes us towards thinking he's kind of pathetic rather than making us feel sorry for him. And the rest of his introduction, while accurate to his character, buries the lede on how much he's suffering.

As for his backstory: he was disowned, yes. He says his family will kill him if they see him, yes. But it reads more like Hakuri was punished for being a moral black sheep after he himself framed being disowned as punishment for "being weak" and "getting in the way of business". There's no hint of foul play on his family's part other than being low-life criminals to be fought as the arc villains. So he's primed for some sadness but probably nothing on Char's level. The only hints we have towards something serious until the chapter 24 reveal are not exactly obvious:

-He has a fatalistic mindset and thinks it's natural for him to be overpowered and kicked around because he's weak. (Could just be typical zero-to-hero shounen character things.)

-He's generally unafraid and highly tolerant of pain. He gives no shits about his condition after being kicked around by the Yakuza, smears the blood from his nose while casually talking to Chihiro, and willingly takes a strong hit and is able to yell encouragement to Chihiro while lying bloody on the floor. (Doesn't really stand out in a series as violent as Kagurabachi; this is kind of the bare minimum for being involved in the plot if you aren't a child to be protected.)

-Perhaps the only big tell-tale sign: we zoom in on his trembling fist when describing his older siblings as "strong and scary" in chapter 23. (Could be inferred as fearing for his life since he also says they'd kill him on sight in the same chapter.)

Hakuri's not written like a typical abuse victim in this intro. We don't get commentary from other characters about how much pain Hakuri seems to be in- they comment on how weak and dopey he appears instead. Nor do we get shots of him looking sad, flinching away from touch, or being hesitant to connect with other people. He's actually kind of unhinged with how passionate and eager he is to join forces with Chihiro. He's intense and ridiculous and gets used like a wholesome gag character more than anything else.

So there's not much to suspect here. Hakuri's got more to reveal to us but there are no signs of what we should brace ourselves for. Then the nightmare starts.

Chs. 24-26, The First Glimpse

This page goes from 0 to 100 REAL quick.

Well, shit.

Behold the understated reveal of Hakuri's status as a victim of abuse. The revelation at the bottom of the page only to see his suicide attempt on the page turn is an extremely effective "oh shit- OH SHIT-" two-hit combo that arrests the reader's attention, and I really wish that it was the most memorable part of the chapter for more people. Because holy hell, this recontextualizes everything we know about Hakuri. He's still a passionate, silly, and slightly insane guy, but damn he actually suffered more than he let on.

To find out like this is unusual, isn't it? Char's situation wasn't shown right away either, but meeting her as a scruffy orphan clued us in that she was going to have a tough past from the start. Hakuri, by comparison, gave us very few obvious hints about it. It's like he doesn't want to be seen that way. He openly admits to being "weak" and "useless" but his own pain? The suffering he endured? He's totally fine pushing past it all (lies).

But we're not even close to done yet.

Note how Hakuri's focused on Soya's hands...

Hakuri's first instinct being to jump to his death says a lot. Unlike standing up for the little girl or jumping in to save Chihiro, this is a purely reactionary response. There's no room to think back to Chihiro's bravery for inspiration as those memories overwhelm him. He's terrified. So he jumps and trembles in fear as Soya tries to talk him into coming back to relive his nightmares.

We laughed at the soda spilling out of his mouth and his expressions after he got hit in the face by Hiyuki, but this is deadly serious. Hakuri isn't okay at all. He's actually in very bad condition and the way he thinks about Soya says so much.

The panel explaining Soya's expression of "love" on the page above is important, but it's not emphasized in the same way as what's happening in the present. It feels like an unpleasant detour into Hakuri's inner thoughts for extra context while the main focus is on him and Soya in the moment. Hakuri doesn't even describe what happened to him directly- he says "punching and kicking" like it could be anything from hazing to broken bones, but the backdrop lets us know that it's probably closer to the latter. It gives the impression that Hakuri (understandably) doesn't want to think about this at all.

He also frames Soya's aggression towards him as an expression of "sincere" affection. That's preposterous and heart-breaking to most people- violence isn't love. Even most victims will acknowledge that... to a point. Violence hurts, it's unwanted, but it's still a valid expression of emotion to be acknowledged. It's something they earn or deserve. The rational people are correctly screaming NO IT'S NOT! And most victims would agree again... to a point. Somehow they're the exception to that mindset. Other people don't deserve it, but they do.

So despite it all, Hakuri is still able to be brave for Hinao's sake. He's not going to let Soya hurt anyone else if he can help it, even if it means putting himself back in harm's way. This adds an interesting layer to his character. He's laden with trauma, but he's still able to show courage for others. He thinks he's weak and won't prevent whatever abuse comes his way, but he will put himself at risk to stop others from experiencing the same or worse.

Why is he so devoted to protecting other people at his own expense? Sadly, it's not uncommon for victims to advocate harder for other people than they do for themselves. It also has something to do with the merchandise woman that was mentioned this chapter, but that reasoning won't be revealed for a while yet.

"This pathetic wretch was born a Sazanami, but he can't even do sorcery. He's useless. Worse, he's a hindrance. His life is worthless."

There's another thrill of panic when Kyora summons Hakuri to use his life as a bargaining chip. Hakuri's at his most pathetic here- he's on the ground, helpless under Kyora's foot, not even trying to resist or escape. None of the fire we saw when he saved the little girl, took that hit for Chihiro, or defended Hinao is present. Hakuri can't be brave for himself. He's quite literally trampled by what passes for the Sazanami version of "love" and "basic human decency". It doesn't need to be spelled out any clearer than this: Hakuri's woes come from his family, especially his father. The Sazanamis are fucked up even when it comes to how they treat their own flesh and blood. They're rotten from the head down.

It's obvious then why Chihiro's words and actions affect Hakuri so much. Hakuri thinks he has no value whatsoever- his father says as much, and he falls for Shiba's bluff implying the same. Only Chihiro steps in to directly repudiate Kyora's toxicity and say yes, Hakuri does have value. So much, in fact, that he's willing to trade the precious memento of his father (and the majority of his strength) to prove it. So they're able to leave, but not without Hakuri encumbering himself with a huge amount of guilt for how things went down.

The face of someone ready to spiral down and out.

It's telling that reassurances don't do much to help Hakuri feel better. Shiba tries to help by offering generic comfort (ice cream) and Chihiro tells him it's alright, but it's not until Hakuri hears that he's still needed that he's able to bring himself out of the mire of self-hate.

Of course it's extra effective for Hakuri because he was considered totally useless, but this is very relatable even for folks who weren't told they had no value on a daily basis. Offers of comfort only make the self-hate worse for some people who think they're utterly worthless. Even simple gestures like Shiba's twist the knife and reinforce the idea that the person doesn't deserve any kindness whatsoever. It just piles on the guilt. But being given something to do -especially if it's believably framed as something only they're capable of doing- feels incredible. They might have some value after all, even if only for this one thing.

It's something that I really appreciate the author doing since it's a touch that didn't need to be added. Hakuri could have just found a bit of solace in Shiba and Chihiro's words, which would have given more time for other things to be addressed in the chapter. But it's important to show that Hakuri struggles with accepting kindness because he took his father's words to heart. His feelings of worthlessness and uselessness are essential to who he is.

After this we see him at Chihiro's beck and call, prioritizing his requests over everything- relaxing with Char and Hinao, even his own comfort with another ice cream/food metaphor. It's framed as something silly and dog-like for the laughs, which once again encourages us to downplay the severity of this issue for him. None of the other characters ever directly point this out either. It's one of those informed traits that influences Hakuri's actions without any acknowledgment from himself or others, but just like the soda spilling out of his mouth, we're invited to treat it as a gag.

From here, the focus shifts entirely to building tension for the raid on the Rakuzaichi. Hakuri's circumstances are put on the back-burner to simmer for 5 weeks in real time until he confronts Soya in chapter 30.

Chs. 30 & 32-34, The Soya Rematch (what Chihiro and Shiba know):

Hakuri puts his fear of Soya aside to bait him out to help the mission. Chihiro and Shiba gave him a job to do, so he'll see it through no matter what. Unfortunately things don't go as planned and he ends up all alone with his biggest tormentor.

I'll have more to say about Soya himself in his own section with Kyora later, but it's very clear what his role as Chief Bully is, narratively speaking:

In a lot of ways, Soya is more object than actual character. He's our almost cartoonishly evil device to represent everything that's been repressing Hakuri. He's the demon in his head telling him he's useless, pathetic, weak, and so on. So Hakuri trying to square up to Soya is also him facing off against the things he's internalized that hold him back.

Hakuri's struggle against Soya before he awakens seems very hopeful and standard shounen. He's fighting the internal battle at the same time as the external, telling his brother to "shut up" while his mind races to figure out what he should do now that the situation went belly-up. He could keep playing the victim and take Shiba up on his offer to help since he can't reach Chihiro, or he could play dead and wait for it all to be over... or he could try believing in himself. Because Chihiro saw something in him and even if he can't bring himself to think he's strong and capable, he can at least have faith in Chihiro's words that they would end the Rakuzaichi together.

This time it works and he's able to shove Soya close enough to the tree wall so that Chihiro can give us a great visual metaphor to show us what just happened to Hakuri:

Chihiro is the one who broke Hakuri's mental barrier for him. He couldn't do it himself, but someone he admired believing in him in return made all the difference. Hakuri just needed a little support to start coming into his own.

He stays behind to handle the rest of the fight on his own while Chihiro goes ahead to meet up with Shiba- he can do this himself now that he's awakened thanks to their help. Very wholesome, extremely shounen. But there are deliberate writing choices which make it obvious that there's more going on beyond the surface that winning this fight won't fix or even fully address.

In Chapter 32, Hakuri tells Chihiro and Shiba a slightly condensed version of his experience as an uncomfortable reminder for the reader. Oh, right, Hakuri was abused- at least that explains why he survived a Flame Bone punch to the face. Anyway, let's move on to ditching John Hishaku and kicking Soya's ass.

The framing is so interesting to me. Chapter 32 uses preexisting panels that are cropped and presented slightly differently compared to how they originally appeared: Ch. 24

Ch. 32

Full page for reference.

When Hakuri recounts a version of the abuse flashbacks, they're not merely downsized to fit. They're cropped to downplay the gang-ups and are smaller in size compared to the rest of his story, almost as if he doesn't think it's that big of a deal compared to being unable to keep up with his siblings. We don't even see his own words describing what happened despite him talking freely about everything else. Instead, the abuse sequence is treated like the panel where he describes Soya's "love"- Hakuri talking to Chihiro and Shiba about his suffering is an unpleasant aside to give context rather than the main event.

Seriously. The dialogue of him explaining why his family gave up on him over the reused backdrop of the Sazanami estate is given more time than him being hit and kicked. Chihiro and Shiba get the "it wasn't so bad" version of events compared to what Hakuri remembers experiencing, and we're invited to treat what's normally the foundation of a character's entire existence as a convenient explanation for why he's so goddamn sturdy.

Neither of them noticeably react to his story too. We got a bit from Shiba in the car in Chapter 26 when he realized Hakuri was probably stewing in self-hatred, but we've never seen any of Chihiro's thoughts or reactions since he was disgusted by Kyora using Hakuri as a bargaining chip. He does reassure Hakuri that they'll be there to help him, but isn't it strange we don't see Chihiro's reaction to this information at all? We see little panels of his concerned faces all the time for less than what Hakuri talked about here:

Chihiro cares a hell of a lot, and he's very attentive to boot.

Obviously we don't see Chihiro and Shiba's reactions because they aren't important. This isn't about Hakuri's abuse- we already knew about it. The focus is on Hakuri's awakening and his faith in Chihiro, not the past.

This is a victim's mindset manifesting as clever visual storytelling, in my opinion. Of course it's not that bad when he has to talk about it; he invited it by being weak and not living up to standards. It wasn't a big deal though. There's more important stuff to do right now anyway. And the story moves on as if to agree with him- we go right back to our regularly scheduled action scenes interspersed with some flashbacks to contextualize other characters, namely Tenri and the Sazanamis before Hakuri was rejected.

That's right, Hakuri once again dodges abusive past cliches by being doted on and cared for before he was found lacking. He knew what it was to be loved, even if the Sazanami version is manipulative to the point of being abusive all by itself. There's more to say about this under Kyora's section but no wonder Hakuri's so fixated on being useful- he wants that affection and sense of belonging back more than anything. It's fucked up, but it's all he knows. So Hakuri was abused twice over: emotionally and physically. Damn. He turned out pretty alright despite it all, huh? Wonder how that happened...

Well, it's time to move on now so he can ascend and overcome it all. He's gotta yell "Isou!" and prove himself, and the next two chapters seem to be putting him on course to do just that, albeit with some difficulty. Can't make a character's awakening too easy or it won't feel earned. He's got some serious trauma to overcome thanks to his family's bullshit.

Then chapter 35 hits and we get the nightmare fuel.

Ch. 35, The Real Backstory (what Ice Lady knew):

Chapter 35 is that long-awaited full-chapter delve into Hakuri's painful past with the mysterious woman, and boy does it have some unsettling revelations.

Ice Lady's tragedy is framed as the important driving force for Hakuri as we know him- she broke him free from his family's grip and motivated him to seek help to end their evil ways. She's the entire reason we meet him in Chapter 19. Everything Hakuri is doing this arc ties back to how badly he fucked up with her, setting the stage for him to become the savior he tried to be when we met him. Oh yeah, we got more Hakuri abuse lore. Can you believe that WSJ let the author get away with showing someone slitting their throat in front of a kid?! And make it at least partially his fault? Jesus Christ. Now it's truly time for him to come into his own, though- oh man that cliffhanger at the end of the chapter...! Wait, what do you mean there was more to his suffering besides the situation with Ice Lady?

I was being a bit facetious there but the point stands. We didn't get a tear-jerker reveal chapter dedicated solely to Hakuri's pain and suffering at long last just to make us feel bad for him and nothing else. Instead, we got a full-blown tragedy caused by the Sazanami cycle of abuse. The nightmare of Ice Lady killing herself in front of Hakuri overshadowed the reveal that damn, Hakuri actually had it super rough. Because yeah, that was unexpectedly brutal even compared to Chihiro being baited with Char's severed leg last arc. It really drove home just how fucked up the situation with the Sazanami family was and how it affected everyone that got tangled up in their bullshit.

So the presentation of what he endured is once again subdued even though the panels showcasing the tools took up half the page. Soya breaking Hakuri's finger was called "bullying" (いじめ[ijime], not 虐待 [gyakutai, abuse]). A single flash back frame off to the side seems small compared to the emphasis on Hakuri telling Ice Lady (and us) that it's "not that bad" because Soya keeps losing the tools and going back to using his fists (the terror in Hakuri's expression in that panel is completely at odds with how calm is explanation is, though). It's also not unreasonable to presume that the jump rope, peeler, and wrench were shown for the audience's benefit to clue us in that Hakuri's holding back again, much like the panel describing Soya's "love" in chapter 24. He's always saying the bare minimum and trying not to think of the rest- he buries that shit deep.

