#tw: victim-blaming language

[shiutsu]

"Stop thinking everyone has the same emotional capacity as you & would put up w ppl's bs despite getting treated like a shit over nothing by many." yeah people won't be nice to you when you're an asshole. People don't treat me 'like a shit' because I'm nice to them.

I was never an asshole first to anyone u dumbass. If they fucking just switch sides or turn into something horrible & treat me like a shit out of nowhere even tho I never did anything to them & they threw a tantrum whenever I told them smth they did or doubled down when I asked them to stop,then I'm allowed to be an asshole to them back.

Stop assuming or thinking I'll be nice to ppl that don't deserve it & assuming shit u know nothing about. Also reveal urself u coward,you're in anonymous mode ☺.

I'm also sure you know a lot about betrayal & things like that since you'd be sure responding like this to a vent ☺.

[restnowyourhardshipisover]

Of course, it's complicated. Let's try and go through why this is such a useful shift of phrasing.

First an ackowlegment. You're literally asking for accessibility considerations. You're trying to express emotions but you're also asking people to take active steps to dismantle their participation in systems built to exclude people like you. That might make it seem like specifically referencing the reason you need accommodation is essential. But it doesn't end up working that way.

Similarly, it's not a matter of how your disability can be fixed or your behavior normalized or the notion that erasure and masking positive/desirable. It's a matter of making that behavior parsable to others wether or not they experience it personally.

Exclusionary language does not actually help to foster inclusion. Attributing everything to being exclusively a product of diagnosis and gate kept labels does not make people more mindful, or inclusive.

At worst, it triggers a lot of reactionary ableism because people don't like to feel accused. "It's my ADHD" makes people feel like they're being accused, and the reaction (counterintuitively enough) is to be less accepting. While "I was really entranced by that show" makes people feel empathetic or at least able to follow a "why".

People can better respond and feel more connected to you if they understand whats actually going on rather than some cryptic shorthand that could mean a million things. The more something is unique to neuroatypicalltiy, the more a full explanation is highly useful. It also empowers people without specific labels or who don't wish to be labeled to benefit from roads we pave to inclusive communication.

And there is a ballance point of behavior not being justified by identity. The oppression you experience is real, the systemic micro aggressions built into basic social communication are not your fault. But your actions are.

But blaming the people around you even unintentioally by pointing to your minority status as a shield or worse as a weapon to control how others behave is endlessly frustrating and does not help you.

As OP says usually forgoing the language of diagnosis to describe experiences works better it communicates the thing, it humanizes you.

In the end "I'm terrible with faces" is always going to work better than "I have prosopagnosia" for getting people to understand and not feel hurt when you don't recognize them by face alone.

Sick list of symptoms bro. Now try humanizing your behavior instead of pathologizing it.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Cupid Walks Right.

Spencer Reid x BAU!reader

Summary: You've been hiding your attraction to your coworker for a long time, until a few pictures of him kissing a celebrity in a pool unleash emotions you can't control.

Words: 1,6k.

TW: fem!reader. mentions of crime and arms. spoilers for s1 e18 ("somebody's watching"). two idiots in love. lots of jealousy. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: The reader is simply me every time I watch that episode but with a lot more drama to make it interesting.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

One bullet after another hit the paper meters away from you, with each shot more accurate than the previous one. You had lost count of how many cartridges you had already spent because your mind was full of thoughts that only the sound of the shots echoing in the shooting room managed to silence and give you back a little control of the situation.

Memories of one of the last cases still lingered in your mind, and you couldn't understand why. It hadn't even been something relevant enough to stick in your mind that much, it was just a crazy stalker obsessed with a celebrity and more of the same old same old in terms of creating a profile. It was nothing you hadn't seen before, and it had ended well, with a happy ending that included Spencer kissing the victim he was supposed to be protecting.

That was the crux of the issue, the root of your problem.

You saw some photos that captured the moment in vivid detail and wanted to run out and throw up in the nearest trash can. You held back to avoid answering embarrassing questions, blaming your bad feelings on the last thing you ate and insisting that you were just satisfying your curiosity. But as they say, curiosity always kills the cat.

Maybe it was because it was unprofessional and unnecessary, maybe you were in a bad mood and needed to relax, maybe you were upset that the guy with the germ problem had shared saliva with a stranger, maybe you didn't like Lila Archer because of her performances, or maybe you just wanted to be in her shoes and have him kiss you like that. And for heaven's sake, maybe you've had a few inappropriate dreams about it lately.

You were just about to fire again to get the thoughts out of your mind when someone tapped you on the shoulder. You turned around, ready to defend yourself with the gun in your hand.

“Wait, wait, it's me. I'm sorry.” Spencer raised his arms in a sign of peace and took a few steps back. “Just me.”

“What are you doing here? You scared me.” You lowered the gun and placed it on the table, trying to sound less abrupt. “I thought everyone had gone home.”

He approached you again, checking the open shells and the pile of bullets on the ground. He was quite surprised to see how many times you had hit the target with perfect shots, and how you still seemed intent on continuing, even though it was almost two in the morning. It wasn't practice, because you didn't need it, it was something else, and you seemed quite angry about it.

“I spent the hour going through some papers and saw the light on in here. I thought I'd come and have a look.” He explained, trying to follow your gaze, which seemed to elude his. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, perfect.”

You started gathering your things and cleaning up the space you'd been using, planning to leave as soon as possible because of his presence. It had been weeks since you'd been alone with him because you'd managed to avoid seeing him as best you could. You'd even managed to convince Hotch that it was time for him to pair you up with someone else during the cases to experiment. You didn't even know why he'd listened to you, but it had been a great relief.

“You're leaving already?” Spencer asked, and you just nodded. “Can I take you home?”

Usually he drove you home, because your car was still at the mechanic and you refused to buy a new one. You always used the minutes you spent together to talk about something other than cases, they were moments of relaxation that you both appreciated. The big difference was that now you couldn't afford that luxury without feeling strange.

“Don't worry, I'll call a taxi.” You grabbed your jacket from a nearby locker. “I'm fine.” You added, with the intention of heading for the door until he stopped you by the wrist.

“Is everything okay...between us?” He asked as you looked up to meet his eyes. “Are you mad at me?”

“I'm sorry, what?” You said, feigning confusion. You always knew it was only a matter of time before he figured something was off with you. After all, he worked in profiling.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked again, in a lower voice, sounding a little more vulnerable than he'd intended. That instantly made you feel bad, you didn't want to hurt him with your confusion.

“No.”

He let out a sigh at your automatic response. His shoulders slumped a bit, and he felt a wave of relief for a few seconds. But then he looked into your eyes for a moment and hesitated, biting his lower lip.

“So...why are you looking at me like that?” He asked, sounding a little shy and with a hint of apprehension in his voice. “Or not looking at me at all.”

“I'm not doing anything.” You make excuses.

He got the chills when he heard your voice, which came across as cold and distant.

“You're giving me that look.”

You gave a little frown and folded your arms, as if to say you didn't agree.

“What look?"

“You look at me like I've done something wrong, like you're disappointed or angry...I think both. You barely look me in the eye, you walk away every time I want to talk to you, you don't sit near me on the jet or want to work with me anymore. And you've been like this for a week.” He paused for a second, remembering when your strange behavior started. “Ever since the L.A. case.”

The room was suddenly filled with silence and a palpable tension. You had been foolish to think Spencer wouldn't notice your remoteness, given his perceptive nature. But you didn't have a choice. You didn't want to appear jealous when you didn't even have feelings for him, you were just ovulating or something like that.

“Is it because...because of Lila? I heard Morgan say some things, and you haven't treated me the same since.” His wavering voice sounded more and more confident, as if he still had to convince himself of his point of view. “I want to know what you think, please.”

You could only curse Derek for exposing you like that. He was the only one who knew about your strange attraction to Reid because he had caught you looking at him several times and you had confessed it to him once in a bar after several drinks and a ridiculous game of cross questions. Since that night, the jokes and suggestions about making out with Spencer under a tree had begun.

But a beautiful actress did it before you, in her pool, with lots of pictures to prove it.

“I'm not one to tell you what to do, but I think your actions were unprofessional and most of all risky.” You spoke after a few seconds, clearing your throat and trying to contain the burning you felt. “It could have ended badly.”

Come on, you would have done the same thing. You often thought about what it would be like to kiss him in the middle of an investigation, especially when he kept giving important details. So you were a little hypocritical.

“I'm only saying that because I care about you.” You added, noticing how confused he looked.

“I know, I care about you too.” He replied calmly, taking a step toward you to touch your arm. “This has been bothering you?”

You froze at his warm touch and the implications you thought he was making about you, nodding as if hypnotized. Had he realized that you had been jealous all along? That you wanted to go back so he could kiss you and not her? That you wanted him to put his hands on your cheeks and kiss you deeply until you were breathless?

“I think I understand, but don't worry about me. I won't do anything dangerous anymore.”

Oh, he hadn't noticed.

Spencer really thought that you were just concerned about his safety because he was your friend and your partner on cases, that you were just frustrated that you weren't there to back him up in case things went wrong. It didn't even occur to him that it was something much deeper and more heated than that.

“So, all good?” He gave you a small smile that made your heart beat a little faster.

“Sure.” You lied, with a strange lump in your throat at the guarded words. “I just didn't know you liked blondes.” You added in a fake teasing tone.

Despite your clearly suspicious tone, Spencer laughed sheepishly. “Actually, I like your hair color.”

A strange bubbling sensation reached your stomach and made you smile.

“Mine?” You asked, lowering your gaze to the floor.

“Yes, it's like it's perfect for you.” He carefully brushed your hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, causing the feeling in your stomach to identify itself as butterflies fluttering nonstop.

“You're telling me because I have a gun?” You tried to change the subject with a nervous laugh. “I'm not a celebrity, after all.”

“You don't have to be one to be as pretty as you are. But you could be if you wanted to, and...” He started to talk about statistics and a bunch of data you didn't even know, but strangely enough you didn't listen to him this time because you were stuck on the first sentence.

Spencer really thought you were pretty.

It was only then that you realized something had changed. The only successful shot had been Cupid's arrow to your heart.

Because, damn it, you were totally in love with that man.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + eleven

authors note: i'm telling ya'll right now. this one will probably leave you with a certain number of questions. that's expected. all will, eventually, be revealed and make sense. don't be freaking out on me, por favor. 😭

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

cw/tw:  fluff, angst, language, suggestive themes, and scene of victim blaming/justifying dv (from character's pov, not the authors)

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

masterlist

words: 13k (i need help)

The moment the cotton round soaked in hydrogen peroxide makes contact with the largest cut on Roman’s face, a slash across his eyebrow bone, is the first time he visibly displays any sort of reaction. The first indication that he is in fact in pain.

And he’s immediately regretful.

Nakoa, his father, a tall man of muscular build, a thick salt and pepper beard, and dark eyes that seem almost black in dim lighting, is before him with a previously unreadable expression that has now morphed into something different.

Something Roman hates to see on his father’s face.

Disappointment. 

“Tell me what happened.”

Nakoa Reigns is a man who only needs to speak once, his deep, baritone voice emanating a level of power and authority that requires no repeating of anything. The first is the only.

Despite the sting of his cut and the bruising of his body, Roman sits up straight, all 78lbs of him and lifts his chin. “I—”

“He was trying to help us, fath—”

Nakoa lifts his hand, effectively silencing the voice of one of his older boys, Pika, Roman’s half brother. 

“I asked your brother.”

Pika recognizes his fault and shares a brief look with his other brother, Tane, before both drop their heads, rendered to silent shame.

Nakoa brings his gaze back to Roman as Viviana continues to work on heeding to her son’s wounds.

Roman swallows and answers as evenly as possible. “They were talking about you.”

“So you attacked them?”

Roman quickly debates leaving out unnecessary details then easily remembers nothing gets past his father, and honesty, while uncomfortable, is the best route. “Pika and Tane did first, and then I joined them—”

“You were defending my honor.”

Nakoa’s tone, something of almost pride, takes a young Roman by surprise. Yet, he shows nothing, recognizing that can and typically does change with his father. “Yes.”

It’s a wise decision, because Nakoa’s tone instantly shifts to something chilly. “And yet you lost.” Roman winces again, and it has nothing to do with the dabbing of the hydrogen peroxide against another cut. “Tell me, son, where is the honor in that?”

Knowing that there is no excuse, Roman’s shoulders slump a bit. “There is none, father.”

“If you are to defend this family, you will do it to completion. There is no room for failure. Ever.” It’s a tale as old as time, a lesson Nakoa has drilled into all eight of his children, but especially Roman, the youngest and smallest of the bunch compared to his other sons. “Pika. Tane.”

The older boys stand at attention as their father, The Tribal Chief, turns his disappointed gaze towards them. “You have also failed me. Your brother is small, but you are not. There is no excuse.” His gaze sharpens. “If they disrespect you, then they disrespect me, and if they disrespect me, then they disrespect our entire family. Does this sound acceptable to you?”

Pika, the older of Tane and Roman, is the one to answer. “No, father.”

“Exactly.” Nakoa’s large, intimidating frame is stepping away from them as he instructs. “Come. We will fix this. Today.”

As usual, Tane and Pika fall in line, walking in silence behind their father until only Roman and his mother, Viviana, remain in their large kitchen. 

That is when she finally speaks. Her fingers move under his chin, forcing him to look up, her icy blue eyes meeting with his light brown ones, a trait inherited from his father.

“Did you hit your head?” He shakes his head no, and she drops her fingers. “Good.” She studies him, lifting his shirt to see the purple bruises forming. A heavy sigh escapes her mouth as she moves across the kitchen, opening up the cabinet and grabbing the Children’s Tylenol. She pours the appropriate dosage into the medicinal cup and offers it to him. “Here. Take this. It will help with the pain.”

He’s immediately shaking his head, shoulder length hair brushing against his face. “I must pay for my failure.”

“You will learn nothing by suffering unnecessarily.” She again motions for him to take the medicine. Roman hesitates but obeys, downing the red liquid in a matter of seconds. She takes back the cup, rinses it, and puts it away before returning to finish tending to his wounds.

“Never pick or involve yourself in a fight you can’t win, Roman.” Viviana switches to Italian, an intentional tactic to ensure privacy as well as continue to push her eight-year-old son to better his fluency. He's advanced for his age but still not where she would like him to be. Where she needs him to be. 

“Should I have done nothing, mother?” Viviana hears it. The edge in his voice, the hint of challenge to her authority. 

Again, she grabs his chin, forcing him to look at her. “You should have been smart.”

“Pika and Tane—”

“I do not care about them.” Her dismissal is immediate and bitter. “They are not my sons. You are.” Roman is smart for his age. He’s always picked up on his mother’s dislike of his half–siblings, the five sons born to his father by his late ex-wife. No. His mother has only ever cared and focused on him and his two older sisters, Nesi and Sili. “And you are smarter than them.”

Viviana suddenly gives another sigh and places the cotton round on the counter. She crouches down in front of Roman, taking his hands in hers. “Do you know why your father and I are so hard on you?” She didn’t expect him to reply, verbally or nonverbally, and is therefore unsurprised when he does nothing. “It’s because you are not like your brothers and sisters. You are different. You come from two worlds. You are Bloodline, yes, but you are Cosa Nostra as well. That means you belong to the two biggest crime families in the world. It is your birthright to lead both of them.” Had he been looking up, he might have seen the almost sympathetic shift in her expression. “But the road ahead of you is not easy. They will challenge you. They will hate you. They will reject you, because you hail from two worlds instead of one over the other.” Any sign of sympathy quickly morphs into something determined and hardened. “That is why you must be better. You must be better than all of them. Faster. Smarter. Stronger. There is no room for you to be weak, Roman.” He lifts his head, mindful of maintaining and showing no sign of emotion, no indication of feeling. “You will show them, brutally, ruthlessly, and with no mercy who you are, and then, only then, you will rule them all.”

Roman straightens again, his posture representative of the alignment provided by his mother. By the reminder of his mother why he must always be the best and failure is never an option. He can succeed or he can succeed. There is no second option.

“Never forget, Roman.” She points to his chest, to his heart. “This is what makes you weak. It will distract you, it will deter you, and it will cost you everything.” Viviana speaks with almost sorrow to her, an almost unhealed scar from a time long ago. “But this….” She lifts her hand to his head, pointing to his brain. “This is power. This will bring and keep you on top. It is your greatest strength.”

Viviana presses a kiss to her son’s forehead and stands back up, motioning to the first aid kit. “Finish tending to your wounds, and go do your training.”

Roman is quick to hide his surprise, to hide the disappointment at still having to complete his daily combat training. He tries to be grateful though, thankful that his father, or mother, did not tack on additional training for his failure. 

But it’s when Viviana leaves and he moves to grab the gauze, a new voice interrupts.

“Boy, I thought she’d never leave.”

Instantly, Roman’s spirits are lifted in a way only his tina matua can provide.

Her warm eyes are on him, a frown falling on her face as she sees the cuts. It’s unsurprising and one of many fights he’s already been in at such a young age. But, it’s because he’s a protector. She can already see that is one of his defining traits: his strong urge and sense of duty to protect the ones he loves. 

To protect his family. 

She grabs the supplies and starts finishing the cleaning and bandaging of his wounds. “Those boys got you some good, huh?” She shakes her head, cursing in Samoan. “Don’t you worry. In a couple of years, you’ll be bigger and stronger than them, and then you can get your receipt.”

Fetu Reigns is unsurprised when her nephew says nothing. She knows his small size is a deep insecurity he struggles with, especially when all of his brothers have exceeded expected height and weight. She knows he sees it as a hindrance. 

“Did you know that your father was the smallest of our other siblings?” That is when Roman looks up and actually allows himself to show an emotion: surprise. His tina matua has always been the only person he can do as such with.

His parents would never approve, and his brothers would never let him live it down.

“It’s true,” Fetu discloses, adding. “And it bothered him too. Then one summer, he went through a growth spurt and suddenly the scrawny little boy we all teased towered over everyone.”

Fetu can see the continued struggle he has between the words she’s saying and the reality he’s living. She puts down the supplies and gently cups his face.

“Roman, I know there is pressure on you, my sweet boy. In this house and out. And you do carry a burden your brothers and sisters do not, but you also have something else, something they don’t have because your parents haven’t extinguished it out of you yet.” She lays her hand over his chest. “You have heart, Roman, and it does not make you weak. That is what makes you strong. A good leader, a great leader, leads with both his head and his heart.”

She hopes her words can penetrate the deep armor of stoicism that her brother and sister-in-law seem to want to bestow upon the child who already carries such a heavy weight at a young age.

Her heart aches for him a bit. 

She then informs him, hoping it will lift his spirits, even just a little, “Rikishi brought the twins over.”

And it pleases her to see the way his eyes light up. For a brief second, he’s just a little boy who wants to play with his cousins. But, it’s just as quickly gone, his shoulders straightening. “I have to do my training for today.”

She’s briefly disappointed but quickly reminds him of the ‘completion’ of that task. “but you did, remember? You got up early this morning to get it done. I was there watching you.” She gives him a wink, and Roman smiles. The first of the day.

“Thank you, tina matua.” He starts to run off when she calls his name, forcing him to look back at her.

“And where is my hug?”

Still smiling, he runs back over, hugging her tightly, soaking in all of the warmth she provides in his dark world.

She kisses the top of his head. “I love you, Roman.”

And his eyes shut, because at the end of the day, when all is said and done, he’s still just an eight-year-old little boy who needs the space and time to just be that innocent little boy for however long it can last.

“I love you too, tina matua.”

“Roman.”

Solana’s almost worried expression is the last and least wanted thing Roman expects to find as he’s ripped away from a memory so long ago that it almost feels unreal. There’s a moment of adjustment, a brief delay as he returns to reality. 

“Sorry.” It’s a bit gruff, a bit on the harsh side, an unintended side effect of resurfaced, previously buried memories he’d prefer to keep six feet under instead of at the forefront of his mind.

Solana steps forward, her hand on his forearm. “Are—are you okay?” Her frown deepens. “You’ve been kinda off the past few days.”

He can’t and won’t deny it, an inconvenient result of still trying to navigate just what the hell he’s supposed to do with information that feels almost too painful to sit on and do nothing about. He can’t march over and rip Xavier apart with his bare hands no matter how badly every fiber of his being wants him too. He can’t do that because he promised Solana he would let her make that call.

And now, more than ever, that’s the least he can give to her.

But the knowledge, the truth about the two events in her life he has no doubt sent her on that dark spiral, feels like something she should know.

It also, however, seems like something he feels could destroy her. And not even just the tremendous progress she’s made, but destroy her altogether.

“Just work shit.” There’s also that, but that’s nothing new nor noteworthy. It’s also insignificant compared to everything else. 

He doesn’t know if it’s her naivety or his adept skills of persuasiveness, but she seems to buy it. “Okay.” He hates this. The lying to her part. Shit fucking sucks, but he also still has no goddamn idea what he wants or even needs to do, so it’s all he has. “I know—I know there’s probably nothing I can do to help—”

“You can.” It’s an obvious surprising statement to her judging by the shocked expression on her face. Roman moves towards her, hand reaching for the small of her back as he pulls her into him. He watches as Solana bites on her bottom lip but still lays her hands against his chest. It’s a great sign of progress, as he’s always noticed the way she seems almost uncomfortable around him when he’s shirtless. “I want you to think about something for me.”

She answers almost immediately. “Okay.”

He locks his gaze with hers. “Moving into my room.”

Solana is clearly taken back by his offer, the way her eyes widen almost instantly only to settle into something that’s an almost mixture of a smile and a frown. “Really?”

He nods, fingers dancing across her back. “If you want us to eventually have a sex life, then sleeping in the same bed seems like a good place to start.”

Solana is quiet, listening to his words but also still in a bit of shock. She knows he’s indicated a desire to be with her, to want her in that way at least, but she never really imagined he’d be okay with her being in his space like that.

They’ve shared a bed on roughly two occasions now, but those were both by unplanned circumstance. Something that he was okay with because of how they came about. But now, it seems he’s okay and maybe even wants it to be a regular thing.

And when she thinks about, thinks about his offer, there’s no anxiety, no fear. There’s just…okayness.

A state of peace, almost.

“Dulce has to come with me.” She chews on her bottom lip, nervous about this being a possible dealbreaker. “She’s used to sleeping with me now.” 

He instead just shrugs. “She seems to keep finding her way in there anyway.” Dulce has also taken on the same squatter mentality of his twin cousins with her having walked her little ass into his room at various points in the middle of the night the past few days. It’s honestly a miracle he hasn’t stepped on her. “So, you’ll think about it?”

“No. I—” She gives a small shrug of her own, answering almost confidently. “I’ll do it. I’ll—I’ll move in.”

His eyes light with something that’s almost similar to excitement. “Good.” Her eyes shut when he dips his head, preparing for him to kiss her only for him to ghost his lips across hers, murmuring, “like you close to me.” He gestures down and adds with his gaze lingering on her chest a bit longer than what’s probably necessary. “I really like this outfit too.”

Roman’s noticed a shit ton of benefits from Solana being friends with Naomi and Bayley, which is a major reason why he didn’t rip them a new one for allowing her to get so shit faced drunk that night. Why he didn’t find a reason to justify keeping them apart. And one of the major benefits has become her change in wardrobe.

The baggy clothes have been swapped out for more form-fitting attire, outfits that accentuate her curves and showcase her beauty. He can also see the relationship between her wardrobe and self-esteem, specifically regarding her body. An increase.

And he likes it.

Happiness and confidence look good on her.

Roman kisses her, gentle at first, almost tentatively, just like most of their kisses. Like he’s always initially assessing her comfort level. And when she doesn’t push back, doesn’t tense, he deepens said kiss, tugging her close against him, their chests touching. Solana bites back a smile, giggling against his mouth, “Roman, you’re still sweaty from your workout.”

He’s unbothered, commenting suggestively with a wink, “you better get used to that, baby.”

Instead of discomfort, there’s only a strange, uncomfortable yet not feeling between her legs that’s unfamiliar but still….welcomed. It’s a hard thing to explain, and she’s thankful for the glance at the time on the microwave that provides her an out.

Still smiling, she informs him, “I’m gonna be late for work.” Solana is certain her cheeks are painted red judging by the heat that’s floating through her core. 

He’s unbothered. “And?”

Rolling her eyes, she pries herself away, asking, “are you still going to meet me when I get off?”

He taps her hip, hand close to the side of her ass. There’s a brief slice of anxiety that’s quickly pushed back by her daily reminder. Safe. “Of course.” 

Pleased, she leans up, kissing his cheek and backs away before he can pull her back for another kiss. She’ll definitely be late for work then. “Bye.”

He calls out bye after her, and by the time she’s outside, Solo is waiting expectedly by the SUV with that typical scowl. She expects the usual silence but is caught off guard when he observes as she climbs into the truck, “you’re late.”

Confused, she looks over at him, almost struggling with a reply as she reverts back to her overly apologetic state. “I’m sorry, I was—I was with Roman.”

He makes a sound and rolls his eyes. “Of course, you were.”

Her mouth dips into a frown. What’s that supposed to mean?

Before she can ask, or even consider asking a follow up question, he closes the door shut.

Literally and figuratively.

________

The work day seems to go by significantly faster when there’s something to look forward to. And for Solana, it’s being able to spend time with Roman. The more time they interact, the closer and more comfortable she feels.

There’s something so calming being around him. A strange dynamic, she recognizes, considering just who he is and the fact that his name alone strikes fear through most. 

But that’s not who he is to her. 

He’s….he’s a lot more than that, and though she still doesn’t quite know how to describe and label it accurately, she’s becoming less and less focused on the why and more focused on just allowing whatever this is between them to continue. To grow.

And that includes the intimacy portion, hence their current position, later that evening, laid out on his bed making out after being distracted in the midst of moving her items into his room.

Roman’s big hands are careful to remain in the safety zones of her body. The side of her stomach, the width of her shapely hips, the span of her back. It’s an intentional caution, she’s certain, one she’s appreciative of.

A boundary almost. 

But, it’s a boundary she’s currently in the space and range to play around with. 

Solana breaks their kiss, Roman instantly checking for her comfort level. “You okay?”

“Yes. I—” She’s not sure how exactly to word it but does the best she can, regardless. “You—you can touch me.” It sounds and even feels a bit weird leaving her mouth, maybe a tad bit uncomfortable too, but Solana knows that a lot about this whole thing will be uncomfortable at first. She just has to trust him. 

Trust herself. 

And when it dawns on her that a boundary within the exploration can be set, she stipulates, “just….just not there.” She doesn’t want to say it outright, a maybe silly sort of avoidance considering it’s what they’re eventually working up to, but for now, her comfort level is in the category of vague. “I can’t….not that. Not yet, at least.”

“Of course.” Roman looks at her with almost uncertainty. “You sure?”

She nods, fingers brushing through his hair that’s down instead of up like usual. She thinks she prefers it down. It makes him look…almost angelic. “Yes.”

His fingers dance across her back. “Can you lay down?”

Solana answers by allowing him to shift positions where he’s on top of her, hovering over her body. She closes her eyes when that nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach forms. It takes a second to redirect herself, to recenter herself to where she is and who she’s with. 

And Roman helps with that, his lips brushing over her jawline as he reassures her, “it’s just me, baby….”

She nods, moving her hands to his face, resuming their kissing as Roman carefully navigates this newfound ability to explore her. His hand moves up her stomach in a way that makes her sigh and moan into his mouth. His touch is something that does something so different to her. It’s a combination of nerves but also something else she can’t describe nor label.

But it’s when he moves his hand to her breast, kneading them almost gently, her back arches on an accord of its own. And she exhales deeply, fingers clawing the soft sheets underneath him. “You’re so sensitive to my touch….” He’s peppers kisses against her neck, mouth opening as he sucks on her soft skin, murmuring, “I fuckin’ love that shit.” 

She’s never felt this before, and while there’s a constant battle in her head to push away those dark thoughts that would rip her from this moment, there’s a growing level of almost pleasure that’s so unfamiliar. 

But she likes it. 

Solana reaches to touch him, her fingers lightly gliding across his stomach.

He hisses against her and says something she can’t make out before smashing his lips back onto hers with an elevated sense of urgency that she finds herself matching. Her arms move around his neck as she tugs him closer to her, Roman’s big hands continuing to explore her body, respecting her request that he stay away from the sensitive space between her legs. 

And it’s okay. It’s a level she’s okay with outside of some anxiety.

But then it’s over. 

Roman pulls away from her, almost suddenly, like he’d been zapped with something. Frowning, Solana sits up, panting, lips swollen. “What—what’s wrong?”

She watches with continued confusion as he lays on his back, eyes closed, chest moving up and down. “We have to stop.”

She shakes her head, hand moving to his forearm. Solana notices his jaw clenches at that interaction, a strange response. “But—I’m okay.” And she is, though this is broaching new territory, having his big hands explore more of her body, she feels a layer of protection at the fact that she’s still fully clothed. Her outfit is more revealing than what she would typically wear, but it’s another step she’s hoping continues to move her in the right direction.

If the goal is eventual sexual intimacy, then that most likely includes being naked in front of Roman. Working her way up into wearing more revealing clothes around him feels like a way for her to ease her way into developing that level of comfort. 

When he still says nothing and Solana finds herself almost wanting to continue, she urges, “really, Roman, I’m—I’m okay. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

“It’s not you,” he finally says, eyes still closed, voice almost strained. 

Now Solana is just stumped because if it’s not her, what reason would he have for stopping? Was he…..was he not enjoying it? It certainly didn’t feel like it.