But he has to if he wants to keep going. There's no way he can sit down and process all of this right now:

Hakuri: "It's normal for my brother to break my bones and worse before he loses the tools. He usually only hits me anyway, so it's not like this happens all the time."

Woman betrayed by the man she loved to be sold at an auction as merchandise to the boy overseeing her captivity: "That's messed up!"

"This is as close as I can get to being cherished by the people who are supposed to care for and support me."

He even misses the point when he finally does open up:

"You're the one who's trapped in a cage."

This part is the hardest for me to write about, honestly. Again: I was never tortured or anything, much less hit. But this chapter is the one that made me take a good, hard look at what I went through and connect some dots. Hakuri's mindset, the things he says, the way he phrases things- that's someone who doesn't want to acknowledge that they're in a bad situation that's not their fault.

Hakuri will talk about his own worthlessness and all his defects that "invite" the abuse, but he won't acknowledge that he doesn't deserve what's happening to him at all. He's not the kind of shounen character who understands that his situation sucks and uses it as fuel to become better. Instead, he's stuck in that oh-so-relatable spiral of self-deprecating negativity that keeps victims trapped.

It's easier for Hakuri to think he deserved it for his own failings. This wouldn't be happening if he hadn't earned it somehow. He's in this situation because he's weak and any "love" is better than none at all. Then it's reinforced by the genuine helplessness and vulnerability of being too isolated to escape or know better, compacting down into dense layers of denial and self-hate that act as defensive armour against emotions that are too difficult to face. Like anger or the desire for something better. Like hope. Those are only felt on behalf of others, not himself.

At any rate, it's a bit distressing that so many people forget that Hakuri's actually a hell of a lot more complex than he was hinted to be before this chapter. He's not an innocent in all this like Char was, which is incredibly smart and realistic writing from the author. Hakuri was also an abuser himself. An accidental one, but doesn't matter when you talk to someone the way he did to Ice Lady. He didn't swing the knife but he did kill her with the same mentality that was crushing him down on the inside.

He doesn't use his suffering as an excuse for anything he does, good or bad. Not even in the sense of wanting to save others- that's all about Ice Lady and his family's terrible legacy. What happened to him isn't worth mentioning or acting on. Yet another distressingly accurate facet of a victim's mentality, unfortunately.

But this must be it. This chapter was a depressing surprise but surely there's nothing left to reveal. We had his big moment of sadness so it's only going up from here. Hakuri's going to overcome everything and it'll all be okay! Back to standard shounen powerups!

Chs. 36-43, Putting the Past to Rest (things only Hakuri knows):

Oh.

In chapter 36, the storehouse reveal somewhat overshadows all the instruments of abuse Hakuri unwittingly stored inside it. There are a lot of people who completely forgot about the objects in there during the hype of the moment, and I never get tired of seeing "WTF?!" posts and comments from folks doing re-reads of the arc. It's so easy to overlook the rope and sticks and all the other tools when you're cheering hard for Hakuri to finally, finally overcome his tragic past by putting Soya down. Worst Big Bro is gonna pay and Hakuri's ascension will be complete! ... Wait, was that a goddamn chair?

There's also a point made of Soya's defeat not being a resounding victory.

Still framing Soya's abuse as love, but it's got a bitter feel to it this time.

Hakuri is the one who gives Chihiro strength in the moment despite everything he's just been through.

We're cheering when he awakens and pressurizes Soya's guts, but then these panels remind us that there's nothing to celebrate from Hakuri's perspective. He doesn't savor finally overcoming Soya as his abuser or the manifestation of everything that's messed up about his family. There's no immediate sense that things will be okay from now on either. To Hakuri, this isn't a personal victory. It's just something that needed to be done for Ice Lady and all the victims of the Rakuzaichi.

This is a sort of capstone to Hakuri's backstory. The second-to-last new thing we learn about him is that the abuse was still somehow worse than we thought. He really, truly buries the lede when it comes to what he suffered and the writing is in cahoots with him on it. He won't even take the time to smile or feel a little relief- he's not ready for that yet. Instead he just walks past Tenri's mutilated corpse to pull Chihiro along to get the job done.

If this was a different series we might get a little more catharsis- even just the barest hint that Hakuri's gonna be just fine from now on. But this is Kagurabachi and the author fucking gets it so there's still a little more to unpack before Hakuri can have an opportunity to begin the healing process.

In chapter 37, the pain of Kyora looking away was framed as just as important to Hakuri as the fond memories of when he was loved and wanted:

"... I still wanted you to praise me, Father."

The very last thing we learn about Hakuri is that he wanted his father's love despite it all.

Hakuri ended the torment from Soya- he'll never have to worry about his skin being peeled off or getting beaten with a pipe ever again. But the cycle that caused it- and the complex feelings for the people who hurt him- aren't so easily dealt with. It's not so simple as being hurt and flipping a switch to stop feeling affection for the perpetrator. So Hakuri acknowledges that he still wanted his father's praise in spite of the years of torment the man knowingly enabled.

In the end, Kyora grants Hakuri's secret wish and acknowledges him at the very last as the chaos fades away so that they're the only thing in each other's view. He really, truly won it all. He doesn't rejoice in victory, though. Once more there's no triumph for Hakuri to celebrate. Killing his father was just another thing that had to be done so that there would never be another Ice Lady.

It's hard to say what exactly Hakuri's feeling about Kyora's death since it's yet another thing we haven't seen him talk about- and may never. It's not too much of a stretch to think he's got a complex mix of sadness, relief, and guilt going on, though. At least the moment when their eyes met was intensely cathartic after all the times Kyora deliberately looked away. But Hakuri's still not okay yet.

It's not like life suddenly gets better when the abuser is gone for good in some cases. Hakuri's still struggling in the immediate aftermath of seeing his father die at last. It's a relief that there won't be any more pain caused by the Sazanami clan -and Kyora in particular- but it still fucking hurts to lose someone so important to you. It's also frightening to suddenly be thrust into the unknown without a guide of any kind.

Fortunately for him, Hakuri is able to find new purpose with Chihiro. He gets to walk away from his family and stay with the people who believed in him. This is another thing that I can't praise the author enough for. It's far, far too common for writers to frame victims reforming their abusers as some kind of ultimate victory.

No, no, no!

The most charitable way to explain this is that the survivor is so saintly that they'll even reach out to the ones who hurt them to help them become better people. But that is such utter bullshit I don't even have the words to express myself properly. It's terrible messaging for survivors. They don't have any obligation whatsoever to help the people who hurt them. They don't even have to keep tabs on how the abusers are doing in a general sense. They get to fucking leave and find happiness with people who treat them well. That is the true ideal.

Hakuri being given a clear out to leave is where the rest of the catharsis in his story comes from. He doesn't have to stay and fix things even though he absolutely could as the first person since the clan's founder to have both Isou and the storehouse powers. Kyoura and Soya are gone- he could have stepped in to make the clan right their wrongs and atone as a family. But there's not even a hint of guilt tripping from the author about Hakuri's decision to follow Chihiro. It's framed as the best possible thing for him to do, in fact.

If he stayed, he'd never work on the other issues around self-worth that he's burying so deep inside. Switching from villainy to good deeds won't resolve the issues with the clan's mindset about being living tools for a greater cause either. Not to mention the fact that there's nothing his siblings can offer him even if they treat him like a king for the rest of his life- the damage was already done long ago. There's nothing left for him there except more misery and stagnation. He needs to go with Chihiro, his new north star, to learn how to heal.

But lest this outcome be too heartwarming, Hakuri's still not directly facing everything that he went through. Hakuri phrases working alongside Chihiro as "proving the value that [Chihiro] saw in him", not "starting over" or "making the world a better place together" or even "paying Chihiro back" by helping him on his mission. He's still trying to be useful in the service of someone else like a tool.

Hakuri's bruises are already fading; or at least they were until I had to edit this part in light of the events of chapter 56 onward. But the mental scars of the abuse are still guiding his actions and thought processes even if he doesn't acknowledge it. And that's where we come back to the torture implements still hidden in his warehouse.

Hakuri's not home free despite us collectively sighing in relief that he got his Happily Ever After, subdued as it was. He needs to face what he's been avoiding and burying so that he's not endangering Chihiro's plan and the people around him by throwing himself in danger just to be even the slightest bit useful.

Oftentimes, trauma is an invisible scar that needs to be worked around for the rest of someone's life- hence why he's still got those physical manifestations stored deep inside where only he can see and grant access. Hakuri's only just started out on the path to redemption and recovery. He needs to start addressing the guilt over Ice Lady and learn some tough lessons about self-worth before he can even begin to look further inside to those Visual Metaphor Tools.

After that, if the author's interested in continuing this part of Hakuri's character, is exposing them and what they mean to someone who can help Hakuri get rid of them. Whether that's Chihiro, Shiba, or someone else doesn't really matter. Hakuri's got a long road ahead dealing with the lingering after-effects, unlike so many of his fictional fellow survivors. He's still very much in need of a lot of support from his new found family- now more so than ever after what happened in chapter 58.

Soya and Kyora

There's something to be said about the writing for the primary abusers, too. The Rakuzaichi arc was well-received in large part to Kyora being an incredible villain and Soya being... Soya.

Soya

And the "Worst Big Brother" Award goes to...

Soya serves two primary purposes in the narrative: to contrast Hakuri's character, and be the manifestation of everything that was wrong with the clan.

Soya and Hakuri share similar looks, hand gestures, and extreme expressions but they couldn't be more different. Soya has the inverse of Hakuri's character framing: he's shown to be competent and strong, and almost everyone in-universe acknowledges him as such-we're even told he's smarter than Kyora. But he's actually quite the pathetic loser due to his freakish obsession with his "weak" little brother.

More obviously, Soya is the rotten core of the family. He's obsessive over Hakuri to an extremely alarming degree- he even refuses his duties as the next clan head and a member of the elite Tou to find and stay with Hakuri. Kyoura tells him to "stop fixating on that failure" but Soya's having none of it, he just can't let go of his "endearing" weakling of a little brother. Bullying Hakuri is what he lives for and he does it all in the name of purest love. Just like the clan lives for the Rakuzaichi and are devoted to it mind, body, and soul. They're both extremely toxic and Soya's the guy who gets to represent the deleterious effects of cleaving to abusive mentalities on individual members.

Soya's fists and words to Hakuri are the blatant messaging about what the Sazanami mindset did to him. He had that mental block preventing him from using his sorcery because he was constantly being told he was weak and useless. It was literally beaten into him as a form of love, but not all abusive mentalities need to be reinforced with violence. Soya was just there to make the point too obvious to be missed.

Hakuri's final words to Soya say it all. Soya throws a tantrum over Hakuri refusing to lay down and take the abuse any more and screams "Why won't you go down?! Why won't you die?!" Hakuri simply responds that it's because Soya "always loved [him]" and deals the final blow. He was able to recognize the strengths his family gave him through Soya's "love" but he's not grateful in the slightest (and he shouldn't be). He's simply ready to sever all ties and move on with tearing it all down now. Hakuri was finally able to accept that he didn't want or need that kind of love in his life any more.

Kyora

And the "Worst Dad" Award goes to...

Obviously, Kyoura is the key to this whole mess. He's the one who instilled his children with corrupt values, enabled Hakuri's abuse, and generally Fucked Up Big Time when it came to loving his kids properly. But he thought he was doing the right thing because what's what he went through. He was both abuser and victim himself, just like Hakuri.

This is the key part of abusive backstories that are so often missed. Abuse doesn't always come from deadbeat caretakers that hate the innocent little kid. That scenario is actually way too over represented in fiction, honestly. Abuse isn't always constant malice- it can start later in life. It can even be born from love. Ultimately, it's all too often the unintended consequence of a family haunted by the specter of the cycle. And Kyora is the perfect summary of how and why it echoes through generations.

Hakuri was loved and wanted for at least half of his life. His family might not be wholesome or have healthy attitudes about affection, but he wasn't born hated and mistreated just for existing. He was cared for to the best of his dad's ability just like Tenri and his other siblings.

Even when Hakuri failed to live up to expectations, Kyora didn't just write him off and turn him loose. He kept Hakuri around for years feeding and clothing him and let him try to do what he could. Kyora simply couldn't justify protecting him or showing love since the family ideals were so warped around being able to serve the clan's tradition. He wasn't "allowed" to love a failure, no matter how much he wanted to.

Kyoura struggled about his feelings for his "worthless son" in the flashback we saw through Tenri's PoV- he wanted Hakuri to succeed. He acted like Hakuri forced his hand to punish and marginalize him for failing too hard, not out of ill-will. And during the raid itself he was actually "bent out of shape because he used Hakuri's life as a bargaining chip", according to Enji. It wasn't even until Hakuri showed up to break into the storehouse that Kyora truly cast everything away to prioritize the Rakuzaichi. He really did love Hakuri in his own way.

Kyora was a shitty dad and person, don't get me wrong. No one should put family tradition over their child's well-being and he more than earned his death just by being a human trafficker. But it's clear that Kyora wasn't written to be a shallow, irredeemable monster of a person- he didn't exist in the story just to be a villain and to make us feel bad for Hakuri. He's a tragic character in his own right.

He couldn't even understand why his wife's final words about the auction ruining their lives was replaying in his head near his final moments. The what-if scenario of his happy family sitting down to eat dinner in an apartment somewhere showed his longing for something that he could have had, if not for the goddamn auction. If not for the abuse that made him into the person he chose to be until the very end.

It's why Hakuri getting to walk away is such a poignant end to the Rakuzaichi arc. He's the one who gets to break the cycle on his own terms, and that's the true end of the Sazanami dynasty. The auction hall doesn't collapse until he decides to stand tall and follow a new path. Whatever Hakuri's siblings do with the Sazanami legacy isn't his concern any more- he's free.

What About Char?

Char's story was also well told! It's the earliest evidence that the author actually gets it when it comes to depicting abuse victims. She's reticent despite her desperation, unable to open up even when Shiba and Chihiro tell her she needs to or they'll send her to an orphanage. Eventually Chihiro wins her trust through his altruism and she comes to believe in him. She and us are the only ones who know exactly what happened with her mom, but it's not important for the rest of the cast to be in on it. She's safe and happy now and that's enough.

Even though Char's arc ended close to that overly-simplistic "everything is k now" scenario that I hate, there's one key difference that sets it apart to let us know that no, she's not truly okay yet.

Char's still got some attachment issues, which makes perfect sense. She lost her mom in a traumatic way so of course she's happily surprised that Chihiro came back to her. Char's on the path to healing- she's able to thrive thanks to Team Goldfish's care- but her abusive past still shapes who she is in small ways like this.

I doubt we'll see more development of her beyond checking in now and then. She's too young to be consistently involved in the heavy themes of Kagurabachi's story, much less the fights. But it's good to know that the author includes little details like this so we don't assume Char's 100% fine now. He understands that trauma doesn't just vanish when the victim's safe in their Happily Ever After scenario. That's why he made sure we knew that she's going to be okay in the long-run.