She shakes her head, growing a bit self-conscious. “I don’t—I don’t under….” The trailing off of her words coincide with the way she trails his body, ceasing when she finally realizes why he stopped. “Oh.”

Solana’s cheeks are practically burning. She can only imagine how reddened she must look, and it has nothing to do with the intense makeout session from only minutes ago and everything to do with Roman’s very visible bulge.

He just makes a sound that’s equivalent to a “you get it now?”

“I’m—” She has no idea what to say, no idea how to respond. How did that happen? They weren’t even doing it. She voices her confusion. “But—but we were only kissing.”

Roman chuckles almost darkly. “You still don’t get how attracted I am to you, do you?”

She bites down on her lip, eyes briefly darting to his erection, quickly snapping back to anything but that. “I think—I think I’m starting to.” He smiles, and she asks, “do you….do you want me to leave?”

She may have no healthy sexual experience, but she knows enough to know that there are ways men tend to take care of….that kind of thing when actual sex isn’t an option. And Solana has no desire to be present for that. That’s just too much at this point.

Maybe at any point for her.

“No.” His answer surprises her. “Stay. Just….talk.”

“Talk?”

“Distract me,” he encourages. She has no idea how the hell she’s supposed to do that, how the hell her talking will help that to go away or go down. For her own mental wellbeing, she doesn’t even acknowledge the size of his bulge.

Being intimate with him is one thing, but realizing Roman is just a big human all over is something she’ll save for when that time comes. Another problem for another day. 

Suddenly feeling on the spot, she blurts out without much consideration. “I—I bought a bathing suit.” It feels so random, but she doesn't know what else to say, so she continues on this maybe not so great distraction. “I—I also want to try to get in the pool, but I didn’t have a suit, so I bought one. It’s a two piece, and I—I don’t usually like wearing those, but Bay and Naomi said it looked nice.” She thinks about the colorful two piece bikini that shows off more skin than she’s ever shown in public. She’s not sure she could ever wear something like that in public, but maybe around Roman. “The top is…it’s more revealing than I’d like, but I—”

“Solana.” 

“Yes?”

He sounds like he’s in some level of pain as he informs, almost kindly despite the suffering, “baby, that’s not helping.”

Her frown returns at hearing his tone, and another glance in his direction reveals why. “Oh. I’m—I’m sorry.” She can most definitely see why now. “I—I should just go.” 

He doesn’t protest this time around, just nods, and Solana doesn’t waste any time climbing off the bed and walking out the door, making sure to shut it all the way. She almost wishes that she could lock it too.

Solana finds herself trying to settle her own body as she makes her way down the steps and into the living room where Dulce is curled into a little ball sleeping away.

She closes her eyes and blows out a big breath, a small smile falling on her face. It’s the little things. Like being able to make out with her husband, his hands on her with only a small to medium level of anxiety being generated during the act that brings on the smile. Not even four months ago, they’d been in an eerily similar position with an entirely different outcome. She’d had a panic attack, and while he’d helped her through it, she was also left alone to navigate her big emotions on that even bigger day.

It feels almost like night and day how far they’d come. How far she’s come because this time around, Solana liked the feelings of his hands on her. There was still some uncertainty, but his gentleness with her, the way he kept reminding her that it was him and not them….it made a difference.

It makes a difference.

She finds herself reaching for her airpods, plugging them in her ears as well as the sketchbook on the coffee table.

Years. 

It’s been years since she picked up a sketchbook and pencil, years since she escaped in the form of art. Writing has been her main outlet for years, but once upon a time, she had writing and art.

Passions she shared with her mom. 

And in moving through her workbook, one of the exercises inquired about passions that died following the traumatic event, and in doing the hard work, Solana realized that the last time she drew was before she was raped.

It was a favorite hobby at one point, and she’d love to tap back into that. Even if just for the connection with her mom.

And it’s something she finds herself fully immersed in, so much so that she misses it when Roman rejoins her until she jumps a bit, pulling out one of her airpods. “Hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

He doesn’t say anything, just sits down on the sofa next to her, arm moving around her. Naturally, she moves into his side. “Are you umm—okay?” Thinking about her outfit, she offers, "I can change."

He chuckles. “I’m not a teenage boy, Solana. Seeing you is not going to make me hard.” He dances his fingers across her upper arm as he explains, “it’s just touching you like that….it’s hard to control myself.”

She swallows. His words don’t unnerve her, just make her realize yet again just how attracted he is to her. Still a bit of a hard pill to swallow given that she’s never seen a man as beautiful as Roman. And yet he wants her. It still blows her mind. “Can I—can I do something to help?”

His eyes take in her body. “Not a damn thing.” She smiles as he then focuses on the book on her lap. “Did you do that?”

She looks down, realizing just how far she got in her drawing. A lot farther than she realized, that’s for sure. She looks up, nodding. “Fuck, you’re good.”

It seems like Roman is full of compliments when it comes to her, and it feels good. The more they come, the more she’s starting to believe it. Believe that she’s beautiful and talented and the exact opposite of everything her father and brother ever tried to make her believe about herself.

“Thank you,” she then goes on to explain. “I—I haven’t done it in years, but—but I used to love it.”

He nods as well, facial expression indicating he’s storing this information for later use. “Do you do any other kind of artwork?”

She has to think about it for a second. “I used to paint too. My….mother taught me.” The ending portion quiet, her pencil dragging along the eyes of the unidentified woman.

Roman notices though, asking, “is that her?”

With one glance, without even needing to think about it, she answers, “yes.” 

Her mom.

“You know the part I hate the most?” Her voice is still quiet, low and weighed with emotion. “I can’t—I can’t remember what her speaking voice sounded like. I’ve tried—tried to remember, but I can’t.” Her tone shifts to something else, something more of a bitter and remorseful nature. “But I still remember the sound of her screams every time he beat her.” Solana remembers more than that, feels more than that. But revisiting those painful memories to that extent is something she doesn’t feel mentally equipped for. “I used to be so scared. Praying because…because I thought he was gonna kill her.” Had she been looking at Roman, she’d have seen the flash of guilt in his eyes at her soft admission. “And sometimes I wanted him to, so at least she didn’t have to suffer anymore.”

Wetness pooling in her eyes alerts her to pending tears. She sniffles, quickly wiping away any sign of the impact of revisiting those dark days. “I’m—I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t know why I said that.”

“Because it’s the truth. Because it’s how you feel.” Roman’s voice is soothing, soft, a stark contrast to everything anyone else has ever seen with him. It’s a different, almost caring side. And it’s everything she needs at this moment to feel safe. 

She nods, struggling to keep the tears at bay. It’s a failed mission at this point. “I just—I miss her. So much.”

Roman tugs her closer to him, as she angles her body toward him, crying silently into his chest unintentionally creating yet another layer of complexity for the man struggling already as to whether or not the information he’s sitting on could help her finally close a chapter of suffering with the finality of truth. 

Or bring her right back to the apex of trauma and suffering. 

________

Solana shoots awake with a violent gasp and heavy panting. Immediately, she looks to her side, hoping to see Roman only to find an empty space and ruffled sheets. 

Sniffling, she wipes at the tears and tries to regulate herself. Memories are one thing, but the memories that haunt her when sleep should overcome her have always been the hardest. They weigh heavier, leaving behind an emotional stain that’s hard to scrub out.

She wipes away the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead and kicks the blankets off her body. One glance at the ground, and she sees Dulce sleeping peacefully in her bed. 

Solana hugs herself, ready to find Roman. For what reason, she’s not sure. It’s not like he can do anything to take the remnants of the nightmare away. She just knows that she wants to be around him. 

A swish of a cool breeze brings her attention to the ajar double doors that lead to the balcony attached to his room.

She dabs at her eyes, doing her best to hide the tears before walking out to find him. Solana doesn’t necessarily want him to know the specifics, just needs to be near him.

He’s sitting back against the chair, eyes on the full moon and stars that blanket the night sky. But his gaze quickly shifts to her the second he’s alerted of her presence. He frowns almost. “Shit, did I wake you?”

She shakes her head, doing her best to muster up a smile that doesn’t give away the truth. “No. I just….can’t sleep.”

But, she should know better than that. Better than to think that this man can’t see through any lie thrown at him.

He motions her over. “Come here.”

She makes her way to him, unsurprised as he pulls her onto his lap, keeping her face forward so she can recline back against his strong chest. Solana’s hands rest on his forearms that are almost protectively around her.

Her eyes shut briefly when he brings his lips to her temple, asking, “what’s wrong?”

“Bad dream” she murmurs only to feel a sense of regret at her answer. He’s also obviously up in the middle of the night for a reason too. It’s not just about her.

But in a surprising flip of the roles, Solana feels Roman almost tense underneath her at her answer. “Solana, if us trying is triggering you—“

Her eyes widen almost as she works to assure him. “No. No. It’s not—not that. I haven’t—I haven’t had one of those in a while.” It’s been at least a few months since she’s had a nightmare about that. A far cry from when she would have them at least a few times a week. “It was about my mom.”

He seems to settle a bit, asking, “do you wanna talk about it?”

The answer is easy but also gently supplied. “Not really.” She then angles her head to look at him, asking almost cautiously. “Do you wanna talk about what’s bothering you?”

He chuckles, fingers tapping against the side of her stomach. She tries to focus on his words and not the action, knowing she’ll get too into her head. Her stomach has always been one of her biggest sources of insecurity. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

The rejection, albeit cloaked in vagueness, is a good distraction. She gives him a small smile. “Doesn’t mean I can’t try.” For all that Roman’s been for her in the past few months, she would feel remiss if she didn’t at least attempt to be a safe space for him. 

It’s the least she can do.

He looks at her, and she can tell he’s trying to navigate his words. “Solana, I’m not—I’m not used to talking about my problems. I keep that shit to myself, and I figure it out.” 

She doesn’t deny that one bit, knows that he’s a man who carries the weight of the world but makes it seem like a tennis ball. “I get that.” She doesn’t want to push him. Again, it's more to make him aware that should he ever want to, she’s here. “I just…..I know how lonely it can be not having anyone to talk to.” There’s a hesitation but eventual follow through as she offers quietly, “I don’t think I said it at the time, because everything happened so quickly, but I'm so sorry about your mom.”

He’s tense under her, replying almost stoically. “It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she points out gently.  “You—you never get over that kind of loss. Not—not really.”

She would know.

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, and for a second, she berates herself. Chides herself for being too pushy, for bringing up memories that must be painful. Just because she’s venturing down trauma lane, doesn’t mean she has to drag him with her. 

Solana swallows. “I’m so—”

“I have to go out of town tomorrow.”

It’s deflection but almost maybe a genuine notice that’s much shorter than she likes. Regardless, her head snaps in his direction, big eyes on him with a mixture of confusion and shock. “What?”

“I have….I have something I need to handle for work.” That feels like an oversimplification, and she has no doubt it is. Knows that there’s so much about his work and what he does that there’s not enough time and space in the world for him to catch her up on. Not that she would even want to know the full truth, to be honest.

Some things are better left unknown. 

“How—how long will you be gone?”

Solana hates the way her mood has just taken yet another turn in a downward direction. She doesn’t know why it saddens her to know that he’s leaving, to have this sense of anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach at the knowledge that he’s leaving. 

He answers it so calmly, so easily. Like it’s the most simplest thing. “A couple days. No more than a week.”

A week.

The anxiety is slowly trickling into something deeper and heavier. It shows in her face and body language. 

Roman notices this and asks, “what is it?”

She feels silly even saying it, but there’s also a small desire to just be honest with him. To not hide anything. Even if she does feel a bit embarrassed saying so. “It’s just…I haven’t been away from you since the wedding.”

Solana hates that she’s making this moment about her, that she’s redirecting attention onto herself, but at the same time, she can’t ignore her anxiety at just the thought of Roman being gone. Roman is her protector. The one who has made it so nothing bad has happened to her since they exchanged vows. Even with the Theory and Waller situation. That only happened because she hadn’t made him aware. There’s no doubt in her mind now that had she told him from the beginning, he would have nipped it in the bud. 

But for the first time in months, she has to think about something unfamiliar. She has to think about being without his protection.

Her right hand moves to her pajama shorts, pulling at the cotton. Roman sees this telling action and brings his hand under her chin, lifting and making her look at him. “Talk to me.”

It’s suddenly a difficult thing, because she’s not sure she knows how to describe it exactly. So she just asks him instead, voice small, “will Solo still be here?”

And it’s in how he looks at her, how something flashes in his eyes that she knows he knows. “You’re scared.” It’s more of an assessment than anything, and she can’t deny it, no matter how badly she wants to. 

Because no matter how far she’s come, the steps and strides that she’s made, there’s still this deep down fear.

Fear of her dad and brother.

Fear of their anger and punishment for how she’s been made completely out of reach and contact with them.

Fear of their threat from what feels like so long ago.

“Either you kill Reigns, or we kill you.”

And suddenly the fear shifts from what they could do to her and entirely to what they could do to the man before her who suddenly looks like he’s engaging in his own internal dialogue. 

“I figured you would be.” She’s listening, but she’s also worrying, mind starting to race with thoughts about Roman and his safety. “Yes, Solo will still be here. And I asked Bayley to stay at the house with you till I get back.”

“Are the twins going with you?”

He looks taken back by her question, and her stomach drops when he shakes his head. “No. I….I need to handle this on my own.”

Her stomach is a resting stop for daggers. Sharp and swift slices of pain circulating. Solana sits up, angling herself so she can see him better. “You’re gonna be alone?” The scenarios could be in the millions now, her chest starting to tighten, matching the knotting in her belly. “But—but what if something happens? Who’s gonna look out for you—”

“Hey.” And he’s sitting up, one hand on her face, the other on her waist. “Solana, where is this coming from?” That only makes her anxiety spike, her eyes watering at horrible, dark thoughts that involve her losing the first person since her mom who’s ever made her feel wanted. “I’ll be fine. I won’t be alone. But even if I was, I’ve been looking out for myself for a long time. It’s nothing new.”

But that looking out for himself probably almost always involved a sense of knowing what to look out for. He can’t look out for her dad and brother if he has no idea they even have their grisly sights set on him. He doesn't know because she still hasn’t told him. Hasn’t been woman enough to be honest with this man when his literal life is at stake. 

It turns her stomach for an entirely different reason. Her sudden sense of self hatred. 

 Her internal strife must show as he gently moves his thumb across her cheek. “You worry that much about me?” It’s another statement, borderline realization, and he’s not looking for an answer.

She does. She really, truly does. Solana admits with all the emotion and vulnerability, both from his leaving and the inner turmoil at sitting on such a secret, “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

And yet, she can’t bring herself to mouth those words, all of the various, horrible ways he could respond rushing to the forefront of her mind. He’ll be angry. Angry at her. He could….he could lose his temper.

He could lose it on her.

And she couldn’t even blame him, couldn't be upset at him because she would deserve it.

She’d deserve whatever punishment he saw fit. 