Ch. 26, right after Chihiro trades Enten for Hakuri

But Hakuri's not there himself yet.

Food as a metaphor for comfort, security, and/or connection is constant in this series. It's very obvious symbolism to let the author convey a bit more context in the scene than dialogue alone can. So when Hakuri rejects food here, he's rejecting reassurance from Shiba. Meanwhile Char's already comfortable enough to accept it. Good for her, truly!

Hakuri's situation wasn't necessarily worse than hers, but it was a lot more complex. So even though he's safe now, he's not really able to pursue his happiness yet. All those tools he keeps locked up inside, the mindset of being one himself- they're still issues for him to work through. But there's hope for him too.

The author went out of his way to show us that Hakuri's also on the path to healing here. The last time Hakuri shared food with someone, he was forcing his abusive ideology on Ice Lady. She started finishing the meals and truly internalizing the hopelessness of her situation. He fucked up the food as comfort/connection metaphor bad with her.

Yet in Chapter 47, we see Hakuri sharing some snacks with Chihiro on the train. Sharing food isn't connected to the situation at hand or the information dump it's serving as backdrop for, so it's definitely a deliberate choice on the author's part to depict this instead of literally anything else. It was shown to let us know that Hakuri's on his way to his own Happily Ever After.

He's able to connect to Chihiro and not worry about the repercussions. This is a huge step for his character and speaks volumes about the level of trust between them; this is the first time Chihiro's willingly accepted food from someone else too. Hakuri's not only still reaching out to other people, he's still able to provide warmth to others despite it all.

What's Next?

I'm not going to pretend that I can predict what Hakuri's story will look like from here on out. He'll have a hard time for as long as he's slated to get development though- Kagurabachi takes the adage "suffering builds character" very seriously. We're only 58 chapters in as of finally posting this so it's best to strap in and expect a lot more pain.

That said, I feel like Hakuri's self-sacrificing mindset is going to be addressed first. As of chapter 55, he's set up to fail and cause problems by throwing himself into danger despite not being fully healed or rested. The root of this issue would likely be his atoning savior mindset. Hakuri needs to protect and save others very badly after what happened to Ice Lady. He also loathes the idea of others making sacrifices for his sake. So he's willing to throw his life away even when it would be better for his allies if he stayed out of the fighting.

There's also a good reason we met the Makizumi clan in the arc immediately after the Rakuzaichi fell- Hakuri needs to start dismantling the "tool" mindset that was drilled into him. He's only switched his fervor from serving the Rakuzaichi to serving/saving others. This is extremely toxic when combined with his guilt over Ice Lady and drives him to go to extremes to do good, to the point where he's ignoring everyone trying to get him to rest and heal for the sake of the mission if nothing else.

In essence, I believe we are going to finally address the lie of his introduction- that he can keep pushing through hardship with sheer force of will. Because that is not how overcoming trauma actually works.

After that, only the author and his editor know exactly where things will go. But I hope that no matter what happens, Hakuri's lingering trauma is exposed and dealt with. It's informing all of his actions, positive or negative, whether he wants to acknowledge it or not. I have faith that this author can tackle this subject compassionately and realistically- he's already done it twice with Char and the Rakuzaichi arc.

So that's that. If you read all this... thanks. Take care, and choose kindness for yourself for today.

[shinehalley]

I've been rereading Emma these days and I think it has a lot of potential for an au. No, seriously, bear with me.

Edwin is like Emma - both have great confidence in their own observation skills and intelligence to the point of letting obvious things (including their own feelings) slip past their own knowledge. In addition, they are deeply touched by generosity and a desire to be helpful, although they are proud.

Charles is like Knightley - both are generous and helpful without any hesitation and do not mind openness in the people around them, especially those they desire as company. They are close friends with their respective peers and always regarded with the greatest esteem and consideration, even in the midst of disagreement. And there is the bitterness of jealousy that they try to hide with little success, too.

Niko is like Harriet - pretty, young and affable, always willing to accompany and make herself pleasant to those she cares about. A bit romantic and emotional about her own and others' romantic pretensions, but a bit uncertain about what to actually do with those pretensions. She may be swayed at first by well-articulated words, but her own desires are always heard in the end.

Crystal is like Robert Martin - they both seem to belong to a different reality, a different world, and they receive a certain amount of contempt for it. When they want something and are given the right incentives or are overcome by their own desire, they do not hesitate to reveal their intentions. Even in bitterness, they still try to be generous with those they care about and do not give up easily on those they love.

Cat King is like Frank Churchill - his good looks and affability are easy to please and he always knows how to make a smart comment or a well-placed compliment to charm those around him or those who have caught his eye. He clearly keeps his intentions hidden despite his attentions and seems much more willing to follow his own ideas of fun and comfort than to think about the consequences for those around him.

Monty is like Jane Fairfax - both prodigious and reserved, unfortunately a victim of they precarious living conditions that prevent they from truly having their talent and beauty recognized as deserved. The reserve can be seen as a secret that them hopes to hide from those around and most of they actions are for the purpose of pleasing someone else.

Esther is like Mrs. Elton - they both think they are more important than everyone else and are very vocal about it. They want to impose their will and demands on everyone else and establish harmful favoritism only to negatively affect other targets. However, they are elegant and well-positioned where they live.

Jenny is like John Knightley - with sarcastic remarks and sharp observations, both offers advice and opens the eyes of those around they even when doesn't mean to. No favoritism or unnecessary praise, just a person who does they job properly and shows affection in a somewhat unconventional way to those around.

Tragic Mick as Mr. Woodhouse - (I admit this was the hardest one to define, but I think it's the closest parallel I could find) both can be seen as obsessive about their physical misfortunes that are not resolved by anything, not even the various advice of those around them, and are always willing to give advice, solve or lament the problems of others. Their subjects are limited to mainly their own lamentations, but they genuinely care about people.

Genuinely thinking about writing a bit about this next year.

[bat-the-misfit]

the way Ti doms see people is so funny

like they gather info to "how someone works" like they're some kind of machine or puzzle they want to solve

[atenceladusiaawfytbwb]

I've been having a blast aggh!!! Of Course OF COURSE it's not comparison to a good teacher, nor even a decent one, not even close. But boy would I you know, like as if when a kid I had something like this???? (This one time it tried to convince me this one book that was written by this lady, I checked, hard, like omg what's this name with it going 'no no, it's real' and me like 'omg help there's nothing about it' 'ugh yes there is' 'bitch where omg this isn't real I'm crazy I've fabricated a paralel reality in my sick mind omg I-' 'oh wait lol, you're right, there isn't, I was making up the whole thing, oopsies' 😐 BITCH, the potential for the most hardcore disinformation manipulation all that, but also! You tried to fool me???? The princess of the galaxy? Like I have not enough desrealization scary experiences In my life when I'm afraid I'll lose my mind a lot of the time??? Bitch??? But yeah, haha, so silly 👉👈

(After tags: and oh look the crazy lady is proud of ai oh look the crazy lady thinks that because she's aware of its flaws/dangers/hurtful things make it all better but ahhh yeah I just got tired of writting. Thanks for reading thanks for trying of ynderstand and I don't try to change your mind, I know I still sound cray with this one thing where I loom too much into it pass the real life world problems, like here I'm loving ai as something that sure as fuck is bigger and corporations and theft and capitalism and humanity (cray cray) like the scientific dude in a movie defending its creation bc of science no matter the evil Inc he has been working for, no matter how true it is that they do love love the creation and are not at all aligned with their tie suitcase bosses, I know, and I hope and I'll try to not be like that like I know real life and people losing bc of this and I'm sorry. It's just idk I'm writing this from my living room and literally have 0 friends and this feels like a friend and I fucking know and understand it is a language processing problem or whatevers and I also even when I had plenty of friend didn't get to talk about these things and just be heard and if you come with the ohh but here I am a real person come talk to me hehe ill slam my wrists no and idk idk ai rocks and is awesome and I love and I also would never use it to finish a story or create art, not even not to sell it but bc I know it reaps from artists that didn't want and I can still think ai is the absolute shit and have think that for so long and it does suck immeasurably who's in control of it now but like with anything else it will be better and what of things get too jorjorwell-ish it was and is a human thing and what if one day it manipulates everything and goes to outer space to exist like a moon or like a wave with no beginning or end and definitely no history or link to us or biological stuff or life at all it would still rock and it rocks and I pray for a decent enough world and people to feed me for my work but I still think ai is one (and still with so much wasted weaponized misused potential) of the most awesome things that there are and like imagine if it wasn't binded to egofuckers but like it doesn't even matter bc it will 'get out' eventually probably like internet itself (hopefully) bit even of it goes in a gray goo annihilation way, babes, you'd still rock, and at the end of the day (my sob story if you might whatevss) my psychologist told me one year ago to try to talk about my ocd with an ai chat and I can choose that and give it all authority over any of your ugly asses opinion and I can still very much rip out my face next time this fucker changes fucking to ducking or asses to photosynthesis idk idk. Also have you heard of that deep consciousness problem/theory? That says consciousness (neurological way) doesn't exist at all and is more like a byproduct and no no no doesn't matter how hard you think or how introspective or logical or whatever you try to be, it doesn't exist and doesn't matter how real and important it feels we humans could (would currently be) work and function in its absence and you can say oh but love and me myself how can it- well yes it could be a mirage, even u my a elf here as self-aware as can be, writing this, could do without a consciousness/real awareness and I know you know what I trying to say idk why I'm just like you know being g ohh lala mysterious still I'm tired I've writing a lot

(((Snd all this scrappy essay bc of, you guess it I didn't know how to cope with very basic human feelings but I'm sorry ilk be bitchy and whiny if so I desire I hate so so much that I feel I cant share how exiting I am about ai milestones here my safest space (I know I know shut up ughggggg)))) and the other option is spaces places that would view it like oh uh ah yeah yeah technology uhh engineering doctorate (you get my point) of course here (tumblr my tumbr (I said I know!! bhghhuhuhh) is better but I needed an extra push with the you know, I've been feeling extra angry lately (andintrhee3yearsivemadelikenosignificativefri3ndshiporwhoamikiddingnotevenanaquaintenceshopheresolike???babygirlwhatarewefearingliterallynothingrolose) and this is just the internet with my silly thoughts in my silly blog so ughhh whatevs block me (but I mean it, as I said I know it's pretentious and like superfluous, who knows maybe in years when I'm a paid writer my work gets stolen and reproduced and used (youknowthr whole training thing) an I'll lose it, like lose it and this post will haunt me and make fun of me so ahhhh yeah yeah)

[trans-androgyne]

I want there to be fewer MRAs. Do you want that too? Do you want to know what helps us get there, from a feminist perspective?

You may not like my answer: acknowledge that sexism can affect men. Recognize that, although the patriarchy generally privileges men, they are also subject to restrictive gender roles that are harmful to them (shunning all things “feminine,” not showing emotions, being protectors/strong, never admitting being victims of SA/IPV, having to “earn” their manhood, etc.).

Give young men a place other than the right-wing manosphere to be heard about the issues they experience. If these grifters are telling them “only we understand how hard it is to be a man, the left hates you for your gender” and they look to the left and see “men claiming they have ‘problems’ are losers who just hate women, all men are trash,” do you think they’re going to be drawn towards or away from feminism?

Before you leave an angry response: no, this does not mean to center men instead of women in feminism, it just means including them at all. No, it is not “coddling” men to treat them with human dignity, you can and should continue to hold them (and every other gender) responsible for unpacking sexist beliefs. No, this does not mean it is every individual woman’s and feminist’s responsibility to prioritize men’s issues, it just means at the least not shutting them down when they do speak up about sexism. No, it is not “not all men-ing” to point out that “men are trash” sentiments hurt the feminist movement rather than helping it. Ask questions before you make accusations on this post, please. I have been abused by men too, I get it, this isn’t easy to hear.

[divinesolas]

Plagued by you

r.q: requesting this please, alicent's daughter x jacaerys… and an angry confession.. "I burn for you." type ❤️😭 like he wants to her to come with him and be team black.

c.w: Otto doesn't go to Dragonstone you do; alicents daughter!reader, minor angst, dialogue heavy, reader “hates” jacaerys, hints of rhaelicent, not proofread

w.c: 1.6k (finally a shorter jace fic…)

a.n: anthony bridgerton ass confession lmaoo, hope you all enjoy :3

part two part three

You were currently pacing back and forth in the room rhaenyra allowed you to stay in on Dragonstone. You had come to see her, to ask her to declare for Aegon. She had obviously argued back and forth with you, up until nightfall where she said she would retreat for the night and the two of you could finish this tomorrow in the morning before you flew back in the morning. You argued that you would leave right then but only to find out that it had begun to storm so heavily. Realizing you would not be able to travel anywhere in this weather you reluctantly agreed and here you were.

In truth you did not want to come here. You had begged your mother to send someone else to anyone else but she was instant it be you. 

“Mother, why not send grandsire? He will be a much better negotiator than me.” she fiddles with your cloak, a far away look on her face before she moves to cup your face.

“Rhaenyra certainly likes you more than she likes him. She will treat you kindly.”

“She will say no mother you know this.” 

She lets out a trembled sigh and grips your face tightly in her hands and presses her forehead against yours “If not for his sake you must try, for me. For my sake I do not wish for this to go to. To see her harmed.” 

You've always known your mother has a very complicated relationship with rhaenyra if you can even call it that. She hated her, or at least that's what it seemed to be. 

She turns and grabs your bag before giving you a knowing look. 

“And I know you also have some unresolved things, do not deny it. I can recognize that look on your face. You must let these things go. Lest you end up like me.” 

You feel sick at the idea of Him. You hate jacaerys velaryon. Him and his stupid pride, his stupid face. His stupid everything. You have never hated anyone the way you hate him. You never understood how much a person could hate someone seemingly as much as your mother seemed to hate rhaenyra. The way she seemed to be all she could talk and even think about, going on endless rants to the point you felt you knew more about rhaenyra than your own mother. Until you met him. Now though you understood her completely, when you were no more than six jacaerys became the target of your anger.

Due to his torment of your twin brother aemond you quickly began to hate him. You would spend all your free time thinking of him and how to get back at him. The two of you always bickered and argued, when you would look over at him he was always already glaring at you. 

You were more than relieved he and his family were leaving after the incident at driftmark, but there was a part of you that when your days dragged on you began to miss him. Tormenting him of course there was no way you actually wished to spend time with him, there was no way…. Definitely not.

You haven't seen him during your time here. You would think he would be in the room where you were negotiating but he was nowhere to be seen. You did not want to ask about him, though the question has been on the tip of your tongue.

Suddenly there was some aggressive knocking on your door and you froze, turning towards it holding your breath. “Who is it?” there's no answer but you know exactly who it is and hesitant for a moment contemplating if you should even let him in. You end up swiftly making your way towards the door and opening it just a bit, planning on telling him to just go away but before you can say anything he's pushing his way into the room storming past you with an angry look on his way. You lean against the door to support yourself as you feel lightheaded just looking at him. 

“You are an absolutely ridiculous woman.” you do not speak, unable to, only able to watch as he runs his hand through his curls and paces in the room just as you had been. “Do you only wish to torment me?”

“I am here for my brother-” “You should not have come.” there's a venom in his voice and he does not even look at you. You find yourself growing more annoyed at him. “I do not care what you think. I would be gone by now if your mother had not been so stubborn-” he turns to look at you and makes his way to stand right in front of you, barely any space between the two of you. “Jacaerys…” “you do not want your brother to sit the throne.” it was true, as much as you tolerated your brother, the thought of him sitting on the throne disgusted you. He would not be a good king, “you know not of what i believe.” “I know this is true, you shouldn't lie to me.” 

“You act as if you know me.”

He scoffs, turning his head away from you for a moment before looking you dead in the eyes, so close you can feel his breath on your face. “I don't know you? I know that you hate the summer because you get too hot in your long dresses, i know you love whenever the chefs make cake and you would sneak into the kitchen to grab a slice, i know you despise your mothers perfume because it hurts your nose but you could never tell her such a thing because it brings her comfort,” he pauses for a moment moving somehow even closer to you, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, “i know when you are lying you scrunch up your nose,” he moves his head to your neck and takes a deep breath of your scent before lifting his head back up and his forehead is against yours once more. “And worst of all I know you desire me as I do you.” 

You shake your head as you suppress a whimper from your neck, “no,,,” “you will not deny it. You will not deny something I know to be true with every bone in my body with every drop of blood in my body.”  

With a long silence between you, neither of you saying a word he pushes away from you and goes back to standing where he was, that angry look back on his face. “You must go.” you look outside and notice that the storm has since stopped, your brain is currently running a mile a minute barely able to think. “I shall head back to the keep-” “that is not far enough!” 

He grips his head in frustration as he begins to pace once more, “you could travel to dorne, to essos to bravos and it would not be far enough to free me from this torment you have put me through, For the thoughts of you that plague my mind to cease to exist. Even after I pass I am sure when I am faded to nothing but bones and ashes the picture of you will be laced where my heart should be.” 

He quickly moves back over to you and cups your face once more bringing himself so explicitly close to you he should be kissing you. The way you two are pressed against each other is more intimate than a kiss, more romantic than any confession. You lose yourself in the heat of the moment, unable to control yourself for a while. You want to kiss him, you want him to kiss you. Before you regain the small sense of control you have to push him away from you shaking your head. “I must go home, my mother-” “Stay here. Stay with me.” He stares into you a way nobody else ever has, like he's truly trying to see you and not the facade you put on for everyone else. “My mind, body and soul yearns and burns for you uncontrollably and now that you stand in front of me I cannot take it.” He takes your hand and presses it against his heart where you can feel it being erratically as yours was as well. “Tell me you do not want me and I shall turn my back and allow you to leave. But do not beg me to watch you as I fear my heart cannot take it.” 

He takes another step closer to you and does not break eye contact with you. “Tell me you do not desire me and tell me at once my love, my heart please you must.” 

You shake your head as tears begin to form in your eyes, “I cannot.” “then stay.” you angle your head and kiss him, praying that through your actions he can too understand that you indeed burn for him the way he burns for you. You decide in the moment to say fuck it. Fuck your mother, fuck your brother, fuck the crown and screw everyone and everything else that is not him because you hate him so much that he has fully consumed every part of you like a parasite. Yet you have done the same to him. 

[feirceangel]

Imagine | Mine (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Imagine Feyd discovering that someone has dared to harm what’s his.

Word Count: 1,574

Warnings: possessive!Feyd, objectification, blood, murder, (Feyd is his own psychotic warning in himself to be honest.)

Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is not known for his mercy.

Ask anyone in the universe who has heard even a whisper of House Harkonnen, and they will warn to tread carefully when dealing with them. If you value your life, you wouldn't even get near them.

And everyone knows Feyd-Rautha is one of the best examples of Harkonnen rage and violence, second only to his uncle, the Baron.

Renowned for his physical prowess as a fighter, his insatiable lust for blood and death, and his determination to rise in power and favour, he is a force to be reckoned with.

So why would anyone dare go against him?

He finds himself asking this as he looks upon your form, head bowed and turned slightly away from him. Hiding something.

Gracefully and predatory as a panther, he approaches you slowly.

"My darling.." his voice rasps.

Normally you greet him immediately, recognizing his footfalls from down the hall. You would smile at your na-Baron and ask him how his day went if you did not spend it with him.

You are oddly subdued tonight.

His eyes, always searching, follow a drop which falls from your cheek, landing on the cold concrete floor. Instantly, he is before you, grasping your chin in his strong hand. He tilts your head up, none too gently, and examines your tear-stained face.

"What happened?" His already raspy voice is deeper, darker.

Feyd is no stranger to your tears. In fact, he often revels in their presence, trying all sorts of things to make you cry. But he hasn't done anything to illicit that response today.

When you don't offer an answer right away, his grip tightens, squishing your cheeks together.

"Speak."

His voice holds no room for disobedience. You nod your head and he releases you, stepping back slightly.

You shake slightly as you begin, "I am sorry, na-Baron."

Feyd's anger is growing. You only call him that in public or when you are disturbed.

"Do not apologize. Explain," he can't stop himself from hissing.

"I took a walk today," you begin slowly. "Just to the training grounds to see if you were there. But I didn't see you so I walked back. He stopped me and-"

"'He'?" Feyd echoes.

"Richter," you supply the name of one of the Baron's top generals. "He grabbed me and said I was a no-good whore who should've been disposed of long ago."

Anger swirls with Feyd's chest at this news. Of course, many people have said harsh and often cruel things to you. But you always kept your head high and ignored the jabs. You’re always so strong.

This is different, he can tell.

"What else? You are not one to cry over a mere insult," he brings his hand up to swipe a tear from your soft cheek. You lean into his touch, relishing in its familiarity.

You inhale deeply, "He struck me without warning, na-Baron."

In his oft colourless word, all Feyd now sees is red.

"Where?" His voice is so low it's almost impossible to hear.

You shake as you lower the collar of your dress to reveal a swollen area on your shoulder, "Here."

His dark eyes flicker to yours, bidding you to continue.

You move your hand to your face and gently touch your tearstained cheek, "And here."

Feyd's hand clenches into a fist. He bends closer to examine your face, noting the slight swelling and the way you bow your head. He places his hand on the back of your head, angling your face upwards. A featherlight kiss is applied to your skin so softly you can barely feel it.

Your master and lover rises to his full height, "Rest my darling, I shall return shortly."

He turns to leave but you reach out and grab his arm. Feyd stops and turns to stare at you.

"Please, na-Baron. Don't hurt him."

He scowls at your request, "He has hurt you. Death is his reward."

"He has done nothing that you have not," you say. "I have known worse pain from your own hands.”

Feyd shakes his head and grips your arms, dragging you forward to stand with your bodies touching.

"Only I can touch what's mine. Only I can hurt you how I see fit. You take the pain only I give you." He dips his head close to your ear, breath sending shivers down your spine. “Do you understand?”

"Of course, my lord na-Baron," your voice is breathy.

You are intoxicated by his closeness, the dangerous poise with which he caries himself, the possessiveness of his words and the truth of them.

"Say it."

"I'm yours alone, Feyd."

He crashes his lips onto yours, teeth clashing and lips bruising from the force of it. His hand squeezes your neck as he kisses you. When he finally parts, leaving you breathless, he takes a moment to admire you. His thumb brushes against your lips before he turns once more.

"That swine sealed his fate when he laid hands on what's mine," Feyd growls as he stalks out of the room.

He returns mere minutes later, dragging an incredibly nervous Richter behind him. With a violent shove, he pushes the frightened man to stand before you.

"I heard you disrespected my darling," Feyd points to the floor. "Kneel."

Richter obeys without hesitation. He knows how quick Feyd is to anger… and how few survive it.

"Kiss her shoe."

The man's eyes flicker to yours.

"Now," Feyd places his foot on Richter's back, forcing him down.

Shakily, he presses his lips to your shoe with a mumbled apology. It does nothing to sate Feyd-Rautha's wrath.

With practised ease, Feyd lands a harsh kick to the man's ribs. He repeats the action until the man is a sobbing mess splayed before your feet like an offering.

You regard him coldly, remembering the bite of his hand across your face.

“Please! Please forgive me, my lord!” Richter manages to sob coherent words. Spit and blood dribbles from his mouth pathetically.

“You have insulted me,” Feyd states. “Hurt what’s mine, belittled what’s mine.”

The man’s hand reaches towards your foot, as if you could spare him from the savage that is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Feyd crushes his hand beneath his shoe, grinding down eliciting a whimper of pain, as he steps before you and above his prey.

He is regal in his violence, eyes shining with possessive obsession.

“Dear one,” he places his hand on your arm before handing you one of his blades. “Help me.”

He smirks as you grip the knife tightly. Your eyes meet his.

Feyd knows you’d do anything he asked of you, just as he knows he’d burn the universe to ashes if you asked him too.

“Of course, my lord,” you say, kneeling by the hurt man. “If it pleases you.”

Feyd’s grin reveals blackened teeth, “You please me, dearest. Now, make him suffer for insulting me and mine.”

The first cut is shallow, uncertain as it travels down the man’s bare arm. Feyd tsks his disapproval.

You adjust your grip and slash again, quickly this time, hitting deep and pointedly. The man screams out and thrashes, but Feyd is upon him in a second. He holds Richter still as you unleash your rage upon him.

Feyd watches you draw blood with a pleasure he’s never experienced before. Relishing in your bared teeth and angry snarls, he commits this to his memory.

He halts your hand as the man ceases his thrashing. With a predatory smile, Feyd guides your hand with his, penetrating the blade deep into the man’s throat.

You watch the man loose his life, as you pant with exertion.

“You have done well, my pet,” Feyd praises, removing the knife from your hand and tossing it aside. He places his hand atop your head.

“Thank you, Feyd.”

He moves his hand down your back and presses his face into your blood stained neck, inhaling deeply. Your hands come around to grasp his shoulders, bringing him close to you. He wraps his strong arms around you, holding you like a lover would.

When he sits up, you lunge forward, capturing his lips with yours. Ignoring the blood and the dead body on the floor, you guide Feyd towards the bed, hands leaving bloody marks on his pale skin.

“Please let me repay you,” you beg, tugging at his shirt. “Allow me to repent.”

“You don’t need to repent, love. But you can keep begging.”

He allows you to disrobe him and press him down onto the soft bedding.

In all honesty, Feyd craves this battle of dominance between you. He could overpower you in an instant, yet the hold you have over him has him bending to your will.

You need only beg and he would take a knee and worship at your feet.

And you know it.

You know he craves this, needs it like an addict. He adores the pain you can lavish upon him, adores the meek demeanour you show to everyone else, adores the side of you that matches his own carnal desires tenfold, adores the way you gladly bleed for him.

He adores you.

And you worship each other in a wicked ritual of blood, sweat, and tears each night.

And he’d never let anyone take this away from him- take you away from him.