“It won’t,” he says, tone promising and convincing. It briefly brings her back to the main conversation at hand vs the debate going on in her head. “I been doing this a long time, Solana. I know how to keep myself safe.”

She believes it. Knows he’s capable of unspeakable acts in the name of protection and execution. Still, it does little to abate her nerves.

She whispers, “Roman…my father…” She feels physically sick, the weight of it all making it difficult for her to properly express herself, explain to him the real reason behind her concern. “He….he’s dangerous.”

Roman’s expression is unreadable, but she can’t tell if that’s because she’s so in her head or he’s put back on that mask that the rest of the world sees. That obscured countenance that’s no doubt deeply aided in all of his success. “Solana, I told you before, I’m not a good man. I’ve hurt more, killed more, tortured more people than you can ever imagine.” He’s not trying to scare her. She knows this. Just trying to remind her of who the fuck he really is. “That son of a bitch has no idea what dangerous is.”

“I just—” She’s able to simplify it all to one basic word that carries so much more than what he probably realizes. “I’m scared.” 

Roman sighs, disposition softening a bit. “I figured you would be…” He matches her gaze, almost needing her to look at him directly as he speaks without an ounce of indecision. “Solana, I would never leave you if I thought danger was present. Nothing’s going to happen to me or you.” He brings his mouth to her shoulder, pressing a kiss. “Solo will guard you, and I asked Bayley to come stay here at the house with you until I get back.”

The last part is what gives her the most pause and a small slice of comfort. “R–really?”

He nods. “I’d have asked Naomi too, but that means Jimmy be over here, and the last time his ass was here while I was gone, I had to redo the whole damn fireplace.”

She smiles and laughs a little, a much needed respite from all of her big emotions. There’s a story there. She’d love to know, but timing is everything. Maybe another day.

His lips linger on her temple, vowing, “everything’s gonna be fine.”

Interestingly enough, even in all of the confidence of his delivery, Roman is secretly wondering the same thing as Solana.

Will it?

________

The house feels strange without Roman.

Yes, he’s typically gone the majority of the days and makes it back late in the evening, but there’s still his presence at some point or another.

The past few days, however, have not provided that.

And while Solana is deeply grateful for Bayley’s presence, it’s still not the same.

It’s not Roman. 

She sits across Bayley and Naomi in the living room, Dulce snuggled up next to her as the three women chit chat about any and everything. Solana does her best to be as deeply immersed as possible. It keeps her from checking her phone to see if Roman has replied to her text.

In the time he’s been gone, their communication has been sparse. He always replies, eventually, but she’s noticed that she’s the one who’s initiated most of it. It makes her feel like a bit of a nuisance, like she’s bothering him. 

But, it’s the only thing that keeps her anxiety grounded. To be able to maintain contact with him. To know he��s okay.

Naomi notices this, sees the way she keeps glancing at her phone as if that’ll make it light up with a certain five letter name. “Don’t take it personal, girl. Roman does this every so often.”

At that, her attention fully switches from the phone to Naomi’s statement. “What do you mean?”

“He disappears for a few days. No more than a week. Goes completely off the grid. No contact with anyone. Not even Paul. Does it every couple months, sometimes more frequently.” She says it like it’s normal, like it should make sense. “He’s done it for years.”

“Despite the Bloodline being pretty family oriented, he can be a bit of a loner.” Bayley chimes, throwing some popcorn in her mouth.

Solana frowns, confused and slightly troubled by this information. “Where—where does he go?”

Naomi shrugs. “I don't know. Only the twins do, but they’ve never said shit and never will. They all might annoy each other on a daily basis, but the loyalty among the three of them is unmatched.”

Solana’s mind is racing. She can see someone like her husband wanting and maybe even needing time to be by himself. But the fact that it’s a regular thing, not to mention such a secret thing, has her mind racing and wondering just where does he go? What does he do while he’s gone?

Something Naomi said makes Solana clarify. “We’ve been texting since he left. Not…not as much as we usually do when he’s here, but he’s communicated with me.”

Naomi’s eyes widen. “Seriously?” Solana nods, almost unsure. “Damn. That’s a first then. He never talks to anyone when he leaves like that.”

Solana is quiet. Unsure of what to make of that either. Confused as to why Roman would break ‘tradition’ for her. And then she’s embarrassed, frustrated with herself for not being respectful of him and his time.

He doesn’t have all the time in the world to deal with her and her neediness.

Grabbing her phone, she sends out two texts and puts it face down, determine to not check again until later in the evening.

Solana: I’m sorry I’ve been bothering you while you’re trying to work.

Solana: I’ll leave you alone. Just please be careful.

Bayley is looking over in Solana’s direction when her eyes land on something. “Holy shit, is that what I think it is?” Solana frowns, confused as Bayley’s mouth slips into a shit eating grin. “It is. Damn, how did I not notice that before?”

And before Solana can ask, Bayley hits Naomi on her arm, pointing to Solana’s neck. “They must be having a good ass time over here.”

That’s when Solana realizes what she’s referring to. Her cheeks start to burn a bit as she places her hand over the courtesy of a certain husband of hers hickey.

Naomi is also smiling cheekily. “A very good time.”

But, it’s this conversation that paves the way for something else. That reminds Solana that these two ladies are her friends, her confidants, and also a lot more experienced in a certain area where she most definitely is not.

“Can I ask you guys something?” Naomi and Bayley both turn to Solana at the same time with Bayley being the first to speak. 

“Come on, Solana. You already know you can ask us anything.”

“Yeah. That shouldn’t even be a question.”

That was the easy part, the harder part comes with unveiling the nature of her request. “It’s umm—it’s about sex.”

While she initially expects some type of discomfort, she only receives an increased level of intrigue. 

“You can most definitely ask then.” Bayley quips, pulling her legs up under her on the sofa. “What’s going on?”

Solana starts to ask them to keep it between the group, but it feels redundant. She’s learned to trust that their conversations remain private and confidential. “Roman and I—umm—” Yup. this is definitely the hard part. “I asked him if we could….if we could work up to eventually, umm, having….you know.”

Naomi makes an ‘o’ with her mouth and then nods, almost reassuringly. “Okay.” She seems to be thinking on how she wants to ask, “are you—would it be your first time?”

Solana shakes her head, gaze dropping to her lap. “No. I—umm—” She presses her lips together and briefly closes her eyes, sharing in a quiet tone, “I was raped when I was younger.”

There’s such a mixed, jumbled bag of emotions at saying it aloud. At acknowledging her trauma without allowing that fact to overwhelm her. It’s only the second time she’s said it to anyone other than herself, but there’s also this space that feels a sense of relief at not having to hold it all in anymore.

That part of it….it’s liberating.

Naomi, however, looks distraught. “Oh my god, Solana, I’m so sorry. I didn't know—”

“No, no, it’s okay. How could you have known?” Solana knows they mean no harm, that Naomi was asking out of genuine interest vs trying to get her to divulge her trauma. She also appreciates how neither woman looks at her with an overwhelming sense of sympathy. Like they feel bad for her. Solana doesn’t want that anymore. 

Doesn’t want to be seen as a victim anymore.

She takes a deep breath. “That’s why touch is hard for me, but I’ve been—I’ve been using this workbook for people who were assaulted, and it’s—it’s been helping a lot.” That feels like putting it lightly. Solana has felt life changing differences from working through that book. “But now, I—I want to try to have…that with him, but I don’t—there’s a lot I don’t know about….about pleasing a man.”

Bayley again exchanges looks with Naomi before taking over the conversation. “Does….does Roman know about—”

“He does.” She nods, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “He….he was the first person I told.”

And she doesn’t regret it. Maybe regrets that she doesn’t recall how exactly it came out, but she’s happy he was the one to be there with her in that moment of release. 

“Okay.” Bayley seems relieved at this knowledge. So does Naomi. “And I don’t mean to make you feel like you need to tell him. That’s your truth. You tell or don’t tell anyone you want, but I do think him knowing could help him be….I don’t know, patient?”

Solana nods, explaining with all the truth and sincerity, “he’s been really great with that.”

Because he has. Roman has met her every step of the way of this journey, ready and willing to give her whatever she needs. 

“Good.” Naomi also appears genuinely reassured by this piece of information. “But also, Solana, it shouldn’t be about you pleasing him. It should be about him pleasing you.”

Solana shifts in her seat, shrugging slightly as she admits, “I don’t—I don’t even know if it could be…could be pleasing for me.”

That’s the part she struggles with. Tries not to think too much about it for fear of it hindering her progress. If the trauma of what she endured permanently ruined that for her. 

Naomi, however, is quick with the rebuttal. She shakes her head. “Trust me. With the right partner who knows what he’s doing, it can definitely be pleasing.”

“I guess that’s what worries me too. He’s….he’s so experienced, and I’m—I’m not.” She frowns, sharing and unveiling a layer of vulnerability. “I don’t want it to be…..to be bad for him.” Solana has heard and learned enough by now to know that her husband is a person who likes sex, who’s tumbled in the sheets with more women than she’d probably care to know. And that part doesn’t bother her as much as the comparisons component does. It’s hard not to think about how he’s well versed and probably has high expectations that she’s almost certain she could never exceed, let alone meet.

It’s a bit discouraging, to say the least.

“Fuck him,” Bayley suddenly exclaims and then clarifies. “Not literally, but like, girl, this really is about you. This is….this has to be a big thing for you, and the fact that you’re even willing to try it makes me think Roman must be doing something to make you feel comfortable enough to try it with him.”

That’s an understatement. A small smile falls on her face, just thinking about the measures he’s taken to ensure her comfortability. “He is….he’s really good to me.”

Naomi jumps in. “And that just blows my mind because he’s never been with any woman the way he is with you. He’s never given a damn about them, but he clearly cares about you. And that also makes me think he’ll also be all about making you feel good versus you getting him off.”

That gives Solana a slice of comfort. The fact that he seems to be going against his preferred sexual nature to meet her exactly where she is. He hasn’t given off any indication this is something that bothers or frustrates him. At least none that she’s seen yet. 

Bayley suddenly shifts gears a bit, seeming a bit awkward as she struggles to get out her sentence. “I will say though, there are….rumors that….well—” She turns to Noami, advising. “Might want to cover your eyes.”

She instead rolls her eyes. “Girl, he’s family by marriage. Not blood. I’m listening.”

Bayley laughs as Solana continues to look on a bit confused. “There are a lot of rumors that Roman is….well, he’s big all over. Like….everywhere.” She gestures to her crotch area. “You get my drift?”

And though her cheeks are painted red to match the heat inside at this conversation, Solana nods. “We….we were kissing the other day. Well, maybe more making out, and he….well, he became…..he got hard, and it was….noticeable.”

Solana feels a bit mortified at sharing such intimate details of her interaction with Roman, but Bayley and Naomi seem almost vindicated. “Oh my god, so they are true. I knew it.” 

Naomi is fanning herself as she points out. “also, sis, if he’s getting hard just from kissing you, then he’s definitely gonna be all about you when you guys finally go there. His attraction to you is insane.”

Solana can’t find it in her to deny that.

Because her attraction to him is just as intense, if not more.

Bayley practically squeals but clears her throat, switching back to a more serious tone. “But back to the initial topic, because he’s well endowed, it may hurt a bit at first. It’s a matter of learning your partner, and your partner learning you. Communication is also key. If something isn’t right or doesn’t feel good, let him know.” Solana internally winces at the comment about it hurting. That’s a part that makes her nervous, that pain bringing on flashbacks of her assault. But, that’s also when she knows she has to remind herself that this isn’t that. That Roman isn’t them. 

He’s not trying to hurt her.

Naomi gives her gentle shove. “But, once you get past that pain, it really can be a wonderful thing.”

It makes Solana smile a bit. That’s what she’s hoping for.

“Especially with Roman, cause I mean this with all the respect in the world, Solana, but that man is fine as hell.” Bayley lifts her hands in a surrender motion. “Don’t worry, I don’t want him like that, but I’m not blind either.”

“It wouldn’t make a difference even if you did, cause baby, he is all about Solana.”

Solana’s blushing is on level 10 as she looks down, shrugging with one shoulder, “he’s….he’s really great. I—I’ve never had a man be so nice to me before.”

Naomi shakes her head. “That’s because you’ve never dated a real man before. Hell, you’ve never been around real men until now. Because real men don’t do what your shithole ass brother and father did to you. And probably your ex’s too. Cause I feel like you mentioned an ex.”

Solana nods, gently disclosing some details of her last relationship. “He used to…he used to talk about my weight.” One of many things, but that seemed to be his favorite talking point. “I think I tried to make it work because…well, for a lot of reasons, but mostly because he never tried to make me do anything with him. He…he used to say that I—that I was too fat for him to want to fuck me.”

Four months ago, talking about this would maybe have Solana in tears. But now, it just somewhat upsets her that someone could be so cruel, that she ever believed that. That she ever believed she was so unappealing that no man would want to be with her in that way.

Meanwhile, Naomi looks like she’s contemplating murder. “Girl, please give Roman that man’s name so he can fuck his bitch ass up.”

“Fuck that. I’ll fuck him up myself because what in the actual hell?” Bayley seems legitimately pissed off too. “Like bro, if your dick is small, just say that.”

“Solana, on a scale of 1 to 10, how attractive was your ex?”

She has to think about Naomi’s question. At the time, the score might have been higher, but now, it’s much lower due to well learned common sense. “Maybe a 4.”

“And on a scale of 1 to 10, how attractive would you rate Roman?”

That’s probably the easiest thing she’s been asked all day. “A 10.”

“Exactly, so if a fine ass man like Roman sees how equally fine you are, you do realize your ex was just an insecure prick, right?”

That’s also a surprisingly easy answer. Solana shakes her head. “I do now.” He was never good enough for her, and she never deserved to be spoken to so cruelly. These are facts she cannot and will not dispute.

“Good.” Naomi sighs with relief, leaning back into the sofa. “God, I hate the male species sometimes.” She takes a sip of her wine and is back on track, “but anyway, back to you and Roman, just make sure you stretch real good.”

“Oh my god, Naomi.”

“What? We can’t have her out here not prepared.” She defends and advises, “If you’re on top, and I don’t know, that may be better for you so you feel more in control, moving your hips as if you’re spelling your name will make any man come in under a minute. Guaranteed.”

Bayley adds on, “yeah, but you also gotta have strong legs if you’re riding. I be getting cramps and shit.”

Solana is trying to sit on this information, a strange yet pleasant feeling pooling in the small of her stomach at some of the things being said as well as a brief glimpse of those things coming to fruition.

She shifts in her seat. 

Naomi then unintentionally provides a nice detour of the conversation. “But wait, I have to ask just how well did your date go with Roman because ya’ll seem to have jumped hurdles in such a short time?”

Just thinking about their surprise date has her smiling all over again. “The date was really nice, but—but you guys didn’t have to go through all that.”

Bayley chuckles. “Not according to Jimmy.”