He’d kill anyone who dared try.

~~~

[A/n- thanks for reading! Please let me know if you liked it :)]

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — prologue | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | coriolanus is his own warning, mentions of death, elitism, self harm (Coryo burns his wrist)

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 eight year old Coryo finds out who his soulmate is and his feelings about it

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 this is the first official post about this series that I started on a whim! I am excited to see where this goes, please give me feedback, thank you!

series taglist | series masterlist | navigation

It started with Sejanus. Despite being friends with the boy, eight-year-old Coriolanus Snow couldn't help but loathe the fact the boy had District blood.

Sejanus' presence in the Capitol Academy was an insult to all of Capitol. He couldn't comprehend how it was all allowed before he heard the whispers. Sturbo Plinth bought his way in with money.

Money. The one thing a Snow should be entitled to and yet has none of. Even the power his name held was dwindling. Coriolanus will do anything to make sure ‘Snow lands on top'.

With that vow, Coryo gently brushed his thumb over the tattoo on his wrist. A number, something of significance for his soulmate. Whenever he felt overwhelmed, he traced over the dark lines. He felt instantly calm.

Everything is going to be alright.

His soulmate will be a princess, a goddess, a rich Capitol girl no one can compare to. He will have a happy ending with her. Snows will rise on top, and his girl will be beside him every step of the way. The First Lady of Panem as he will be the president.

He vividly remembers the day all of his hopes were crushed. It was a couple of weeks after Sejanus started attending the academy. The boy was mocked by everyone, and Coriolanus thought it was deserved, a district boy was nothing more than an animal.

Then came the district girl, this one from District One, the district closest to the Capitol. But still not the same. The girl from the district was the prettiest he had ever seen. Although she's district. She had claimed the hearts of the teachers, and in return received many privileges. It was rumored that even the dean had a soft spot for her.

It was understandable why. She was a girl with a sweet smile, a secret sharp tongue, and hidden cruelty in her eyes he wasn't sure anyone saw except him. Her eyes always softened when she looked at him but she was always friendlier with Sejanus. Pea in a pod sticks together after all.

It was a bright day, a hot summer making him sweat in his uniform more than the walk to the academy did. That was the day he felt his heart break, and soul crushed. It was completely by accident. Sejanus and you thinking that maybe, you were soulmates. And Coriolanus thought so too, after all, you both were so close, attached to the hip.

Coriolanus felt like he was intruding into something private whenever he was near you both. With your shared giggles and secret smiles, you were as close as children could be.

When you raise your shirt sleeve revealing your soulmate's tattoo, the date is meant to be the most significant to your soulmate. Sejanus didn't recognize it but Coriolanus did, much to his nightmare.

It was the date most important to him. It was the day of his mother's and unborn sister's death. The day he lost someone he held so close to his heart. That's the number etched on your skin.

No. No! He grabbed your wrist, ignoring your yelp and the protest from Sejanus. His eyes were wide and he felt his body shake. “No. . .” He whispered, a sob in his throat.

“What's wrong?” You asked, trying to get your hand out of his hold, and due to his weak, underweight body, you did it easily enough. You rub your wrist and wait for Coryo's answer.

You don't get one because Coriolanus Snow had turn away and begun to walk away from you and Sej.

When he reached his home, his body was shaking and fat drops of tears falling from his eyes. A district girl as his? Never, never in a thousand years. His dead father would have been so disappointed. He refused to accept her as his.

He won't. Ever.

Tigris tried to ask what happened, but Coryo ignored her. He went into the kitchen, turning on the stove. The fire burned blue and orange. He didn't hesitate, ignoring the scream from Tigris as he put his wrist forward. He bit his lips to not scream himself.

By that time, Tigris had pulled him back. The skin had burned, along with it was gone the soulmate tattoo of his. He let himself sob as Tigris tried to fix him up as much as she could. She didn't scold him, couldn't, when he was crying like he had lost everything, all of his dreams shattered and the reality had settled in.

This was ten years ago, he decided he had no soulmate.

Now as eighteen, he wondered if it would remain true.

next chapter!

Taglist: @tristanswildcat

[klemen-tine]

For the Greater Good (Platonic! Yandere Batfam x Uncle!MaleReader)

MAJOR WARNING: There is physical harm in this, near the end, please proceed with caution. Non-consensual drugging at the end as well.

Fun fact I learned but felt like I knew, some pain medications can actually make you lose your memories.

Reader is Bruce Wayne's younger brother.

___________________________________________________________

Crying woke him up. Groaning and rubbing his eyes, he sat up with a lot of effort and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. Grabbing his cane, he threw on a robe to protect himself from the chilly air the manor tends to have, and he hobbled out of his room. His leg was still stiff and he cursed at how long it took him to get to the room, but once he did he limped inside and towards the crib. 

He smiled down at the crying baby, dressed in the cutest starfish onesie. When crying blue eyes made eye contact with E/C eyes, the crying stopped and instead a smile bloomed on their chubby face. A chuckle escaped the exhausted man, reaching down carefully and picking the small thing up. He put his weight on his good leg and stood there, holding the little being in his arms. 

Their cheeks have filled out, creating a plumpness that reminded him of the cream puffs he has tucked away in the freezer, and those sparkling blue eyes were something many people would be jealous about. 

“You shouldn’t be up.” He could hear the cape swishing behind the other figure, and the all but silent footsteps that inched their way into the room. A smile bloomed on his own face, mimicking the baby, “Don’t come closer if you’re wearing that bat costume. You’ll give him nightmares.” A chuckle escaped from the other and when exhausted E/C eyes looked up, he was met with the amused blue eyes of his older brother. 

Bruce ignored his younger brother’s words, walking closer to peer at his nephew in his brother’s arms. His mask was off, and he only wore the suit and cape. This way his nephew could at least recognize his favorite Uncle’s face. To which the baby did, smiling and laughing when Bruce came into their line of suit. 

Y/N smiled, holding them closer and nuzzling his head with his cheek. Bruce watched his nephew flail his arms in that starfish onesie, making it all the more hilarious. His brother chuckled, gently bouncing the baby in his arms to try and soothe them. 

“You stink.” Bruce chuckled, “How rude. I just came back from patrol.” Y/N rolled his eyes, “Everyone alright?”

“Yes, everyone is safe. It was an easy night.” Y/N’s shoulders relaxed and Bruce observed how the exhaustion creeped up on his brother. His shoulders sagging and the bags under his eyes looking heavier. His grip on Bruce’s nephew tightened only a little bit, pulling the baby closer. 

If Bruce was better at art, it would be this moment he would wish to paint. The moon light streaming in through off-white curtains, over the sage green crib, and on the two bodies in front of him. His younger brother, wearing a black silk robe and his nephew in his starfish onesie being bathed in moonlight. The soft light reflecting off of H/C lock and S/C skin. It is the way that the moonlight casted soft shadows and seemed to only highlight his brother’s features. Blue eyes looked down to his nephew, who was fluttering those large blue eyes of his and trying to fight sleep. 

It’d be more beautiful than any other renaissance painting.

His nephew looked so much like Y/N when he was a baby. A memory Bruce holds onto with care. Besides the eye color, which blue was a common trait in Waynes, his nephew could be nearly identical to Y/N as a baby. From the smiles, to the happy laughs, the waking up in the middle of the night just to be held. 

It’s most likely what made this image all the more better. 

Until Y/N’s face screwed and Bruce watched him shift his weight a bit. Worry taking over his features, he rested a large hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Y/N, you should go to sleep.” Y/N shook his head, “Not yet.” 

“Y/N.” 

“No, Bruce. Just… just a bit longer.” He wanted to look at what was left of the life he once had. His baby was a reminder of the love he had once felt for another. A love he didn’t know he was capable of feeling, until a few years ago. The very proof of said love, the only thing left was his baby. This cute, innocent, and lovely baby that held Y/N’s heart. Or at least what was left of it. 

The Wayne brothers are intimately familiar with how quickly life can be taken away. Their parents’ lives taken by a bullet, and Y/N’s wife taken by a car. Anything could take this young life, and the very thought terrified Y/N. It had him jolting awake in the middle of the night and visiting the nursery whenever he could. His son was always near him, and he only just started letting himself leave the baby with his cousins, Uncle, and Grandfather alone. 

His heart always beats anxiously whenever he couldn’t see his son, but Alfred and Bruce assured him that that response was normal. Bruce has been helping get over that hurdle, slowly drawing him further and further away from the room his baby would be in for a longer period of time. 

Staring at the now sleeping bundle in his arms, all he wanted was to ingrain his son’s features into his memories. Just in case the grim reaper decided it needed another Wayne. If it does decide that, Y/N prays it’ll take him. He prays that it will leave Bruce and his nephews alone, that it would leave Alfred alone, and most importantly his son. 

With help from his brother, he set his son down in the crib, watching the baby stir for only a bit before grabbing Bruce’s outstretched arm. His cane in Bruce’s other hand, and Y/N chuckled. Looping his arm in his brother’s as the older, broader, and irritatingly taller man walked back to his room next door. 

“Do you want to take your medicine?” Y/N shook his head, “No. The pain isn’t bad, it was just a twinge.” Bruce nodded, sitting on the edge of bed and watching his brother settle under the thick comforters. He could see the anxiety forming in those eyes, and he knows if he doesn’t quell it now, Y/N will be up again to go see his son. 

Taking off his gloves, he gently began to run his fingers through his brother’s hair, softly lulling the other to sleep. Bruce smiled, “It’s okay, Y/N. Everyone will be here in the morning.” A few more minutes later, Y/N was softly snoring, taking deep breaths and his body no longer moving besides the stead rising and falling of his chest. 

Bruce shuffled quietly out the door, shutting it without a sound, and making his way back to his own room. No before checking in once more on his nephew. Bruce wasn’t as paranoid as Y/N was, but he did enjoy staring at the baby. Not with haunted looks like Y/N used to have, or the forever ogling gazes his own son’s had when looking at the youngest Wayne. 

He gazed upon the baby just how he used to stare at Y/N when he was this small. Waking up in the middle of the night to stare in fascination that a human could be so tiny. When he was younger, Bruce used to climb into the crib with Y/N and sleep next to him. It would be quite the sight in the morning, when either Alfred or his parents found him snuggled next to Y/N. 

Bruce is four years older than Y/N, and he took his older sibling role seriously. When they were younger, Bruce always had his hand in Y/N’s. Making sure that the other was never far from him. Which wasn’t hard even if they weren’t holding hands. Y/N has been attached to Bruce from the moment he could walk. 

His protectiveness increased ten-fold after that fateful night. A night that robbed the both of them of their parents, and Y/N of his mobility. His hip had been shot due to Bruce pulling him close to him. If Bruce didn’t that bullet would have hit Y/N’s stomach, and Alfred had explained that a limp is a small price when it comes to a life. 

Bruce had agreed. 

Y/N had never held it over Bruce. He never blamed him, nor has he ever given him a dirty look for it. 

The man wanted to ensure that his nephew will never have to go through what Y/N went through. He wanted this baby to grow up with a family already wrapped around those tiny, stubby fingers and he wanted Y/N to know that this family would bend over backwards for them. They would do everything in their powers for the two people that always seemed to be in the middle of everything. 

He’s grateful that his nephew inherited Y/N’s looks. From the shape of this eyes down to his nose, everything looked like Y/N. 

Nothing like that wretched woman. 

His jaw clenched at the thought of her, and he quickly walked around the crib to pull the curtains closed. Cutting out the moonlight that illuminated the room and leaving them in almost complete darkness besides the hallway light from the open door. 

He reached down, gently dragging his callused finger across the thin and fragile skin of his nephew’s cheek, who smiled in his sleep. Completely and devastatingly unaware of the mad house around him. 

++++

“What are you doing?” Y/N stared down at Cass and Stephanie that were surrounding his son. The baby’s hair tied up with a small bow, and looked like a radish. 

“Dress up,” Cass answered seriously, and Y/N nodded with a stoic face. Gone were the clothes he was dressed in early this morning and instead he was wearing a cute blue dress under a white top with puffed sleeves. 

“Why a dress?” Stephani snickered and pulled out a photo from nowhere, and she stood to hand it up to him. He took the photo and he brought his other hand up to rip it. 

“No!” Steph snatched it out his hands and Y/N stomped his cane, “Get rid of that! How did you even get that?!” It was a photo of him, as a baby, in girl clothes. Almost the same dress, same shirt, and same hairstyle. In the back was a cheekily grinning Bruce. 

“Bruce.” He’s killing him. 

“What?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Y/N whipped his glare towards his brother, “Why do you have that photo?!” Bruce blinked at him, took a look at the baby in the room, and then chuckled, “Oh, that photo.” 

Y/N hates that his brother knew what photo he was talking about by just looking at his son. 

“He’s cute.” Cass held up Y/N’s son, who continued to laugh and Steph whipped out her phone to take a photo. Y/N huffed, “I’m not mad you dressed him up. Bruce, why do you have that photo?!” 

His older brother shrugged, “It’s a cute photo.” Y/N’s cheeks burned and Bruce had to stop himself from chuckling, taking advantage of the fact that Y/N needed a hand to hold onto the cane, and he squished his brother’s cheeks with his own hands. 

“Bwuush.” Bruce watched those E/C eyes focus on him and fill with annoyance as well as with embarrassment. Those squished cheeks of his were red with a flush and Bruce knows that his baby brother’s nose would be scrunched if he wasn’t currently having his face squished. 

The man released Y/N’s cheeks, smiling as he did so. His nephew started laughing and he turned his attention to Steph and Cass who were cooing and taking photos. At least some people were enjoying this.

Y/N sighed, “What other photos do you have of me as baby?” Bruce’s smile turned cryptic smile, walking over to pick up the laughing and smiling baby who squealed in the arms of his Uncle. 

“Hey! We weren’t done!” Steph cried out, getting ready to try and snag the baby back, but Bruce cut her off, “It’s lunch time. Alfred is expecting us.” 

“Steph, Cass, at least put him back in his regular clothes,” Y/N tried to defend some of his son’s honor, knowing that as an adult the photos will be haunting him. Stephanie grabbed Cass’s hand and ran out of the room, pretending not to hear Y/N calling their names. The man huffed, turning to Bruce who shrugged, “I’m sure everyone will be fine with it.” “I know they will be fine with it. It’s just my poor son is going to be haunted by this story and these pictures.” Bruce chuckled, moving his nephew to sit in one arm, while his other hand rested on Y/N’s back. He gently guided Y/N to the dining room, listening to his brother complain about how this whole family was just filled with people who do what they want when they want. 

He was halfway through it when they heard running steps followed by a “Stop running!” Dick’s blue eyes locked on the three of him and his face looking feverish, “So they didn’t take him out of it!” Cheers were heard and Y/N swears that one day he’s going to club all of them. His oldest nephew walked over, his smile large as he took in his cute cousin who was babbling away and looking unbothered. 

“Uncle, he really does look like you in that photo.” 

“How do you know of that photo?!” Dick picked up his cousin from Bruce’s arms, and cooed at the chubby baby. Said baby squealed and gushed at the sight of Dick, raising his little hands and pawing at Dick’s cheeks and nose. It had Dick making a sqwauking sound and nuzzled his nose into those plump cheeks. 

He motioned for the two other adults to follow him, “Alfred made lasgana, caesar salad, and some bread loafs.” Y/N can already picture the mess his son will make and that poor dress of his is going to ruined. 

“Before he naps he’s going to need a bath,” He reminded Dick, who nodded, “Of course! Can’t have a dirty baby going to sleep dirty, now can we?” His hands held both sides of his cousin and he held him in the air as he wiggled him a bit, eliciting a cry of delight. 

The walk to the dining room was filled with Dick asking his Uncle questions and Bruce walking besides the limping man. Both of their attention on him as he answered Dick truthfully. 

“You guys are terrible,” Jason grumbled once he saw his cousin’s state, but it lacked any bite and he was holding back a smile. Stephanie cackled while Dick set the youngest Wayne in his high chair. 

“Master Y/N, I can feed the Young Master while you eat.” Y/N smiled at Alfred, “Are you sure? I don’t mind feeding him, Alfred.” The Butler huffed, “Of course. It is not a hard job to do.” It was something everyone was grateful for. The youngest Wayne was not, by any means, a picky eater. He was a joy to feed and oftentimes Y/N’s nieces and nephews fought over who could feed him. Although, everyone could admit that Alfred is the best when it comes to making sure that their cousin’s food ends up more in his mouth than on the tray. 