“Jimmy?” Her frown is back. “What are you talking about?”

Naomi is the one to answer, explaining, “he said when we went to see Roman the other day at his office, ya’ll were arguing. It’s why he rushed to have us set up that dinner. Said it was a bad fight.”

“Arguing?” Solana shakes her head. “No. No. We—we were kissing when he walked in.” And the blush is back again at the memory of his soft lips on hers for the first time. A first she’s certain she’ll never forget. “Roman was irritated because we were interrupted. Not…not at me.”

“Lord Jesus, I swear my husband is lucky he’s fine because the way this boy really had us all thinking ya’ll were about to get divorced or something.” Naomi is rubbing her temples. “So, you’re both good?”

Solana nods. She’s not sure she’s ever been more happy in her life than she has been the past couple weeks.

Not since her mom was alive. 

The women continue to chat it up, switching gears and topics when Jimmy and Jey arrive, both heading straight for the fridge to grab the containers of food she had ready and waiting for them.

It’s when the group is trying to settle on a movie or something to watch when Solana finally checks her phone to see her lock screen littered with notifications.

All from Roman.

She immediately unlocks it, reading over the messages.

Roman: Solana, you never bother me. 

Roman: Where is this coming from?

Roman: Answer the phone.

It’s only then she sees she has a missed FaceTime call from him as well. 

Solana untangles her legs and gets up from the sofa, laying Dulce in her bed so she doesn't try to jump off the sofa. 

She attempts to let the group know of her brief absence. “I’ll be right back. Roman called me.” 

Bayley sort of nods in acknowledgement, but the other three seem stuck on trying to pick between a comedy and a thriller. 

Solana taps at her phone and hits the call button as she moves through the kitchen to go out the backdoor.

Roman answers almost immediately. 

She slides the door shut behind her, opening up with a textbook apology. “I’m sorry, I was talking to Bayley and Naomi, so I wasn’t checking my phone.”

He doesn’t waste a second in jumping right to the point. “Why do you think you’ve been bothering me?”

Solana takes a minute to get situated on the sun chaise, setting up the phone so it’s propped against the back of the chaise while enjoying the excuse to not have to give him an immediate answer. 

“I don’t know.” She finally answers, gaze on her crossed legs instead of him, an intentional deflection. “I was looking over our texts, and I didn’t realize just how much I’ve been texting you.”

“Solana…”

“I just didn’t mean to be messaging you so much when you’re trying to work.”

“Solana, you should know me by now to know I don’t do anything I don’t want to fucking do. If I didn't want to respond to you, I wouldn’t have.” He says it so confidently that she almost doesn’t feel like she has the right to not believe him. “I would have left you on delivered just like everybody else. But you’re not everybody else, so I responded.”

Solana looks up, noticing that he’s sitting outside as well, on a patio of some sort. Same as her.

“I know something else triggered that for you, and I’m gonna find out what it is, but I’ll let it go for now.” She’s thankful for that too. This doesn’t seem like a FaceTime type of conversation anyway. “How you feeling?”

“Good.” It’s an accurate answer. Him being home would make things even better. “Having Bayley here has helped a ton. Thank you again for asking her to stay with me.” According to Bayley, it was less him asking and more of him telling, but Bay stressed that she was more than okay with it, hence Solana not feeling like she was inconveniencing anyone.

“I knew you wouldn’t want to be alone.” And she’s appreciative of that. That he’s seemed to learn her well enough to know that even with Dulce, it would be an uncomfortable thing for her. “You said Naomi’s there?” She nods. “Fuck, Solana tell me you didn’t.”

And it’s interesting to her how she already knows where this is going. A small smile growing on her face. “They’re your cousins.”

He ignores that, straight up asking. “Did you let them back in the house?”

Feeling a bit emboldened, she throws it back at him, asking. “Did you ban them from the house?”

Solana was wondering why the twins hadn’t been over since Roman was away, only for Naomi to inform her that they’d been getting denied entrance at the gate to Roman’s property.

A directive from Roman himself prior to him leaving. 

And he doesn't even try to deny it. “I sure fucking did.” 

Solana shakes her head, but she can’t help the smile on her face. His relationship with his cousins is so comical to her. “Roman, that’s mean.”

“Solana, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a nice person.” She starts to push back on that, push back on his belief that he’s somehow not a good person when he’s one of the best people she’s ever met. “I like you, tolerate them, and hate everyone else. Matter of fact, they asses are about to be grouped into the hate category too.”

“They’re not that—” And before she can finish her line of defense, a loud sound, a shattering of sorts cuts through that attempt. She frowns and turns toward the house.

“Man, what the hell did you do!”

“Aye, it ain’t my fault! I told you the shit couldn’t hold your weight!”

“See, now ya’ll breaking shit in Big Dog house! This why he don’t be wanting ya’ll over here!” Jimmy’s voice becomes louder and clearer followed by the sliding door opening and Dulce running out, jumping at the chaise for Solana to pick her up. 

She does as such, noticing that Dulce is shaking, most likely in fear. “Jimmy, what—”

“What the fuck did ya’ll break now?” 

Roman’s voice catches everyone off guard, even Dulce whose ears perk up and tail starts to wag as she sees him on the phone screen.

Jimmy looks a shade of anxious asking in a harsh whispered voice. “Damn, SoSo, why you ain’t tell me ya’ll was still on?”

“Fuck! I stepped on glass!”

“I told your dumbass to put shoes on!”

“Ayo, Bay, watch ya’ fucking mouth, alright?”

Jimmy chuckles almost nervously, moving near Solana to be in frame of the camera. “Whasup, cuz. Nothing. We just, uh, was watching a movie.”

Roman looks even more irritated at the obvious lie. “Ya’ll got ten minutes to get the fuck out of my house—”

“Damn, Uce, I hear Naomi calling me. I’ll see you when you get back!” And Jimmy doesn’t even wait for Roman to reply, no doubt the continuation and issuance of a threat anyway.

But it’s as he runs back into the house, bickering continuing between him and Jey that Solana rethinks her initial stance. “Maybe….maybe you have a point.”

“Do you see what I’m saying?” Roman looks at Dulce who continues to look at him through the screen, barking occasionally. She’s so excited to see him. “Look, even the damn dog don’t like em’. Ain’t that supposed to be man’s best friend or something?”

Roman’s irritation is felt through the screen, but it doesn’t scare her, doesn’t bother her. Her smile grows again as she asks, “are—are you still coming back Sunday?”

His answer comes on the end of a long sigh, his anger naturally melting away. “yes.”

An instant wave of relief washes over as she asks a follow up question. “So you got everything figured out?”

He hesitates, looking at her for a bit before answering. “For now.”

Solana wants to ask more, because she knows there’s more. He’s saying just enough to answer her questions, and while she normally would leave that alone, there’s a part of her that worries. Something was clearly bothering him before he left, and he suddenly feels or at least seems better. She can’t help but wonder what was bothering him, what helped him to feel better.

Or who.

Because she can’t stop thinking about the information she received from Naomi. It’s not uncommon for Roman to disappear every couple months, sometimes more frequently, okay. But just where does he go and why is it some big secret?

“You’re overthinking something.” Even however many miles away he is, Roman is still exceptionally adept at reading her. “What is it?”

Lying to him isn’t an option, but the full truth isn’t either. “Just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m good, Solana. I promise.”

She wants to believe him, but it’s hard. She just does her best to not feed too much of the anxiety. 

Studying his face, she has to force herself to get past his attractiveness to recognize the dark circles under his eyes. “You’re probably tired.” Not to mention, she feels bad for pulling him away from whatever he was doing. “I should go help them clean up.”

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of talking to you.” Her stomach flutters with all the butterflies only he can seem to give her. “And no, they broke the shit. Let them clean it up.” He easily adds on, “besides, I need to run some things by you.”

This gives her pause, as she stammers a bit. “O–okay.”

“One. I need to know what you want and want to do for your birthday. Two, there’s a Gala next week I have to attend, and I want you to come with me.”

Two major things, the first of which she didn’t realize was coming, the second she doesn’t even know how to think about. 

And maybe it’s less she didn’t know her birthday was coming and more it’s been so long since she’s acknowledged her birthday. Since anyone around her acknowledged her birthday. It feels almost foreign just the idea of doing anything.

Finally, she answers more of his first question than the first. “Nothing. I don’t—I’m not big on birthdays.”

She hasn’t been since her mother’s murder. 

That was the last year anyone ever told her happy birthday.

Roman, however, doesn’t seem to find this as an acceptable answer. “No, your pussy father and brother probably barely acknowledged your birthday, but I’m not them. We’re doing something. Preferably something out of town, because if my fucking cousins interfere in any way, I’m killing them.”

Her smile returns, soft and slightly amused. “Roman, you don’t have to. I just—just come back home, and I’ll be fine.”

And it’s the truth. Just him being back will be more than enough.

Again though, enough for her, but clearly not him. “I’ll handle it then.”

She shakes her head. “Ro—”

“What about the gala?”

Something tells her his mind is made, and when that happens, there is no room for negotiation. So she redirects her focus on the next topic. A gala sounds fancy, uppity almost. It doesn’t seem like his setting, but something also tells her it’s more an appearance he has to attend as leader of the Bloodline vs a preferred outing. 

But, there’s only one main question at the front of her mind. “Will you be with me the whole night?”

“Of course.”

There’s an instant wave of relief as she agrees. “I’ll go.” As long as he’s with her, she’s okay. And if he has to be there, she’d like to at least support him in any way she can.

“Good.” He seems pleased by this, adding on coyly. “Selfishly, I just want to see your fine ass all dressed up.”

Solana giggles as Dulce barks. A comfortable silence settles over them as something flutters in her chest, a warm, almost fuzzy type of feeling. 

Happy. 

She feels happy.

But….but something else. Something both warm and cool, different but familiar, pleasing but scary. A perfect yet imperfect balance of feelings. 

Lips parting, she tries her best to ignore the thumping feeling in her chest. “Roman, I–”

“Ayo, Soso, ya’ll got a fire extinguisher?”

________

“Still nothing?”

It’s the first thing Xavier asks as soon as his son steps foot in his hospital room. It was only a few days prior that Wes was released, finally cleared and recovered enough from his injuries sustained from the Bloodline.

Xavier, however, has not been as lucky. Age and a body already riddled with health issues has prolonged his stay. However, this has only given him time to think, time to plan, time to really evaluate the actions that got him here.

His son answers with a cold, "no."

But while Xavier has schemed, Wes, however, has only stewed. Sat and become overcome with feelings of rage. All directed to one person.

Solana

Just thinking of her makes him snap as he punches his still healing fist into the closest wall. “That little bitch betrayed us!” 

Xavier is used to his son’s violent outbursts, so he has no reaction other than a knowing smirk. “Maybe not.”

Wes looks at his dad, wondering if he’s so high on morphine that he has no idea what he’s saying. “Have you spoken to her? Cause I sure fucking haven’t. She was supposed to keep in contact!”

“She was supposed to earn Reigns trust.” Xavier corrects calmly. “And it seems she has.”

Wes calms down a bit, interested in where his father is going. “What are you talking about?”

“Think about it.” Xavier thinks highly of his son, recognizes his potential for greatness. But there’s still some room for growth. Wes can often be blinded by his own hubris. “That level of rage Reigns had….that wasn’t his usual. It was personal.”

Wes is still stumped, not following fully. “What do you mean? That smug bastard is always like that.”

“No. He came after us specifically for her. Because he was upset about whatever she’s told him we’ve done.” Xavier doesn’t waste the opportunity to bestow a lesson upon his son. He asks, challenging his critical thinking skills, “why do you think that is?”

Wes is quiet, thinking carefully on not only what occurred but what can be inferred between the lines of what occurred. And as realization sets in, so does his vile grin “He cares about her.”

Xavier smiles wickedly. “Exactly.” He rests against the pillow behind his back, ignoring the pain that just that slight movement causes to shoot through his still healing body. Damn morphine must be wearing off. “It seems our little beauty has enchanted the beast.”

Wes nods but then points out. “But how can we be sure? It could very well just be him being possessive. Feeling disrespected only because he sees her as an extension. What we see as personal could just be pride.” 

Another smile befalls Xavier’s still bruised, cut up face. “You’re learning.” He nods, grabbing his phone. “That’s exactly correct. We must know for certain before making any moves.” He flips his phone showing the exclusive invite to William Regal's annual gala. “But, I know exactly how we’re going to find out.”

[0xstarzx0]

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 | ONE SHOT

Rafe Cameron S2 x Readers

{OPEN COMMAND}

[English is not my native language ❗️❗️]

SYNOPSIS: When a crazy killer runs through the streets of the Outer Banks, it’s better to be well surrounded. But what if the killer is your best friend?

TW: NON-CON, DUB-CON, smut, rape, violence, murder, vaginal sex, violent sex, caresses, death threats, lies, dark, victim blame, manipulation, unprotected sex, forced pregnancy, breach of trust, hair pull, insults, penetration, fingering.+18

______________________________________________

The nights of the Outer Banks have been dangerous lately.

A psychopath disguised as ghostface , the famous scream killer was running in the streets, killing Kook and pogue.

Good thing your best friend, Rafe, was there to protect you. When your boyfriend died, he was the first to come to console you. 

That’s normal, because he’s your faithful best friend.

Even though Rafe was the kind of asshole who stabbed everybody in the back with knives, it was different with you.

He’d always been there for you, supporting you when you weren’t sure, or coming in whenever you had to tell him something-even if it wasn’t important.-

But recently, Rafe had been extremely busy. He hardly picked up his phone and rarely responded to your messages. You could understand, as your friends were being brutally murdered one after the other. But there was always that little voice in the back of your mind, whispering that it wasn’t normal, telling you to run.

This evening, Rafe had decided on a whim to spend the evening with you. You hadn’t refused, feeling too unwell to be alone. Rafe and you were seated on the couch, your back pressed against his chest as he played with your hair. You were watching television when your program suddenly cut to instead present a devastating new report.

Three girls that you used to talk to had been found dead on the side of the road. They had been brutally murdered, one of them was missing an eye and another was missing her heart.

"How can someone be so violent…" you say, feeling uneasy. Rafe laughs softly. "Who cares, they were bitches who deserved it." His tone was strange, there was a hint of satisfaction in it. It was like seeing you feeling guilty made him happy.

You begin to move away when he tightens his grip on your hair slightly. You give in, resting your head on his chest. "Rafe... If the police arrest me because they think I’m guilty, you’ll come visit me in prison… right?"

"Do you really think the police would think of you? You're harmless... So pure and too kind. You panic just at the thought of killing a bug." He laughs, moving his hand to your waist, pulling you closer to him. "But if they arrest you, I'll make sure to send you a nail file to help you escape." He laughs again.

You nestle against him. "You say that, but even my mother doesn’t dare look at me anymore…" Your voice becomes weaker and weaker. The urge to cry begins to take over.