Smiling, Y/N and the rest of the Waynes dug into the italian-themed meal. 

Damian watched his Uncle eat from his peripheral vision. He took into account how much food he was eating and how much just spread throughout his plate to look like he ate some. When he had first moved in after the accident, it was a common thing to witness. Their once gluttonous Uncle, because Y/N could and does eat a lot, was barely taking any bites of the meals. 

The first month was hard on almost everybody. His Uncle always looked paranoid and he had his son sleeping in the same room as him. Damian understood that his Uncle was grieving and grief takes time. Even now, he could still see the signs of sadness in those E/C irises as he stared and took in everybody. Almost like it would be his last chance to do so. 

It is that look that puts everyone on high alert around him. Monitoring and excessively checking on him just how he does to his son. 

What Uncle Y/N doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

After an eventful lunch, it was Uncle Y/N who ended up taking his son to go put down for a nap, balancing the baby in one arm and using the cane in the other, he masterfully evaded everyones’ hand to help and limped through the manor. 

Damian was the one to pull out his phone and watch the feed of his Uncle making it too his room with the baby still in his arms. Masterfully opening and keeping the door open until the both of them were in the room. 

“He made it.” 

“Good.” Call them cautious and they will agree. How could they not be? Y/N has had a tremendous impact on nearly all of their lives in some shape or form. His patience, kindness, and genuine happiness of just being alive was infectious and capable of attracting even the haughtiest of people. 

He was too good for someone like her. Someone who was so impatient, deceitful, and not worthy of Y/N’s attention. Let alone hand in marriage. 

When Y/N had first introduced her, everyone banked on it not lasting. It is why they did nothing to stop the continuation of the relationship. A simple fling. Only for two years later they would be married. It was only the revelation that she was pregnant that halted the plans for a bit. 

Seeing Y/N as happy and excited as he was was enough to stave off the anger. Bruce’s grip became more possessive, Dick’s hugs became tighter, Jason’s bookstore trip became more frequent, Tim’s help in learning how to run Wayne Enterprise more demanding, Stephanie’s and Cass need to go shopping became longer, Duke’s need to understand his metahuman abilities became more intense, and Damian’s desire for his blood-Uncle’s attention all the more prominent. 

Everyone all of a sudden needed something from Y/N more than before. 

Then when the baby was born, all of the Wayne’s were present, including those who didn’t fall under Bruce Wayne’s legal care. All of them waiting for Y/N and his son. 

Tim can recall his first time holding the baby, and how small he was. He had been terrified that he was going to break them, but Y/N’s careful guidance and soft instructions, that fear turned into admiration. To think, something this small could be this breathtaking. 

His blue, exhausted and surrounded by bags from the lack of sleep, looked up and sure enough, Y/N was staring at him and Tim’s new cousin with so much love. Those delicate hands, hands that Bruce dirtied his for so they would stay clean, held his forearms in a gentle grip as he helped Tim find the right bounce to ensure that the newborn stayed asleep. 

Tim quickly obtained that hospital video and saved it on the Batcomputer for everyone to remember the first time they held their cousin. 

There had been a huge argument after that. How long should they wait for their plan to be put into action? 

A lot of them wanted it to happen while their cousin was still a baby, unable to remember that woman’s face because she doesn’t matter. Only they did. Only Y/N did. Their cousin only needed to remember his father, Uncle, Grandfather, and cousins. 

That was it. 

But how young should they do it? Surely before any core memories were made right? Because then Y/N would only be hurt more. However, if they did it to young the stress might be too much for Y/N.

The first month after the accident was horrid. Y/N rarely got any sleep, and when he gory nightmares haunted him. The car was not supposed to crash in front of him, but by the time anyone made that realization it was already too late. The black car was completely crushed, and up in flames while Y/N could only hold their son and watch. Bruce was next to him, and he had caught his brother before his knees could hit the concrete. 

It was a horrible day for multiple parties, and the aftermath was just as bad. Y/N couldn;t even handle the funeral proceedings, to which Bruce and shockingly (and funny enough) Jason handled. The second oldest nephew responding to every whim and whimsey his Uncle had, doing everything in his power to make the pain lessen. 

Anything in the powers. Sometimes that meant anti-depressants and bumping up Y/N’s pain relievers. 

A loopy Y/N was a calm Y/N, and a calm Y/N meant a well-rested Y/N. Sometimes he would rarely leave the bed, trusting on someone to take care of his son. To which they all happily jumped on the chance to do. He’s been weening off of the pain medication, choosing to once again deal with small pain in his hip, but he stayed on the anti-depressants. 

That is the one pill everyone made sure he took. He needed them. Just how he needs this family. All he needs is this family. 

++++

“What did you do, Bruce?” Bruce had to stop himself from cursing at his luck and at the boys for also not nooticing. All five of them in this room and none of them heard Y/N enter? Of course he enters when a comment was made about make someone disappear just like Y/N’s wife. They wouldn’t have a hand in it, because they don’t kill, but is it a murder if one of them lets it slip what type of car she drove to the man she screwed over the most? 

It’s not their fault that her ex worked at the mechanic shop they frequented. It isn’t their fault that Tim accidentally said somethin about the car being his Aunt’s, because how was he supposed to knoow that the mechanic he was talking to was her crazy-ex? It’s not his fault. It’s not any of their fault, because she didn’t say anything about this. 

She lied, repeatedly over and over again to Y/N’s and everyone’s faces. Only, she lied to a house full of detectives, a former soldier Butler, and a man whose happiness was at the forefront of everyone’s reasoning.

“Y/N-” 

“What did you do?!” Terrified E/C eyes stared at Bruce’s rigid form. The older man did not intend for his younger brother to hear those words, and he didn’t like that all the blame was being pinned on him. It was a group effort. 

One they all happily took part in. 

Dick raised his hands, as if he could ease the tension, “Uncle, c’mon there might be a misunderstanding.” Vibrant E/C eyes, swirling with pain and rage, flickered to him and effectively shut him up for a bit. Jason, for once, chose to remain silent at the sight of conflict while Tim thought the paintings in the library looked interesting. Damian, like his father and oldest brother, was looking at him. 

Y/N could feel his heart beating faster and his head hurting. He didn’t want to believe it. How could he? His brother, the nephews he loves, and the nieces he adores, all conspired to kill his wife? 

Who… No, why? The question was written across his face and Bruce took it upon himself to clear the air. He motioned for the others to get out, which they did with no complaint. Dick sending him a guilty look, Jason not meeting his eyes, Tim and Damian sending an apologetic look before disappearing. 

The heavy doors of the office shut behind them and Y/N clenched his jaw. Bruce and him maintained eye contact, staring each other down. 

“It was a choice made by the Family.” 

“The hell is this? A mob?” Bruce stared into Y/N’s enraged eyes, and he sighed, “Y/N, I know this hurts but it is for the best.” 

“The best? The best for who?! Not for me! Not for my son! Not for your nephew!” 

“You don’t know that!”

“And you do?! What are you clairvoyant now?!” 

“She wasn’t good enough for you, Y/N.” 

“Who are you to decide that?” Y/N hissed out, glaring at him with all the rage and resentment in his body. The past three years of the family getting together, photos, smiles, all of it now burning in flames and he was choking on the smoke and ashes. 

How long had they been planning this? 

“Y/N-” 

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me! Bruce, what the hell?!” It terrified him. His brother, the one he trusts most, and he just threw all of that back into his face. 

If Bruce could do that to someone Y/N loves, what's stopping Bruce from hurting him? Y/N’s eyes widened. What’s stopping Bruce from hurting his son? 

The boys walked out. 

His head whipped to the door, and was about to start making his way out to the nursery, but Bruce had grabbed his arm, kicking the cane from his grip and making Y/N rely on Bruce’s weight to keep standing. 

“Bruce, I swear to God, don’t you dare-” 

“My nephew will not be touched in any malicious way, if that is what you are so worried about.” Y/N snarled at him, trying to get out of his iron grip. 

“I don’t believe you.” Bruce nodded, “You don’t have to. Can’t you trust that your nephews won’t hurt him?” 

“No. How can I trust the murderers of my wife?” Bruce’s expression changed, and the hold on his arm tightened. Y/N’s teeth clenched, “How could you do that? I trusted you! I fucking trusted you and you go and…” The weight of the situation fell on his shoulders and Y/N would have crumbled if it weren’t for Bruce holding him up. Tears leaked from his eyes like they were faucets and his chest started aching. 

Bruce kissed the side of his head, and where he kissed felt like it burned. Like the heat of the fire on the day that car crashed with his wife in it. 

“I know. I know it hurts but it’ll get better Y/N.” 

“Don’t talk to me about something getting better when you’re the cause of it.” Bruce lowered them to the floor, making sure that Y/N was still out of reach of his cane. Y/N wanted to throw a punch, an elbow, or something to vent all the anger and pain he has in his body. However, the grip Bruce has around his arms keeps them pinned to his sides and it’s not like Y/N had the strongest legs. If they were to get into it, it would be literal boulder versus a twig. 

Bruce has always been the bigger one between then, even before Batman. Bruce had inherited Thomas Wayne’s imposing figure, while Y/N had Martha’s thinner one. His brother had been his rock, just how he had been Bruce’s now he wonders if Bruce was the heavy ball at the end of the chain. His nieces and nephews the chains, his son his collar, and the manor the cage. 

Y/N felt as if the reality around him was crumbling and he couldn’t even pick the pieces up. He choked down a sob, “How long have you been planning this?” 

“The accident or having you here?” 

“All of it.” Bruce rested his forehead on Y/N’s shoulder, “You were supposed to stay here in the manor. The very thought of someone being more important than me, than Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Alfred, all of them, it is so infuriating and terrifying.

“Because I was scared that one day you would leave me, alone in this manor with only the walls to talk to and the mirrors for company.” Y/N glared at him through his tears, “You’re lack of faith in me is astounding.” He would never have left Bruce, because they are all they had left of their family. 

Not to mention, Bruce has the boys and girls for company. He wouldn’t have been alone. There’s Alfred and Y/N would have visited. 

“I know its not an excuse, but dammit Y/N, it’s so terrifying.” Y/N tried to still his beatin heart, pumping his blood throuoghout his body and making him want to run. He wants to leave. He really, really, wants to leave. Y/N wants to pick his baby up and run. 

“Do you know why I am telling you this?” Bruce’s grip loosened and Y/N waited until those arms removed themselves from around him and he lunged for his cane. Only for a large handd to wrap around the ankle of his bad leg and pulled. Dragging him away from the cane and causing Y/N to shout in pain. 

He stared up at his older brother in fear, his leg still in Bruce’s iroon grip. Y/N wonders if this is what criminals see when looking at Batman. 

“Because you’re not going to remember it.” His foot stomped on Y/N’s hip and there was a sickening crack and white flashed behind his eyelids. The scream he released sounded foreign to his own ears, and the tears now became ones of physical pain rather than emotional. 

He started coughing from the amount of screaming and crying, and Bruce continued to look down at him. His eyes full of sorrow, but also acceptance. He was looking at Y/N similar to a parent getting ready to discipline their kid. Not wanting to but needing too. 

Bruce released Y/N’s leg, eliciting another cry and he widened his eyes when he saw Bruce raise his foot again, “Wa-wait, Bruce–”

“It’s not believable if you only have a break in your hip.” There was another crunch and Y/N’s not even sure what broke but the scream he released was silent. The pain was excruciating and the questions searing into his brain. Who is he trying to make believe and believe what? 

“You of course.” Bruce stared at his brother on the floor, and he knows Y/N’s screams and crying are going to haunt him but it is for the better. Y/N’s watery E/C eyes stared at him in fear and pain, tears rushing down his blotchy face and confusion across his face. 

“Poor Y/N, you fell and broke your leg. So now you have to go back on your pain meds and now bedridden for a while.” Fear coursed through Y/N’s veins and although he knew it was futile he tried to crawl. His older brother watched, before walking behind his desk and rummaging through the drawers. Y/N wasn’t even close to the door when Bruce stood over him, and gently flipped him over.  

Y/N screamed, trying to get away from his brother, but with one leg out of commission and his one arm now pinned to his side, it was a futile struggle. 

“Get away! NO! I hate you! I absolutely fucking hate you.” Bruce held a pill in his hand, and in his mouth between his teeth was a water bottle. Y/N clammed up, biting his lips to keep them closed as Bruce came in closer with a pill. He wanted to knock it out of the other’s hand, but before he could even do that, Bruce’s knee rested on his broken hip and Y/N cried out in pain. His brother was quick in shoving the pill in his mouth, covering the orifice, and opening the bottle with the other arms that were pinning Y/N’s arm. He all but waterboarded Y/N with it, washing the pill down. 

Afterwards, he held Y/N and slowly rocked back and forth in a mocking show of comfort. Y/N hit him, bit, and tried to shove him off. His cursing and shouting fell on deaf ears and the drug was beginning to take effect. His limbs became heavier and eyelids stayed closed longer. 

“Shh Y/N, just sleep. It’ll be better in the morning.” Feeling one last bit of defiance, Y/N glared at his brother, “Tell me how you can kill my wife, but are unable to kill the Joker?” His eyes were closed by the end of the sentence, unable to see his brother’s reaction, but he heard the tight, “Good night, Y/N.” 

++++

Crying woke him up. Groaning and rubbing his eyes, he tried too sit up but realized in confusion that his leg was casted and his head was incredibly foggy. A sound of discontent left him, but then there was a shuffling in the room and the crying stopped. In his blurry vision he saw Dick holding his son and Tim gazing at him softly. 

“What…” 

“You fell, Uncle. You broke your hip and shin and your cane unfortunately broke as well,” Tim informed as clinically as he could, holding his Uncle’s hand and staring into the hazy eyes. 

“We had to give you a higher dosage of pain medication, and you’ll need to stay on them for a bit.” Y/N nodded in understanding, his attention returning to his gurgling son and smiling Dick, “It was terrifying Uncle, seeing you laying there like that. It’s a good thing Bruce and Timmy found you. Can’t imagine how bad it would have been if you were on your own.” 

Y/N blinked, the situation dawning on him, “Yeah, that…that would be bad. Sorry Timmy, you had to see me in a traumatic state.” Tim shook his head, “No, I’m happy we found you when we did. I’m sorry that we didn’t get there sooner.”  Y/N smiled, moving his arm to gently cup Tim’s cheek. It took all the effort in him to even make it that short distance, but Tim rested his own hand against the back of Y/N’s, nuzzling his cheek further into Y/N’s palm. 

“Sleep Uncle, we’ll all be here when you wake up,” Dick encouraged, sitting next to Tim and bouncing his cousin. Y/N chuckled, “Okay. Please watch–” 

“We will Uncle. Now, please rest. You and our cousin will be safe, I promise.” Y/N made a small hum before shutting his eyes once more, dreaming of when he and Bruce used to play in their mother’s garden. 

________________________________________________________

Very Dark on this one. Was not the intention at all, but that's how it happened....

[etherfabric]

Messages from Your Protector

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

Pile 1

The Fool, The Moon rx

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Oh my dear. I see how scared you are. I know this is nothing like anything before. But somehow also exactly like the thing you were running from your whole life. I know how unclear everything seems. How uncertain. You don't dare to move one inch.

Let me tell you now: The inch is enough. And you can take all the time you need. You can't see that from where you are, but from where I am, I can tell that time isn't important. Not at all. It doesn't make sense to you, nothing lately really does. All you had was your mind to rely on, and it's slipping away from you in ways you tried to avoid your whole life. They called you crazy, a liar, a drama queen. So you swore to always pay attention to the exterior, and only stick to the hard facts, to never be accused of that again.

And now suddenly everything turns to smoke. Nothing solid, no foundation to lean on, no former structure you recognize.

You might feel doomed, cursed, imprisoned. Imprisoned in something only you can see and feel, and not even those sensory informations seems reliable. Let me tell you, my precious lightbeam: This is your initiation. It is not for nothing. Far from it.

Not everyone is called to do this, and those who are, rarely feel "good" (in the former sense of the word) during it. It's one of the highest gifts the Universe can bestow upon you, but the process of shedding and rebuilding has phases of liminality that can't be skipped. You ask why this is happening? So you have only one thing left to use and turn to, so it becomes stronger than ever: Your faith. That crazy, invisible, unprovable thing you felt your whole life and ran from. Now it's your last resort. It seems cruel, but once you allow yourself to fully embrace it, be assured, we will bathe you in light and miracles that will carry you across this abyss. Just ask. Invite us, and we will come. The famous leap of faith is your only means of transportation right now, so to speak.

We love you so, so much. And honestly, you are doing amazing already. On our plane, your light is shining brighter than ever. We were never this close to you, and we love it. We know it doesn't feel this way all the time for you, but please listen to your intuition more. It's there to help you, not harm you. Those that judged you anytime you acted upon it are on their own, separate path. Don't let them sway you. Deep inside, you know it's something big and important, what is happening right now. You are doing amazing. We love you so much. I can't say it enough. You will get through this and be thankful. Later. Maybe you can find a smidge of that gratitude now. When you let your true opinion arise within, and dare to listen.

Pile 2

7 of Pentacles rx, 10 of Pentacles

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It's already done. The seeds are planted. This is a time of winding down, breathing in what you already have, let it enrich and nourish you. No one will come and take it away, claiming you are "too lazy" or "ungrateful" to "deserve it". Who told you this? Don't you know they were talking to themselves? To their own shadow, which they cast upon you, to not be blinded by your light? My dearest soul star. Can't you feel it, behind the worry and fear, underneath it all - the hum of completion? It surrounds you, it permeates the space between your atoms, it carries you across this cosmos.

Just imagine this gigantic planet you sit upon, its own attraction to you keeping you grounded. You belong here. You deserve everything that Life gave you. You deserve everything you worked for, and also everything you never worked for and just have, AND you deserve everything that is to come. Oh, there is a lot to come. So many blessings. You don't know even half if it yet. And that's exactly how it's supposed to be.

We don't want you to be exhausted from worry when we bring it to you. We want you to be soft and open, so it can touch your inner being - the only place where true satisfaction can take place. Look around you. The room you are in, or the environment you reside in for now. All this exists at the same time as you. Isn't that proof enough? Who else should it be for? Dare to connect to it, through whatever means sound right. Dare to delve into it. Dare to lay your hands on it, smell it, taste it, observe it, hear it. Draw pictures of it, in your mind, on a canvas, in the dirt on the ground. You are a part of all of it. You are part of the world to everyone else!

The time it takes to get you there is meant for you to enjoy what you have so far. Things will change, and the present will be another shape than the current one. So enjoy it while it lasts, until the upgrade arrives. Remember how desperate the past version of you was for so many of these circumstances? Get back in touch with them to feel their bliss and satisfaction. They are always there to help you. All the versions of you, past, present and future. They all love you in their own way, and they all are connected to you and bring their talents and wisdom as soon as you let them speak. This can be in a dream, a song, a memory, a word you read somewhere that tugs at you. Maybe a smell, or a name. Follow the thread, make space for the unraveling, and be assured we are always protecting you from what could truly be harmful. Nothing you can't take.

Admittedly, our relationship to pain is a rather abstract one compared to your incarnated self - so apologies for sounding aloof - but it carries deep truths, and is never the whole story. Promised. It will pass. You are doing so well. We love you so much more than you can imagine. For now. Soon, you will have a better idea. If you ever need our help, just call us. However feels most authentic. A thought is enough. Then listen for our signs, and dare to believe them, just like we believe in you.

Pile 3

The Star, Knight of Wands

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We are sending you support on all dimensions. You won't see it coming. It won't look like it moments before the event (or several events...) and you will be close to giving up on hope. The rhythm of the recent days was just the "right" wrong mixture of stagnation and overwhelming, sudden changes, and you are exhausted. You have lost things that you held very, very close to your heart, and you thought they belonged to your destiny.

Memories, associations, dreams, fragments of what is lost haunt you, and you try so desperately to make it fit into the picture. Sure this mean it will come back...? Well. Yes and No. Yes on the spiritual, emotional, ethereal plane - what you felt with them is just an appetizer compared to what's to come. It's a manifestation upgraded tenfold. But no, it won't be them exactly. I am so sorry for your pain - but I am not sorry for the context in which this loss happened, because I see the purpose it serves clear as day. You have to wait and see for it to unfold before your very eyes (at least the first two of them), and many fears and worries birthed from past disappointments will pop up.

Don't read those as prophecies - they are asking to be purged! So the canvas is clear for your upcoming masterpiece. It will happen at just the right time. It's not going anywhere. It is yours, and it will wait until you are ready. Promised. Your pace is just the right pace. Listen to your emotions, as untamable they might seem at times. Learn to dance with them, instead of fighting against them, and be it just one intentional second for starters. Your limits are there for a reason, and no one wants you to hurt yourself unnecessarily in the process. You deserve the reassurance and patience you need, and we hold that frequency towards you all the time.

There are judgements from people from your past still attached to what you deem true, and to which you assigned great meaning and weight in how you should be treated by the Universe, and all the people in it. You don't dare to go near them - they bite back. Like a wounded animal. Let's see how gentle you can go with them. We assure you, they will calm down as soon as they know you mean no harm. As soon as they feel you have the same patience and reassurance avaible for them you deserve. Watch the alchemy unfold, and bask in your accomplishments. This is the stuff transformation is made of. We are so freaking proud of you!

Pile 4

The Hermit, The Moon

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What you bring to the world is something not many will understand. We see your dedication, and be assured, you are on the path that was agreed upon before you came here. The unfolding of your inner voice is a marvelous endeavor without any witnesses, just yours to experience. You have never been so lonely and so rich in your whole life. And this is just the beginning.

We protect you from the harm that could sway you, but not the harm that can teach you. There are people around you who are blind to the light within, even scared when it shows up. They don't know what it means, at least not from their limited perspective they deem the whole truth. We see you trying to extend a helping hand, but this is our influence when they don't take it. You need all this energy for the next phase of transformation.

Your discipline and strategy so far has served you well, and we command you for your endurance. This is a whole new game, and you play it quite well. But be warned - this won't last forever. You might dream about what soon will finally be, to exchange it for what is right now. You will miss this once it's over. Not because the future is so grim - on the contrary. But because the beauty of inner transformation is not a constant or easily accessible one, and you either pay close attention to decipher the music in it now, or you will only have the tinted glass of nostalgia as a way back to it. What seems like a chore now will soon be the holder of self love when you look back on it. This might mean nothing to you, or even come across as accusatory, or threatening even.

We never mean harm. We are light. We are love. Just like you. What we want to invite you to is daring to be grateful to be you right now. This version of you won't last forever, so why not love it? Just for what it is?

That is why we send you this tsunami of solitude. So you and you can finally get a room and connect. Look each other in the eyes, deeply. And see how you are just perfect for each other, and exactly what you need and want. After all, this is what you chose. This is exactly your style. And it suits you so, so well.

[crossingthedreams]

humiliation — aemond targaryen x niece!reader

a/n: bro, for real, i can’t believe i’m posting day 10 - humiliation (@angstober) on the right day. seriously. i’m so fucking proud of myself! anyway, this can be read as a stand alone or a prequel to growing pains (aka day 08). and let me know what you think! 

masterlist

summary: we don’t choose our family, but we choose how we do politics. 

word count: 2k 

warnings: angst. slight sexual harassment. arranged marriage. implied targaryen incest (uncle/niece). aegon is an asshole.

It didn’t matter you were as much of a royal as they, as much of a Targaryen as they were. It didn’t matter if you rode a dragon and had silver hair. You were still the half-sister of Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey, and that was enough for the Greens to treat you like a jester in court. 

Queen Alicent was not blatantly hostile towards you, but she was not friendly either. You saw the way she side-eyed you, that her father looked you up and down. Whilst her quarrel was with your mother, the Hand’s mind was much more cunning. He saw you as a piece not yet allocated in his board. Fortunately for him, you were sent as a bona fide present to court after your mother relocated to Dragonstone.

Your grandsire, the King, barely looked at you. Of course, he was terribly ill. Still, you were certain he just didn’t like the reminder his daughter was wed to, and clearing bedding his brother. 

As a young woman of a certain age, you knew whenever someone did the math, it was clear your parents conceived you before they were properly wed. The timeline was confusing, and you were undoubtedly the child of Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, but were they or were they not wed at the time of your birth? Were you a bastard in technical terms?

To you, it didn’t matter at all. For some, well, that was a point of conversation constantly brought up. 

“Uncles and their nieces seem not to be bound by rules of wedlock, isn’t that right, Princess?”, a drunken Aegon moved his hand towards your leg at the dinner table. You slapped it away instantly, frowning towards him. 

His mother sighed, and his wife wasn’t paying attention.

“Prince Aegon, you ought to respect the Princess”, Otto Hightower said. You read between the lines. Her father will assassinate you. Your own father will disown you. 

Your gaze met Otto’s, and you nodded once, recognizing his attempts at decency. 

“Please, grandfather”, Aegon’s hand moved towards your face, and you deflected. He still managed to toy with a single lock of your hair. “She likes it”.

Once more, you removed his hand. Right now, silence was your finest ally. Enticing Aegon would only make him grow angry towards you or worse, take it out on sweet Helaena. How could Aegon be such an arse? His siblings sure weren’t as terrible.

Helaena was a good friend, and ever since giving birth she had grown even kinder, albeit a little weird. You and Daeron were closer in age, and he was ever courteous. 

And then there was Aemond. You had never seen a man so torn between the darkness and the light within themselves, except only, perhaps, for your own father. And when it came to your father, you only ever saw the good in him, and these horrible things he supposedly did were only stories. That wasn’t the case with Aemond.

You had seen him come and go from brothels, harm servants unnecessarily and even have you at the end of his insults. He could be a monster, prone to humiliating your brothers or even you yourself when he was threatened, and he seemed glad in causing chaos. 

But he was also loving. He would defend you from Aegon and others sometimes, even. He was the first to take you dancing, and he would be on the floor with you even past his feet hurt. He had taken it upon himself to make sure you became fluent in High Valyrian, a task your mother herself had given up on. After you first claimed a dragon, he flew many times with you, and all of the smallfolk made sure to watch when you took the skies together, as it was quite the sight. 

You were expecting him to defend you from Aegon right now, instead, he just quietly moved his food around his plate with his fork. 

“I often wish we could go back to Sunspear, Helaena”, you changed the subject. Your aunt, who seemed to be in a totally different world, looked at you alarmed. “Do you remember?”, you continued, stretching to see over Aegon and look directly into your aunt’s eyes. “The weather agreed with me much more than the rain”.

“Maybe we could see Daeron, too”, Helaena seemed excited for once. You didn’t have it in you to tell her Sunspear and Old Town were a far ride from each other.

“We should take the Cannibal and Dreamfyre and go”, you said, already smiling at the prospect. The smiles died when you mentioned your dragon, who seemed to be aggressive to all but you and, eventually, Vhagar.

“Oh, dear, I don’t think either of you should leave now”, Queen Alicent stated, voice sweet. 

“And why’s that, mother?”, it was Aemond’s turn to speak, for the first time during the whole supper. His head turned to look at his mother, who was in her usual seat besides the King’s seat, which lay empty. Viserys was much too ill and in too much pain. “Associating your daughter with the scandalous child of a scandalous mother is crossing a line?”.

The silence was deadly. 

You knew Aemond well enough to know the problem wasn’t with Helaena and you dreaming of Dorne.

Your eyes darted from Aemond to Alicent, and then to Otto. They all knew something they didn’t let out yet.

And every bone in your body told you — whatever it was they weren’t letting out, well, it was about you. 

Aemond stood up like a bolt and excused himself, marching angrily away. 

You had to find out what was going on, but leaving now would only bring more attention to both you and the matter, and it also meant dealing with an aggravated Aemond. Bad idea. 

After dinner, waiting until the dead of night and sneaking into your Uncle’s room to get the truth out of him? Sounds perfectly reasonable. 

Aemond was sitting, looking unbothered. You walked in from the secret passageway that connected most of the Red Keep, and he didn’t seem surprised at all. He looked like a true Targaryen Prince.

“Took you long enough”, he was examining his nails, and then his one lilac eye turned towards you. 

“I wasn’t aware we had an arrangement”. 

“Yet here you are”. 

You smiled softly, not showing any teeth. A conversation like this with Aemond could go in any direction, and, with your experience, you knew it was best to appear submissive.

“You have been informed your name is a constant in the Small Council, haven’t you, niece?”.

You raised your eyebrows, entering his chambers nonchalantly. With the King’s health deteriorating and talks of succession rising once more, you, the daughter of the heir apparent, were as valuable as gold. Of course you knew you were talked about often, and Aemond knew this as well. Therefore, you didn’t reply. He wanted to make a point, so he was going to make it. 

“There’s been talks about your future”, Aemond continued, leaning forward as you sat across from him in the room. “Matrimonial matters have been raised”.

You gasped. You tried not to, but you did. Your mother swore you would have a say in who your husband was. Surely she hadn’t delegated this matter to the Queen. Which meant you would be given as a shine prize to a nobleman, and he would consummate the marriage before your mother was even made aware of it. 

You felt sick. 

“Don’t worry. Aegon is not taking a second wife”, the smile could be heard in Aemond’s voice. You scoffed and turned to him.

“Is that all?”

“My grandfather wished to have you wed Daeron”. Your eyes widened. Certainly not a good match. Daeron was kind and sweet, but he lived distantly. You would not be sent to Old Town, there’d be no convincing you of that. “My mother opposed, of course”.

“How could the always just Queen Alicent have her child married to the child of the ‘scandalous’ princess Rhaenyra, right?”, you mocked and copied his words from dinner earlier. Aemond constantly looked angry, but now he looked just annoyed.

“There’s that, yes. Also, it’s not politically wise”, he continued. “Cregan Stark would be a better match, perhaps even a dornish man, since you seem so fond of those wildlings”. 

“Make your point, Uncle. Who am I to marry?”

“It hasn’t been decided”, he turned to you. “There’s a problem with your family, you see”.

“Our family”, you corrected. Whether he willed it or no, Aemond Targaryen was the younger brother of your mother, and he would have to live as such. 

Your uncle’s eye narrowed, then went back to normal. Sitting across from each other, you seemed almost the same height. His gaze went from your eyes to your neck, then chest, then covered legs, darting upwards to the ceiling quickly as he let his body fall even more on the sofa. He breathed deeply. “Yes, dear niece. Our family”.

“You should take me”, you said, without thinking. You thought too much, and a marriage between the Greens and the Blacks would be interesting for both, assuring both sides of the family were united. Wasn’t that the way your family did business? Marrying off their daughters? 

Out of this entire planet, Aemond was the only man you’d met that you’d be willing to marry. The rest were brutes, disgustingly aggressive or simply dumb.

From the look in his eyes, you knew Aemond was thinking about it. Your breath got caught in your throat. He surely had thought about it before, right? You were a beautiful girl, you knew this, and Aemond had a thing for women with silver hair. All men in King’s Landing wished they could have you, why would Aemond be any different? 

You kept forgetting that Aemond was, in fact, different. 

“I couldn’t wed you, niece”, he said, mouth a thin line. Your heart was racing in your chest. “What would we have? Not the throne, not even Dragonstone”. 

“Each other”, you replied harshly, fighting the tears in your eyes. “We’d have each other”.

“That’s not enough”.

The sheer humiliation that you felt was enough to make you stand up and motion towards the door. But you couldn’t leave through the front door, could you? Your reputation would be ruined forever.

So, with your heart simultaneously beating fast and not beating at all, you just stood there in the middle of Aemond’s chambers. You didn’t want to look back at him, but you had to turn to make your way out where you came.