Rafe's grip around your waist tightened, his other hand moving to brush gently a strand of hair out of your face. His touch was almost comforting, a stark contrast to the coldness that shone in his eyes.

"Your mother is always the first to judge Y/N. Everyone is going crazy because of some bastard who thinks he's Ghostface, even the mothers are suspecting their own daughters. But don't worry love, I believe in you. I know you're not Ghostface. You can't be."

Rafe kisses your cheek tenderly. You allow him to, feeling safe with him.

Rafe chuckled softly against your cheek, his warm breath tickling your skin. His hand pulled possessively at your waist, pulling you closer, until your body was pressed tightly against his. His touch was gentle, almost affectionate, but that little voice in the back of your head began to scream at you again, telling you to run, to get away as fast as possible.

A small moan escapes you as he kisses passionately your neck. "Rafe, we shouldn't…"

Rafe raises an eyebrow at your words, his smile slowly disappearing. His fingers slowly but dangerously trail down to your shorts, his touch becoming almost too intimate.

"I'm not going to hurt you Y/N, I just want you to feel good."his hand leaning lightly on your shorts, where your clitoris was hidden by the pieces of fabric.

"I know, but I don't want Ghostface to take you, Rafe. I don't want to lose y-"

He lets out a scoff, a hint of irritation in his voice. His hand begins to move, pressing even more on your clit.

"Y/N. You're making me sound like a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself. I'm not a fragile flower, you know. I can handle a masked madman chasing after a bunch of idiots with a knife. Don’t worry, I'm strong and smart enough to take care me, to take care of us both."

"I'm sure, Y/N, I've been waiting for this for... nearly forever" he chuckles slightly before his tone turns serious. "And you? Are you sure you want this?"

Without you realizing it, Rafe has laid you down on your back. he has leaned in and started kissing the top of your chest. His hot breath on your skin.

"Are you sure you trust me? Because once I start, there's no going back..."

You grip his t-shirt lightly. In reality, Rafe wouldn’t have let you tell him no. Not when he knows that he’s the only one who doesn’t believe that you’re Ghostface. "Yes…"

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Rafe's face at your response. His fingers slide further up, in your shorts.

"Good girl."

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond. His lips crash into yours, the kiss hard and demanding, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

He kisses you aggressively, his kisses sloppy, possessive, and voracious. He removes his hand from your shorts and begins to give you little hip thrusts.

You moan, feeling his hard dick against your clit through your layers of clothing. He breaks the kiss to move down into your neck, sucking on your sensitive skin.

You frown in pleasure. "Fuck, it's so good…" You close your eyes, relaxing for the first time in far too long.

He smiles against your now slightly purple neck, his grip on your hip tightening slightly.  

"You don’t know how much I want to ruin you."

One of his hands has moved up to entwine in your hair, pulling your head back to expose more of your neck. His lips nibbling and kissing your collarbone.

As he pulls on your hair, you let out a moan. 

"Y/N, if you keep moaning like that, I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk again. I swear."

The idea excites you but you'll never admit it to yourself. "Sorry..." you bite your lip, trying to hold back.

Rafe knew. He knew you were too weak in this type of situation. And he loved knowing that, at some point, you wouldn’t be able to hold back.

He grins against your neck at the idea of impaling you on his cock excites him so much, that his cock becomes more and more painfully hard.

         ✩✽✩

Sleeping with Rafe has been so good. He had been rough, but you had liked it, as strange as it was.

The young Cameron had left more than three hours ago, his father had called him because of a "huge" emergency.

You sleep when small noises echo in your room, having sensitive sleep you wake up almost immediately.

You wake up and check the time on your phone, 2:30 AM. 

You get up from your bed and immediately stumble back onto it. A sharp, excruciating pain in your legs prevents you from moving.

Rafe hadn't exactly been gentle. You force yourself to stand up and begin to walk, limping.

You make your way into the kitchen, where the noise is coming from.

As soon as you enter, your whole body freezes.

Your mother's lifeless body lay on the floor, blood gushing from her neck. Ghostface stood there, holding a bloodstained knife, looking at you silently. He tilts his head to the side, glancing at you.

He stepped closer to you, the knife still in his hand. Despite the mask obscuring his expression, you could sense the menace in his movements. Your trembling body betrayed your fear, and Ghostface seemed to revel in it.

"What's wrong, baby ? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

His voice was deep and distorted behind the mask, adding to the creepy factor.

Your eyes fixed on the body, you slowly widen your eyes. Before you can even realize it, Ghostface is right in front of you.

He grabs you by the throat, pinning you against the wall next to you.

You struggle to make him let go, his grip on your throat tightens slightly. You moan, Trying to gasp for air.

He moves his face closer to yours.

"Everything alright? You seem a bit...short of breath." he laughs sinisterly,

He puts his knee between your legs and brings his face to your ear, his voice dropping to a low, threatening whisper.

"No one's going to come save you. You're all alone here. With me...and the dead body of your whore mother." He laughs, but there's no hint of humor in what he says.

You start to cry as you try to remove his hand from your throat. "Please...I don’t want to die..."

He chuckled at your pleading, seeing the despair in your eyes.

"What's the matter, Love? Are you afraid? Afraid to die?"

He pressed even closer to you, his body pressing against yours, giving you chills. His hand moved to your hair, gently twirling a strand between his fingers.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you...yet."

He steps away and lets go of your throat. You collapse, trying to breathe properly. He grabs you by the hair and kneels in front of you. "You know what? We're going to play a game!" he says sinisterly.

"If you answer all my questions correctly, I'll let you live but if you're wrong..." He takes out his knife from behind his back and presses it to your cheek.

"I kill you or something else. I haven't decided yet." he shrugs casually. As if he hadn't just threatened you.

"Who was my first victim?"

You think, there have been 9 people since then. Your lips begin to bleed as you try to find the answer.

"10,9,8..." He laughs and begins to count.

"Kiara Carrera!" You shout in panic. He tilts his head to the side and claps his hands.

"Well done, I thought I'd have to kill you with the first question."

"Okay, second question. What is the name of Elvis Presley’s wife?"

"Priscilla." A tear runs down your cheek, a tear of happiness.

"You’re much stronger than I thought, okay. Third and last question." He points his knife at your neck.

"Who did this to you?"

His head moved to your neck and chest, where the marks left by Rafe were clearly visible. He chuckled under his breath, his fingers tracing gently over one of the bruises.

"Looks like someone got a little wild with you, baby. Who did that to you?, your boyfriend? you know, I'd be happy to open his stomach and make a pretty necklace out of his guts"

"No! No! I don't have a boyfriend! I just had fun with a stranger! I swear!" You lie so that Rafe doesn't get killed, it would be unfair if he had to die because of you.

Ghostface chuckled again, clearly not convinced by what you were saying.

"Is that so? You just...had some "fun" with a stranger, and ended up with these marks all over your body?"

His hand moves down to his belt, he starts unbuckling it.

"You’re a bad liar, baby. Try again."

"A stranger I-" He grabs you by the neck and pushes your head hard against the wall.

Your head hit the wall so hard that it blurred your vision for a moment. Ghostface's grip on your throat was firm, his hand squeezing just enough to make it difficult to breathe.

"Baby, I hate hurting you but I don't like being lied to. I thought I had been clear. I'm going to ask you again, and this time I want the truth. Who did this to you?"

He takes off his belt and pushes it away.

You cry out as tears stream down your porcelain cheeks. "A stranger!"

The masked man tightened his grip on your throat, his patience clearly worn out. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a growl.

"You know what baby? I'm really starting to lose my patience with you. I don't believe you. Not at all. I'm going to give you one last chance to tell me the truth. Who did this to you?"

You cry and look at him. "A stranger."

Ghostface doesn't move for a few seconds. "Stop playing, you're tiring me."

 He grabs your thighs and cuts your shorts and then your underwear.

He grabs your hair and forces you to lie on your stomach. "Stop it!" You cry and struggle. He grabs your wrists and puts them behind your back.

"Don't be afraid, baby. I promise it will be worth it." he whispers in your ear as he presses his body against yours, leaving no room for you to escape.

He slides his pants and underwear down his legs, letting them pool at his feet. He grinds his hips against yours, letting you feel the full weight of his arousal. His breath is hot against your ear as he murmurs: "Do you feel that? That's all the fucking anger you just caused me."

"I'm sorry, I swear!" You cry as you try to move.

"Are you ready to tell me the truth?" he asks.

He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressed against your sensitive flesh.

You freeze, not knowing what to say. "I told you-" "Shut your fucking mouth then."

He thrusts into you, filling you completely. He begins to rock his hips, setting a rhythm that steals your breath away.

You begin to cry and struggle, but he's much stronger than you. He sets a knife next to your head as a warning, whispering in your ear, "If you keep being disobedient, I swear I'll shove this knife inside your pussy Y/N, I swear." 

"Fuck, Y/N, don't you get it? I love you!" He groans as he hits a spot that makes you clench around him, your body responding to his touch despite your tears.

His thrusts become more urgent, he lets go of your wrists and wraps one hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. "I killed your asshole boyfriend, that son of a bitch who said he didn’t love you just to survive. Do you realize? You’re so lucky to have me, baby."

He grabs your head and forces you to look at your mother’s dead body. while he destroys your pussy. You look away but he grabs your chin. "Look at her Y/N. She never liked you, that bitch deserved it and you know it."

His pace becomes even more brutal, each thrust hitting a spot deep within you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. He leans down, his little moans going straight into your ear as he whispers. 

"I'm the only one who truly loves you, Y/N. Say it."

His thrusts become even more forceful as he revels in your moans and gasps. His hand is still around your throat, squeezing and releasing in time with his thrusts. "Don't make me force you to say it, baby" 

you don’t answer and try to grab the knife

He chuckles his hand tightens around your throat, choking the air out of you as he reaches for the knife. 

"You're the only one who loves me!" You say, feeling your lungs emptying of air.

You feel him growing around you, his thrusts becoming more urgent and rough. He uses the grip on the knife to drag it along your back, leaving a shallow line of blood in its wake. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his vision blurring as the pressure builds.

He stumbles upon a sensitive spot, causing you to moan. He realizes his discovery and smirks, feeling a twisted satisfaction from the sound.

"Is this a sensitive spot? My love?" He presses down on it again, watching with satisfaction as you writhe beneath him. "Maybe we should take advantage of that." 

You whimper as he pounds into you with an incredible, relentless pace. You’re not taking birth control, and he's not using a condom .the raw, unprotected contact only heightens the intensity of his act

"Help…" You cry out, desperation lacing your voice. With each thrust, your body is driven further into the ground, a violent dance of pleasure and pain.

He thrusts faster, the pace becoming almost frenzied. You watch as his mask falls aside, revealing his face inches from yours. He leans in close, his hot breath washing over your shoulder as he grunts with exertion, the sound vibrating through you.

Though you can't see his face, you can feel his lips nibbling and sucking at the tender skin of your shoulder, marking you with his mouth as he continues to claim you with his body.

"I love you, Y/N, I loved you from the instant I saw you." His hand grips at your left breast. "You will become the mother of my children. If you try to leave me, I'll kill you."

Your body freezes at the sound of the name. "Rafe...?" You whisper, a mix of shock and fear coursing through you as the truth hits.

He lets out a guttural growl as he releases his seed deep inside of you, his hips bucking as he empties himself completely. "Mine," He groans, a primal satisfaction filling him at the thought of impregnating you.

He straightens up, pulling on his pants, and retrieves his mask, tucking the knife back into his pocket. "Why?" you ask, lifting your head to gaze up at him. The man you once cherished now looms over you, his expression dark with a possessiveness bordering on madness.

"Because I love you." he says, and then drops suddenly to his knees, grabbing hold of your chin, his touch almost surprisingly gentle considering the way he looks at you, as if you were a mess he was intent on fixing. "Who gave you those hickeys on your neck?"

You swallow hard, fighting the urge to vomit as you utter your response. "You." His laugh cuts through the air like a dagger, and he moves his face closer to yours. "Good answer, my good girl."

✩✽✩

.

.

.

.

[wolfeyedwitch]

FUCK YEAH BREAK HIS FACE KAURI

Ahem. Here's how to properly punch, for those like Kauri who don't know and may need to use it;

The thumb goes on the outside of the fist, squeeze it nice and tight, and aim with your first two knuckles. Keep your wrist straight. The power comes from the shoulder. Start with your palm up and knuckles down, and twist so that your knuckles are up in the last 20% of your extension. It helps add power to the punch.

It will hurt, even if you do it right.

Go forth and wreck rapists' shit.

This has been brought to you by my years of kung fu classes.

---

AAAAHHHHHHHJJKSNFHJSKSKHFHKSKS I HAVE TOO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS ASH!!!

The default state of consent is NO. The ONLY way that changes is with a clear, uncoerced, and ongoing YES.

My heart just breaks for Chris, so confused and trying to figure out his situation. And for Kauri, who's internalized so much and won't accept that he deserves help and healing and RESPECT just as much as Chris does.

In conclusion:

AAAAH&HHHSKSLLFIJFBJSHIKSLLSKKJDJJFHAAAAAAAHHHHHH

casuistry (n.) - deceptive or excessively subtle reasoning

CW: Implied potential future dubcon/noncon, assault of a survivor, NOCON TOUCHING AND KISSING, trauma response, fucking creepy asshole being creepy to Chris, Creepy Pet Lib Guy gets his own warning, gaslighting/manipulative language towards a survivor with some victim blame-y stuff

For timeline reasons, I should note that Chris is approximately 18 when Creepy Pet Lib Guy happens and has been rescued/free for seven or eight months. Takes place after this short drabble. 

Tagging Chris’s crew: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker

He doesn’t like the feeling of Kyle’s hands over his stomach, but he smiles and pushes his hips forwards anyway. His shoulder blades press back into the wall, his head cocked just so to the side, letting a little hair fall over his eyes.

The smile doesn’t reach them.

It’s not part of training to have the smile reach your eyes. No one cares if it does. What matters is that your mouth moves just the way it’s supposed to, shows the things they want you to show, does the things they want you to do.

His heart pounds so hard it knocks the breath from his lungs, and maybe the glitter in his eyes looks like interest and not tears, because Kyle doesn’t stop. 

“I-I, I, I... I-I-I, I, I don’t-... I d-don’t-”

“Sssshhhh, yeah you do.” Kyle laughs, leaning in close, kissing his cheek almost tenderly. Chris shudders, eyes closing, letting his head tip back into the wall behind him. “I mean, look at you.”

“B-But I don’t-... don’t, um, don’t want-”

“Chris, if you didn’t want to, why did you come in the room with me?”

You told me to-

“It was your idea, after all, remember?”

Chris’s eyes open again, coppery-light eyebrows furrowing over wide green eyes, turning his head but Kyle is so close, his hands are overwhelming and Chris doesn’t want them where they’re going, but... “It... it was? But, but, but I thought you-you... you said-”

“You said,” Kyle says, with a slight insistence, just firm enough to crack apart Chris’s faltering, delicate attempts to assert himself. “You said let’s go somewhere private, remember?”