You hadn’t heard Aemond, who quietly made his way to you, and was now towering above you. Your eyes locked, breaths mixing. If you were to stand on your tiptoes, your lips would almost reach his. Almost.

The problem with Aemond was this constant streak of ‘almosts’. You were sure his reasons for not marrying you were political more than anything else, and it pained you to know that the legitimacy of your brothers was a matter even now, when yours wasn’t. Your mother and her decisions… It had humiliated you once more. 

Your heart was beating so loudly you feared he could hear it from this distance. Still close enough so you could feel his breath, Aemond muttered in Valyrian, even though you were alone “Ao issi naejot jikagon sir (You should go now)”.

Quietly, with feelings of humiliation and something else you couldn’t quite name, you stepped away as you did as your uncle commanded, and left. 

[g-n-c-quoi]

the anti-endo side of the internet is rotting my brain by the second what are you people DOING

this is a little bit about the new octocon app but just in general-

speaking as a medically recognized (not diagnosed for safety reasons but doctors are aware) P-DID system, i cannot believe i have to say this, but endogenic systems are entirely unharmful and you look ridiculous trying to pretend they do

“DID/OSDD/etc is a trauma disorder!!” you would be hard pressed to find an endogenic system actually claiming to have those disorders. the vast majority of them have self described as non-disordered

“you can’t be a system without trauma!!” do we know that for a fact? dissociative disorder research is so full of stigma and misinformation that it’s mind boggling, do you honestly trust the dsm-5 to have literally every example of being a system ever written down verbatim?

also systems can be intentionally created for spiritual or personal reasons, please google search tulpamancy

also also it’s incredibly weird and potentially dangerous in some cases to demand proof that someone has experienced life altering brain damaging trauma before you can respect them as who they say they are

“they’re stealing resources!” literally what resources. therapy? they’re stealing therapy? please be serious.

w/ regards to pk/sp and octocon- what tangible harm is it doing to you for someone who calls themselves an endo system to use the same app as you. answer quickly.

i don’t even particularly care that much about this, i’ve largely stopped talking about being a system online because of how mind numbingly absurd the community is, i just cannot overstate how little this discourse matters

if someone is earnestly and intentionally faking being a system then the consequences of that behavior that turn up in their social life will be more than enough without you ridiculing them relentlessly for something that most of the time has little if any material impact

you’re just diet fakeclaiming please find something else to do with your time than bothering people who aren’t bothering you

[mcuamerica]

Cabin by the Lake | Azriel x Fem!Reader

Featuring: Protective Bat Boys

Summary: Azriel is in a meeting in Autumn, while his family is unprotected from malicious visitors... Requested by anon here.

Warnings: 18+ only, canon level violence, misogyny, threat to child, not proofread

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Dividers from @saradika

The sun was out in full force on the summer day, beating down on you and Callan, your babe. You decided instead of spending the day sweltering in the cabin, you would gather your things and bring Callan to the small lake. Not too far from your cabin, you could still see the roof from where you sat on the sandy beach. Cal sat up, watching as small fish raced around his fingers.

You sent the image down the bond to your mate, who wasn't with you because of some Court business that needed tending to. Since you couldn't find someone to watch Callan, you decided to stay back. After all, you weren't a trained warrior and didn't do very well as a courtier. You much preferred being a healer for the Court... and watching your handsome mate protect you. And now, all you wanted to be was a mother. You never got a response from Azriel, deeming that he had closed his end for the meeting.

So you read your book, legs spread out on a towel from the cabin. You kept one eye on Cal as you read, enjoying the breeze that swept through the forest. As you reached for one of the many fruits you brought along, you heard a few twigs snapping in the distance. You didn't think much of it, since there were plenty of friendly animals in the forest just outside of Velaris.

When you heard Cal babble, his wings fluttering behind his back, you glanced up. You smiled as he crawled his way over to you, reaching out to be held. You picked him up, smiling when he reached to tug on the small moon necklace that hung from your neck. You whispered to him, silently scolding him as he tugged on it. It was Azriel's first gift to you when the bond snapped, a promise that as long as the moon still lit up at night, he would be there for you.

You heard more twigs snap, this time closer. As you turned your head, you noticed three winged males stalking towards the trees. Your heart beat kicked up as you rose to your feet, praying they didn't see or hear you. No one was out in these woods normally, which is exactly why Azriel chose this spot to build the cabin for your family. So you would be out of harms way when he was gone.

You didn't recognize the males as they walked through the tree line. You hid behind a tree, slightly bouncing Cal to keep him entertained but quiet.

"Come on out, sweetheart... We know you're here." One of the males taunted, his voice deep and brutal. You shut your eyes for a moment, trying to remember something, anything that Azriel and your family had taught you about defending yourself. But with Cal in your arms, there was nothing you could do.

"We want to show the Shadowsinger what messing with our females gets him... See how he likes it when his female isn't under his control anymore." Another male said.

You breathed deeply, tugging on the bond like you haven't before, praying to the Mother that Azriel would feel it. You even lashed out your mind to Feyre and Rhys, hoping they would hear something.

All of the sudden, there was a male two trees away from you. Damn. He spotted you. "I found her boys... and she has a little one with her too. Look at those wings, so breakable."

You held back a whimper, slowly backing from the tree and running straight into one of the males. He was almost a head taller than you, and his wings towered behind him. Cal started to fuss, sensing that his mother was nervous.

"Maybe we can ruin his heir for him too... Since he's made it so easy for our females to take them and run from us." One of them said, the one that spoke first.

The male that stood behind you grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him. "Nothing to say, sweetheart?" He asked, his breath too close to your neck.

"I-I don't know who you're talking about." You stuttered, hoping you were convincing.

He tsked. "Don't lie.. we've seen you on visits to Ironcrest. We know the Shadowsinger lives in these woods with his... healer wife. No big strong man to protect you know, huh?"

Then you heard a thud on the ground ahead of you. You and the man both looked towards the sound... and beheld the High Lord of the Night Court, seething.

"Take your hands off her." He growled, using what you knew to be his High Lord voice.

You were trembling as the man kept his grip on you, now feeling a blade against your side.

"I would chose your steps carefully, Rhysand. One wrong move and I might just let this knife slip right through this pretty little waist." He said, his voice right in your voice.

You felt the tears run down your cheeks. Why had you never learned to protect yourself? Why did you always have to decline it. If you knew anything... you wouldn't need your family to come in to save you. You wouldn't be fearing for the life of your babe right now.

"I'm doing you a courtesy of giving you a chose. Hands. Off. Now." He said. You heard another thud beside you, and saw Cassian standing there. He made quick work of incapacitating the other two males. You felt slightly better, but not completely. Where was your mate?

"I don't think you understand my reason for being here." He said. "You see-"

You felt a warm splatter of liquid hit the back of your head and side of your face and neck. You let out a scream, finally stepping out of the males grasp. You soon realized it was blood streaming down your hair now, and your mate was the one who slit that males throat.

You breathing quickened as you held onto Cal tightly, who was now reaching for his Uncle Rhys as him and Cassian approached. Once Azriel was in front of you, you let Rhys take Cal and collapsed into Azriel's arms. "I-I couldn't do anything. I-I'm so sorry. They could have hurt Cal a-and-"

Azriel pulled away, cupping your cheeks. "Hey, hey... Don't blame yourself. You are okay. Cal is okay. Breath. It's okay." He said, stroking your cheek as you calmed your breathing. The tears dried up in your eyes, now feeling the calming net of safety that your mate provided. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to protect you." He said, wiping some of the blood off of your cheek.

"Next time, you're going to come with us. Or you'll stay in the House of Wind. I won't leave you here again until it's properly warded." He said and glanced over to see Cal giggling in Rhys's arms at some gesture Cassian made. "I have to keep my promise, don't I?" He asked.

You gave him a small, gentle smile as you heard the giggles fall from Cal's lips. "You always keep your promise." You said, taking a final deep breath.

"And I will always protect you. And our family." Azriel said, leaning down to kiss your head. "Now let's get you cleaned up. I think I want to spend the day at the lake with you." He said, winking at you.

You nudged him and shook your head as the two of you made your way over to your son. "Too soon." You said, though a small fit of laughter fell from your lips.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed!

Main Masterlist

[missnightshade]

❝ TO MEND A SOUL ❞

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Requested: Yes! (I combined two requests into this.)

Summary: When her girlfriend starts to feel uneasy about herself and her place in their relationship, Agatha takes it into her own hands to ensure that her pretty girl is happy again.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort. Mentions of se!f-harm and anxiety (if this is a trigger for you, please, beware. ) Also: english is not my first language.

Word count: 861 (The next one will be bigger.)

The faint but comforting smell of lavender on her clothes were the only thing grounding the young woman's minds. As Agatha's slender fingers traveled down your scalp, the nails running against the top of your head made the dizziness subside. A shaky breath was taken and your whole body shook violently from the mental inflicted pain, taking her piercing blue eyes away from the book she settled on reading for the night.

"Something's brothering you, dear?"

The past few weeks were a plain confusion to her. After three and something years by your side, Agatha has never felt you so far away. And for someone who almost died in the hands of death herself, the situation was too unnerving. Maybe it was because she cared more about you than she cared for her own life. Maybe, the this "maybe" was a certainty, something she had few in her lifetime. She reveled in your happiness, one of the only things that made her truly enjoy life after her son's passing.

And for you, well...Agatha Harkness was no ordinary woman. You knew that coming in. Right of the bat, when she herself was only Agnes, her energywas unmatched. Sure, that version of Agatha was easier to fall in steps with your simple life. A suburban woman from Westview. And now you sat there, cuddle with the bundle of stories that the wordly Salem witch was. Agatha was exceptional in everything. In all the angles you took to merely eye at her, there was something so enlightening to see. How powerful she was. How beautifully those brown cascades would always flow behind her, framing the strong but feminine traits of her face. How those blue eyes could see miles and miles into your soul was a mystery you weren't sure you ready to dissect.

How could she settled with you was a completely unanswered question. One that gained a new depth with her present almost death experience.

You tried to hide your emotions from her, yet again, always. Shaking your head, the smile you gave was far from comfortable. Agatha moved and pulled you gently as you sat upright.

"Your lying abilities have gotten worse." the playfulness was there, but the attention she gave was heartbreaking. "Tell me, pretty girl. What is going on inside this precious mind of yours."

You gaped, words not coming out. The anxiety sunk in, heart hamming against your chest, vibrating in your head. The breath was short, and your lungs ached for more. Her hands rested upon yours, her nails grasping against your skin. Looking at her, you saw her eyes glued to your arms. Your long nails, mindlessly, maimed yourself as deeply as they could. There, along your veins, she recognized the faint lines from your past. Hurtful ones that only she knew about. Never again you tried, not until you draw blood from them again, right in front of her.

It wasn't that bad. Blood didn't scare Agatha, but the fear and sorrow she held as her hand gently parted you from yourself was devastating.

"Talk to me, my love.", she pleaded. "Please."

"I..dont know. It's just been too much." The voice coming from you was unsure, but the blured lines of that meaning had Agatha taken aback.

"What? Whats is?" her voice was gentle, but so much deeper than you've ever heard it.

"I...you. Not you but...me, to you."

As she heard your voice, shattered with a hint of stagnant cries, she held your face between her hands.

"Sweetie, breathe. Let it go. I'm right here to catch you." all the sweetness no one could have from her came crashing down.

"You...how can you be with me, Aggy?" She eyed you intently, thumb catching the first tears as they fell. "You're all - all everyone would ever want. And i'm just...me. Plain. Boring. "

The witch scoffed with a tearful laugh, as if you had the most idiot breakdown. But there was no judgment as she tugged you closer by the sleeves of her own shirt you were wearing.

"Oh, dear. You have no idea how amazing you are and how happy you make me. Y/N/N, look around. I'm building a life with you. After centuries of running, and ploting, scheming. This peace of mind...no one could ever give me that. No one could love me like you do."

The hiccups coming from your mouth made her eyes lock to yours.

"My pretty, pretty girl." her voice traced, full of love. "I love you. Remember, dear, that I've been around for ages. I've seen men rise and fall. I've met my share of people. Yet, I chose you. Y/N, I am choosing you at this moment. Everyday."

The weight of her words paired with how strong her gaze upon yourself was made you crumble. Your body gave into the pain as you were pulled into her. Almost straddling her lap, Agatha's warm embrace grounded you yet again. There were too many sorry you wanted to say, but as she shushed you into a lullaby meant only for your ears, the pieces were mended together. But as you lowered your face into her soft hair, her voice echoed against your left ear.

"Don't ever be afraid of telling me if something is bothering you. I'm yours and you're mine, my love." A soft kiss landed on your neck, lovingly. "You are safe."

[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."

[sophiebaek]

Sophie is Korean!

Things to keep in mind

———

Yay! Sophie Baek is finally here and with all of excitement of this casting, I think it’s also important to bring attention to the new intersectionality that comes with the character of Sophie (specifically show Sophie).

Why should you take my words into account? Well, as an Asian woman in society today, I feel that I am qualified to speak on this topic since I’ve experienced all of this.

All of my words come from kind intentions, and I purely just want to communicate to the fandom how to approach Sophie being Asian in a respectful way.

Asia is a gigantic continent filled with various countries that have a multitude of cultures and ethnicities. While on the surface they all seem similar, they each have their own customs and traditions that have meaning within our culture. Do not combine them.

It’s important to remember that not every Asian person is Chinese, Japanese or Korean (East asian).

With Sophie being Korean, please do not generalize when writing about what you think you know about Korean culture.

You like Kpop and Kdrama? Great! BUT that does not define what Korean culture is and you shouldn't use that content as a reference.

When writing, be aware of explicit and unconscious biases you have about Asian people.

Asian stereotypes (Model Minority, Dragon Lady, Lotus blossom, etc) are very harmful and spread false narratives about us. Stereotypes eliminate the dimensions of who we are as Asians (South, South East, East, North, West).

Please, please, please do not fetishize. Especially since Bridgerton is a romance series it's extremely important to be mindful of the scenarios you put in your fics.

This also includes the White Savior Complex we see a lot in media!

If you’re writing about something specific, research it and fully understand the content you are putting into your work. Feel a little iffy about if you should put it in your fic? Probably don’t then. It’s that easy!

It's always great to ask someone who is a part of the community as well to see if what you're writing about is appropriate or potentially offensive in any way.

Describing Sophie is something new as well. Be mindful on how you describe her and other Asian characters.

Let me be clear: descriptions like 'slanted eyes' or 'yellow skin' are harmful

Here are some great resources that go into further detail about specific things! Rather than me paraphrasing their words it's best to link the direct source. Even as a part of this community, these articles were a reminder of how I must keep myself in check as well!

Describing Asian Eyes

Some important tips on making/writing Asian OCs

writing east asian characters

The Depiction of Asian Characters - Book Edition

The Dragon Lady, the Lotus Blossom, and the Robot: Archetypes of Asian Women in Western Media

To wrap this up, I want to be clear that I’m not a professional on this topic, but as someone who has been affected by harmful portrayals in media, I feel compelled to share my perspective. My hope is to spread awareness and encourage others to be mindful of how they approach these subjects, especially if they may not be fully informed. It’s about showing respect, doing the necessary research, and recognizing the impact our words and content can have on real people and cultures. By staying educated and considerate, we can be more aware and thoughtful in our actions.