“No, I... I didn’t-”

False memories are common in human pets exposed to new environments-

“I didn’t say I wanted to,” Chris whispers, but Kyle looks so nice, smiling at him. Understanding, almost. Then his hands slips down under the waistband of Chris’s jeans and Chris jerks back, smacking his whole body into the wall behind him, shaking his head. “I didn’t, I didn’t say, I, I didn’t, I didn’t say-say I want, I didn’t, I didn’t say yes-”

Kyle has one arm snaked around behind his back in a heartbeat, kissing Chris’s objections away, burying them with a tongue in his mouth and his hand pushing more firmly under Chris’s pants between his legs. It feels good, and he hasn’t had this in so long, and he doesn’t want it at all but he’s supposed to because you have to want what your owner wants, you have to-

“I don’t want to,” He whispers again, when Kyle lets his mouth free. He can’t seem to speak any louder than that - he can’t get the air. His head is spinning from shallow inhales and panic and fear, sparking inside his mind. He wants to tap or to hit his head or rock or do something something something with all the fear inside him but he can’t move.

Statue boys are still. They only move in the ways they are allowed to.

“I, I, I didn’t say yes.” A tear slips down his cheek but Kyle doesn’t notice, he thinks, because his hand doesn’t stop moving and the other one doesn’t stop holding Chris still, pressed against him.

“You didn’t say no, either,” Kyle points out. “And this was your idea.”

“It wasn’t-”

“What else did you think was going to happen, Chris? When you flirted with me?” Kyle’s lips are on his neck, down to his shoulder, nudging the neckline of his shirt to the side to bite down hard where the fabric will hide it later. Chris’s hips buck forward instinctively into Kyle’s hand and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t think he can’t do this he can’t he doesn’t want to he wants to scream-

Statue boys don’t scream. They only make the sounds they have been taught to make.

“Please-” 

“Of course, baby,” Kyle says.

“Please no-”

Kyle pauses, his hand going still but he doesn’t move it. It lays heavy and horrible over Chris between his legs, under his jeans, pressed against skin that can’t stop responding because it’s skin that only remembers how to respond one way. 

His eyes catch Chris’s, and there’s a hard look in them, now. It’s a fake-soft expression, understanding and sweet, but Chris knows the look in those eyes. He’s seen it a dozen times or more before - the look of someone trying to seem reasonable but he’s not going to be reasonable for long.

I give you choices, 223499, don’t I? You can be good, or you can be hurt. Which are you going to choose?

“What did you say?” Kyle asks. His voice is gentle. But the handlers used to sound gentle, sometimes, too.

I give you choices, don’t I?

“I-I said-... I said, um, I said-”

I don’t want you to touch me.

“I said please,” Chris says, in a voice somewhere between whisper and whimper. Statue boys don’t say no - they only know how to say yes.

“Good.” Kyle smiles and kisses his cheek again, and his lips burn where they touch, hurt like a lit match held to his jaw, cheekbone, lips. “I wouldn’t want to do anything you didn’t want me to, Chris, but you seem pretty fucking into it, you know?”

“D-Do I?” Chris doesn’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. Is this it? Is everyone just scared, at first? He’s never been anything else. Does everyone else have to close their eyes and survive until it’s over, until their body turns on them again, until they hate every single inch of their skin?

Is that just... what it’s like?

How can Kauri do this on purpose so much, if he’s scared like this all the time? How do people ever want this, if all it does is burn his brain like a brand that says, you’ll always be made to spread your legs?

“Yeah,” Kyle murmurs. He shifts, pushing Chris hard into the wall, and pushes his way between Chris’s legs so their hips press hard together. Chris must make a sound, he can’t hear it over the static that is screaming in his brain for this to end, to be over. He must do something that eggs Kyle on, somehow, because Kyle laughs a little, sweet and loving and soft like Sir could laugh sometimes, and says in a low voice, “See? You fucking love this.”

I hate this I hate this I don’t want this I don’t want to do this it’s not my fault it’s not my fault I’ll be good don’t hurt me don’t hurt don’t don’t don’t don’t-

Chris blinks until the tear finds its way down his cheek, hitches in a breath, and opens his legs. “I’ll... be good,” he whispers. Slow and steady, each word chosen from the blur of his brain, dropped like a stone on the ground.

He relaxes the tension in his body all at once, slips into the space in his mind where things happen to him and he is there and not-there at once. His body will move and breathe and beg and Baldur is good for Sir, he has to be good, he hates it and he hates it and he hates it and he-

“Fuck yeah you will be.”

Statue boys are good boys-

There’s a noise, scraping shuffling footsteps, and then Kyle is wrenched back from him all at once, thrown violently back, and Chris drops to the floor in a crumpled heap, his tight black shirt under his t-shirt pulled up and his button and zipper undone to his jeans, looking up with blurry teary eyes to see a blur of black hair shoving Kyle off of him.

Kauri throws the punch and catches Kyle across the face, then drops his hand and curses, shaking it off, “Ow ow ow ow shit I don’t know how to punch-”

“Jesus Christ!” Kyle groans, putting a hand up over one eye. He’d unbuckled his own belt and undone his own jeans at some point - did Chris lose time, he loses time sometimes, when he has to be good - and he starts trying to hurriedly do it up despite the obvious difficulty. Chris pulls his own knees up nearly to his chin against the throb of heat he doesn’t want, hopes will go away soon. “What the fuck-”

“You piece of fucking shit, I knew you were up to something with him, I knew it! Get the fuck away from him!”

Kyle’s eyes move to Chris, and they’re cold the way Chris’s handler could be so cold. He flinches back from the expression, curling himself up even tighter. Fear and shame spiral, spark along the cage of his skin. He hates his stupid skin, hates all his fucking nerves, hates that he feels things he doesn’t want to feel and hates that he did something to make this happen. “I wasn’t up to anything. What, you can’t handle not being the one getting laid for ten fucking minutes, Kauri?”

Kauri’s eyes flare white around the edges, and suddenly Chris is more afraid of him than he is of Kyle’s disapproval and unhappiness. “What?”

“Like you don’t hit on everything that moves. What, you’re fucking jealous you weren’t the one getting all the attention for once? Besides, Chris is the one who asked me to come in here with him, you’re just the asshole interrupting what he wants.”

Kauri takes a breath, caught off-guard, turning to look at Chris. “Did you-... did you want to come in here, Chris?”

No. I said no. I tried to say no. I don’t remember how to say no they don’t let us say no we don’t know how to say no-

“I don’t know,” Chris whispers. “I don’t, don’t know, I don’t, I don’t know what-... I can’t... I don’t-don’t-don’t-”

Kauri turns back around, jaw set. “That’s a ‘no’, asshole. Leave him alone. Don’t talk to Chris again.”

Kyle spits on the floor somewhere off to the side, glaring at Chris until Kauri moves, putting himself directly between them, his own blue eyes furious and clear. “He’s not a fucking baby, Kauri. What, you get to fuck everything that moves but God forbid someone else does?”

“I don’t-... fuck off, this isn’t about who I-”

“Did they teach you to lead guys on in the Facility, when you took your Slut class?”

Kauri goes still. “My what class?”

“They teach you to be a tease when they were teaching you to spread your fucking legs at every bar in town?”

Kauri falters, then. Chris can see some of the angry strength bleed from him, replaced by something darker. Something like shame. Nearly numb. “Kyle, why the fuck are you here?” His voice is exhausted. Worn out, wearied. “If this is what you think of us-”

“I’m here to help the rescues who deserve help, but you don’t need help, do you?” Kyle spits again, and this time Kauri has to flinch aside not to get hit. “What you fucking assholes need is-”

“For assholes like you to walk out of this house before I rearrange your limbs in ways you will not enjoy.”

It’s not Jake.

It’s Nat.

Nat, arms crossed, no-nonsense brown braid, flannel over  t-shirt and jeans, the least intimidating person that Chris has ever seen standing like the paintings of angry goddesses in Sir’s mythology books in the open doorway. “Kyle, consider yourself no longer a part of this organization. And don’t bother to ask how much we heard, because right now you can just safely assume the answer is ‘all of it’. Get the fuck out of this house, forget its location, and I won’t make it worse for you trying to assault a trauma victim.”

Kyle snorts, furious anger warring with childlike embarrassment. A little boy caught coloring on the wall by his mother, only it wasn’t a wall, it was Chris’s body, and he wasn’t coloring, he was-

“I’m s-sorry, Nat,” Chris says, softly, after Kyle pushes past them and is gone, doors slamming until he’s out in the street. Gone, and all the tension in Chris collapses, pulled under the shame that breaks free in a sob. “I’m, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-I forgot, I forgot how to, to stop it-”

“Sssshhhh.” Nat drops to her knees in front of him, and Chris catches the wince as her joints crack a little. She bundles him into her arms and pulls him close, and he tucks his head under her chin and shivers. “Don’t apologize. You’re not to blame, honey. I want to take you home, now. Can we go home? I sent Jake to get out car from the parking lot where we left it, okay? Do you want to go home?”

“I-I... I forgot-”

“I know, Chris.” There’s a pause, and Nat says softly, “I’m sorry we didn’t see it sooner, Kauri.”

“Yeah, well.” Kauri’s voice is gruff. Chris doesn’t look up to see the expression on his face. “I knew he was fucking with him, I knew it. Next time trust me, okay? When I say some guy is bad news? I suck at this for myself, but I can-... I can tell when they’re like that.” His voice went quieter. “I just cared less when it was me he was fucking with.”

Nat is silent for a beat. “He did this to you, too?”

Kauri laughs, bitterly. “I’m not Chris. It wasn’t the same.”

“Yes. It was.”

“I said yes, Nat-”

“Kauri, you and I both know that doesn’t always mean consent for you.”

“This isn’t about me, it’s about Chris! He was going to hurt him! I, I just, I know that look in his eyes-”

“I know you do. Because he hurt you, and he looked that way when he did it. Right?”

“Nat, I just told you, this isn’t fucking about me! It’s about not wanting Chris to get hurt!”

“You can be hurt, too, Kauri. You understand that, right?”

More silence, then a muttered string of cursing, a smack against the wall, shuffling steps. Whatever passes between them, when Chris opens his eyes, Kauri is gone. 

He looks around, a little frantically, but Nat soothes him, runs a hand through his hair. “Kauri decided to take the bus,” She says, gently. “He wanted some time to think. Come on, honey.”

“He’ll come... come home later, won’t he? Kauri will?” Chris looks up, and Nat looks away.

Her lips press together, as she looks in the direction Kauri went.

“I hope so.”

[luneemeritus]

A small analysis of Angel Dust's character (tw: SA, abusive relantionships, drug addiction, coping mechanism, also spoilers of the series)

Today is Angel Dust's birthday, he's my favorite Hazbin Hotel character and became one of my fave characters ever recently, he's being my new brainrot so I decided to write about his amazing character. Oh and English isn't my first language so forgive me for any mistake.

Ok now the first thing needed is to recognize Angel's (Anthony) situation. Anthony was born in the 1910s and died in 1947, with 30 years old, he was the son of a mafia leader and a homosexual man that needed to hide and opress his own sexuality, or else he'd be, at best, killed (if not worse). When he arrived Hell, he found to himself a taste of freedom that he could never experience in his life. I'm not sure about how many years he's been in the Val situation because Valentino died in the 1970s, but either way, he signed a soul contract with Valentino and now his soul belongs to him. The worst thing about his situation is that he was much probably in love with Val and was manipulated by him to sign the contract, it's really heartbreaking to think about it.

Although we don't know the exact circumstances that lead Angel to sign the contract (if he knew or not knew he was getting into porn, if Val lied to him, etc), we do know that he didn't expect to have the life he has at the moment. Angel is, in simple words, a sexual slave. Valentino abuses him mentally, physically, emotionally and mainly, sexually. He forces Angel to do uncomfortable, painful things in the studio, perform extra hours without any human condition or even a raise, and also demands sex and affection from him. Angel can't say no, he is coerced and afraid to go against Valentino's wishes. Valentino also uses a disturbing form of emotional abuse, lovebombing Angel after assaulting and abusing him, all to remain his control over Angel. Val tries to isolate Angel from everyone else and bursts in anger once Angel moves to the hotel, after all their deal says Val can do whatever he wants with Angel in the studio, outside of the studio, though, Angel is free. This is one of the reasons why he is desperate to keep Angel around. Which also indicates Val abuses him financially, if most (if not all) the money Angel earsn with HIS work goes to VAL, then Angel is even more vulnerable, powerless and dependent on his abuser. It explains why Angel agreed to live in the Hotel in the first place: he'd have a free room, away from Val, with the MINIMAL of privacy and safety.

Angel Dust, with this amount of abuse and trauma, obviously run into coping mechanism. Even if it's self destructive. Angel is addicted to drugs (his artistic name explains itself), apparently alcohol too, and most important, he masks his own feelings. He acts as Angel Dust, the perfect, unbothered pornstar that is not weak or vulnerable in any situation. Angel Dust is always confident, strong, wanted, and constantly does the only thing he was taught he was of: flirting. He agressively flirts with every men, he offers his own body to almost every men he sees, because if he surrender himself first, then he won't be hurted or coerced... right? Angel Dust hides his true feelings and pretends to not care about anything and anyone but himself. Angel is, most of the times, rude, and don't respect other people's boundaries (after all his own boundaries aren't respected).

Because, if Angel acts this way, he won't be harmed, he won't be hurted, he won't be abandoned. If he is emotionally distant from everyone, once they abandone him, it won't be so painful... right?

Anthony hides his true self as a cope mechanism. And he knows he isn't perfect. He isn't a perfect victim, he has flaws, he does wrong things and make people uncomfortable (specially Husk, the only man that rejects his flirting, which I will talk about later), and mainly, he blames himself for being abused. And this is why he is so afraid to be real and vulnerable, even next to his friends. He thinks he won't be accepted or treated with respect. He spent so many years being told that he is only worth for sex, that he ended up believing this is the true. He spent so many years being treated as a sexual object, that he began to think he really is. He spent so many years being abused, isolated and manipulated, that he is afraid of opening up. He spent so many years being blamed for other people's actions (mainly Valentino), that he believes it's all his fault.

You may argue that he is honest and vulnerable with Cherri Bomb, but that's the point: Cherri is in a similar situation, she had a traumatic experience in the past and has similar self-destructive behaviour. She is a good friend, she sees him as he is and understands him for personal experience. As for Charlie... well, don't get me wrong. I LOVE Charlie. She IS a good person, a good friend and clearly cares about her people more than anything in the world. She wants to help and save people, Angel being one of them. She nearly beated Valentino's ass for seeing him abusing Angel. BUT. Let's be honest: as a very privileged person (princess of hell) among wretched mortal souls, she has no social awareness. I mean, come on. She wrote an anti-drug, pro post-marrital sex play where she casted Angel (a drug addict and a non-married sex worker) as the "crackhead bad guy", and praised only Sir Pentious for doing exactly the same thing Angel did. She wants to help, but she doesn't know how. Angel doesn't feel safe enough to open up. Anyone in the Hotel appeared to be safe and trustworthy, Anthony/Angel was afraid of being judged. He is a victim of SA, gruesome things were done to his body without his consent and he is ashamed of it. His hypersexualization is a way to escape his shame (hypersexualization IS A REAL AND VALID COPING MECHANISM IN REAL LIFE).

It's only in his most vulnerable moment, when he is caught by surprise, that his real feelings appear. When Charlie invades Valentino's studio — putting, in Anthony's eyes, her safety in danger —, the real Anthony tries to protect her from Val. He knows how shitty Val is. A coward, evil, gruesome abuser that has desires to control everyone and everything, even the Princess of Hell herself. We all know Charlie is much more powerful and could easily beat Valentino's ass, but Anthony doesn't care about. He probably doesn't even think too much about it, he just wishes to protect his friend. This is one of the most beautiful character aspects that Anthony has: he cares for his friends, MORE than he fears Val.

For Anthony, it's easier to surrender his body and will to Valentino, anything to calm his whiny ass down and make things less painful. But when it comes to his friends... it's so, so much difficult. He pleads Val to not hurt Charlie. Later in E6-S1, he stands up against Valentino to protect Nifty. Angel pretends to be unbothered and relaxed most of the times in the Hotel, he acts like if he doesn't care, but he DOES. He cares for his friends more than he cares for himself. He puts his friends in the first place. For him, it can seem like nothing important, but it actually tells how caring and kind he actually is. He is protective. He doesn't want ANYONE to experience the same abuse he experiences. Every. Fucking. Day.

Angel's arc, in the first season, is realizing that there ARE people who love him and care for him, DESPITE HIS FLAWS. He is not an object, he is not a worthless sinner, he is a victim, he is a person, he is a FRIEND. Once he realizes that, he starts to be kind to himself, make better choices, set boundaries to himself and respecting other people's people boundaries. And speaking about boundaries...

Huskerdust is simply, aaah holy shit what a perfect dynamic, what a perfect shipp (and when I mean Huskerdust, I mean ONLY the romantic shipp).

Husk really got into Angel's nerves, because he was the only man who rejected his flirts. He didn't only rejected, he pushed Angel away many times and openly said that he could see that Angel was faking. To someone trying to hide his own feelings, afraid of being judged and ashamed of the consequences of his trauma, that probably hurted a lot. Angel was taught that his only worth is based on his physical beauty and if he is sexually desired. Seeing someone, not only rejecting his offers, but also seeing throught the act he puts on, must have terrified and hurted Angel in a way he never expected to feel. He wasn't upset because "Husk rejected him", he was feeling humiliated and confused because, for the first time in years, someone wanted to meet the real Anthony. Angel was gaslighted to think that he is only worth for sex, for being used.

So. "What do you mean Husk doesn't want to use me? He must hate me and I'm worthless!". It's obvious that he would have this reaction. During his breakdown after Husk called him "fake", he is saying those words to himself. He is reaffirming what he was told he was worth for: for being used. People would kill to have Angel in their beds, people would kill to afford Angel's services, people would kill to use Angel. "— Do you know how much I'm worth?" in fact, Angel himself doesn't know how much he is worth.

Husk was the person Angel NEEDED. He may have been harsh on him in some occasions, but Husk CARES for Angel. He is grumpy and won't say it out loud, but he does care. He protects Angel from being drugged and abused in a bar even after their argument. He offers to listen, he relates to Angel's situation and doesn't judge him. Angel NEEDED to have the reality shock throught Husk's words: no one cares if he's hot, famous, if he's a whore, if he has flaws, literally no one cares. His friends love him the way he IS. Husk wanted Angel to be truthful, that's all. Husk never forced any physical contact, in fact, he offers his hand first and waits until Angel accepts it — besides, his physical affection isn't based on sex or violence. Notice how Husk never actually said Angel's work is garbage or that he is a bad actor, because this would be a lie. Husk says the material that is given to Angel is garbage. After all, Angel's movies are written and directed by Valentino (if i'm not mistaken, one of his asshole clients Travis also help Val with the script), of course it's garbage. Husk sees that the situation Angel is in, is garbage. Is horrible. Angel felt offended at first because, again, he thought his worth was based on Val's bullshit, but NO. Angel, Anthony, is not Val's bullshit, he is absolutely different.

Husk sees him as a real person. After Angel overstepped boundaries many times, Husk could easily tell him to fuck off, let him be drugged and raped without giving a damn, mocking his trauma, which would be a total asshole attitude but no. Husk, even being mad at Angel, listens to him with an opened heart. This is what Angel needed. He needs love and affection from someone that sees him as he is, and this person is Husk. Their bonding is so sweet in the next episodes, and I'm really excited to see how their slow-burn is going to happen in next seasons.

"Loser, Baby" is such an amazing song, it's so cute and adorable and it's exactly the type of comfort that Angel needed. Husk is also on a leash. He sold his soul to Alastor, he is constantly mistreated and forced to do things he doesn't want to do by this powerful overlord, and if Husk says no, he might lose his life. He knows exactly how Angel is feeling. He doesn't have a solution for their problems, he can't do anything against neither Valentino nor Alastor, but what he can do is helping Angel. Comforting him, listening to him and offering him companion. Angel is living a horrible situation, but he ISN'T ALONE. Yes, Angel is a cocked-up dick sucking hoe, and IT'S OKAY.

Now listen: "Addict" is Angel's song that denies his suffering. He pretends to "don't give a damn" and to be fine with the life he's living. "Poison" is the realization that he needs help, he is being abused and is slowly destroying himself with his addictions. He aknowledges his suffering, but he is still hopeless. "Loser, Baby" is Angel letting hope in. He knows he's, well, a loser, a broken person that lives a terrible, suffered life, but he is NOT alone. He is loved, despite his flaws, because his friends aknowledge his qualities and worth, him as a person. Anthony, not Angel Dust.

What an amazingly well-written character, fuck my life. I love him so much 😭

[thecameronchronicles]

Toxic

TW: Toxic!Rafe. Dom!Rafe. Bondage. Smut. Language. Degrading Language. Mentions of cheating. 

SUMMARY: a toxic exchange between you and Rafe…

WORD COUNT: 2200

REQUESTED

Toxic!rafe trying to convince reader to not leave him after he slept with one of her friends 

*CHANGED IT A BIT, HOPE YOU ENJOY!*

Toxic

You knew better than to make a scene in public. And yet, it didn't spare him from the way your eyes narrowed as he spoke to each and every one of your friends. Especially her. The girl who you'd known for half a decade, who had taken it upon herself to play the guise of a friend all to steal your role as a lover to your boyfriend. And yet, you couldn't blame her as much as you did him. For acting on the curiosities fueling his wandering eye after you believed you kept him content. But how could anyone keep someone like Rafe Cameron content?

"Are you going to keep pouting?" He asked while retracting his hand from the effortless rest it made on your thigh. A usual source of comfort now scorching you as you couldn't help but wonder if he had done the same to her. Was this touch how it began? Was it the night of your birthday when he left early for what he told you to be an illicit transaction from Barry?

It didn't matter to him as the car continued through the gates of Tannyhill as you couldn't comprehend why you agreed to go with him. Especially since you couldn't stomach his touch or look him in the eye. All because you knew if you looked in the icy stare that he would convince you to forgive him. Even just the brush of his fingers would bring him absolution. Just to feel him a bit higher. A bit deeper. A bit-

No. 

Not this time. Not after the countless ways he had subjected you into a situation where you were forced to bend your morals for someone so undeserving. Your grace pushed and pulled into withered strands leaving only patience in frailty. And each and every time, he pulled a bit further. 

And you let him. 

"If you're going to act like this, I might as well just take you home...I could be with Top and-"

"Alyssa?" The sound of her name made him smirk. This made your eyes sharpen as you couldn't help but think about the reason behind it. Was it that she felt better? Made him last longer? Until you ultimately decided it was because she was more experienced. Not a guy in the Outer Banks that didn't know the taste of her coconut flavored chapstick. 

And yet, no matter the reason, you were left undeniably insecure. Questioning the lay of your hair and choice of attire. Even the way you treated your anger with silence. You just knew she would have done better. As apparently she had. Such evidence in the continued smirk. 

"You still aren't over it?"

"It was a week ago.." You spat, eyes sharpening further with a hand on your hip and he slowly nodded. 

"And for a week I've had to deal with you acting like a bitch...moping and shit, but I'm the victim here..." 

He had defended himself in idiotic ways before. Yet this gaslighting self-victimization was a new low. Your heart twisted to respond as you took a step to act on it. And yet, the pain behind his eyes in what you were certain was self sabotage kept you staring at him. 

"If you're that mad then go..." He ordered rather dismissively before optioning for the bag set in his back pocket. That trusty hit he required whenever reality became too much. 

Which was often. 

"Not like I need you here...Got everything I need..." He spoke to himself, the words scaring you as you turned to leave. But the second your hand wrapped around the handle, you turned to face him. 

"Why her? Why did it have to be my friend?"

"Why are you coming at me? SHE was the one who started it. You said it, she was YOUR friend..." He rose from the bedside table, leaving behind the preparations he'd made to take a hit before facing you. 

"Because you are MY boyfriend!" 

"And that could change..." His words brought tears to your eyes. After everything you'd endured and you remained. Near overdoses. Cruel words. Dominant and submissive sex that left bruises and marks that brought deprecating words from those you called friends. Fights with those same apparent safe havens and confidants that left you isolated. Everything for this...

"Asshole..." You spoke softly, as if testing the word aloud. The next time it was uttered, it was stronger. Your fists pounding at his open chest as he was taken aback by the first hit. 

"You're such a fucking asshole! If you don't want to be with me then just tell me, I don't deserve this you son of a bitch!" But as you believed your impromptu boxing match would result in some moral consciousness shaken, he would only take hold of your hands and push you against the bed. If not for his grip, you would have fallen flat, and yet, he had you bent just enough to threaten it. 

"Yeah, that's right baby. And you threaten me and tell me it all you want, but you'll always come back..." You tried to pull free, thin eyes expressing your anger against him. 

"No...Not this time..." He scoffed, amused at your attempt to rival him. A lift of his brow and light alteration from his content scowl and you were taken into a single shake before he returned you to that slight bend. 

"No? You aren't dripping for me then?" Your eyes softened to the surprise of his words. You expected the usual cruelty. The coldness you'd come to know in moments like this. Not lust. Not arousal. And certainly not from yourself. You were too angry. Too hurt. Too...wet. 

The grip between you allowed him to pull his thumbs over your nipples, feeling them harden beneath the bralet beneath your thin shirt. His favorite combination if you insisted on remaining dressed. 

"I didn't even come...That's something I leave for you..." You couldn't validate if this had been the truth as your eyes rolled closed to the full grasp made over your breast. He was greedy with this hold, rising the weight until doing the same with the other side, your hands collecting your descent into the bed. 

"Thought you wanted to leave..."

"I do..." 

"Yeah?" He teased his question over your lips. 

"I think you wanna come..." He pushed you flat. 

"Because you and I both know I'm the only one that can make you..." You hated how this was the truth. Nice guys were only that from your experience. Careful and behaved. You basked in the way he pumped unhinged between your thighs. The way he pulled your hair to quell your daddy issues. And the way he left you sore enough to feel him hours, even days later. But you questioned if the cons were worth the high. 

"I hate.."

"You hate me? You aren’t alone there, sweetheart…" He existed amused once again. His ringed finger tracing your breast before he tore your chosen bottoms from your hips until only your panties remained. The wet-soaked, panties that he forced this way once again. Every pair ruined by him whenever in his presence. And these would be no exception, apparently. 

"I love how easy it is to make you wet..." 

"No-"

"You lying to me? You know how much I hate when you try to..." You parted your lips to retort. The double standard was enough to leave you dizzy. You couldn't even offer a smile to someone across the room without him marching in their direction with a prepared fist. And yet you were subjected to hear the details of him and your friend as she was shameless about it, discussing it as if you were sharing the same toy. 

"Your body knows me. It's why you always come back. No matter how mad you are-"

"I'm mad at you..." You managed while his lips pulled upwards. 

"Yeah I can tell...moaning like this...real mad..." He patronized as your body betrayed your attempts. But as you wanted to move away from him to clear your mind, you would only drive further into him. Up until his hand cupped your sex. His large, warm hand, all encompassing of you. 

"You want me even when you hate me. Even when I hurt you..."

"No I-" He slipped his hand over your face, smearing your arousal over your face before taking hold of your jaw. 

"Keep lying, see where it gets you..."

"Stop..."

"Stop?" He pulled your lips apart as you instinctively sucked his finger, needing to use something as an outlet.

"But you're desperate. And what kind of boyfriend would I be if I left you practically pouring and panting for me?"

"I-" 

"Unless your next words are "fuck me", you keep those pretty little lips shut...Or I'll fuck you quiet..." Your eyes widened to his threat. You were graceful on your knees for him. A favorite act for you both. And yet, you knew the threat meant it would be less than desirable. You would not be an equal or a partner. You would be an outlet. Tasrs, pleas, claw marks on his thighs and ass would do nothing but motivate him until you'd served your purpose. It was not an experience you wanted when you waged the rival side of pleasure he could offer. 

But only after he got what he wanted one way or another. 

"Tell me you're sorry." He took a hold of your hair as your eyes darted from his lips to his hand as it dismantled his shorts. 

"Better yet, show me..." He pulled you to the edge of the bed. "Show me why I came back..." You were ambitious to his shaft, beginning in a complete swallow of his cock as he pulled you back. 

"Don't be a whore about it. You're my girlfriend...take your fucking time..." He corrected as you slowed, taking him deep behind hollowed cheeks. 

The immediate presence of a distant saltiness swelled your ambition as a compliment before you slowly nodded. 

"Look at me." He groaned, unnecessarily pulling your hair further to a glance you'd already offered him. 

"You look so fucking hot...I could come all night down your pretty little throat...Even better than her…" You nodded, aware it was impossible, but your agreeability would be favored. 

"Come here-" He groaned more to himself as you were taken to the edge of the bed, turned away from him as he ripped the bra from your torso and used the fabric on your hands. 

"It will always be you. You're mine. I'll always come back to you. You know why?" He asked, guiding you into the mattress until your ass alfines with his dripping cock. 

"Because you let me fuck you like the whore you want to be for me..."

"Rafe-" He smacked your ass. 

"Because you deserve this. For questioning me." Another blunt rest made you shudder. 

"So apologize..." When you didn't, he pulled you up by your hair. 

"Apologize before I lose my fucking patience and use your ass instead-" 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, please, Rafe!" 

"Sorry? For what?"

"Please-"

"Tell me or you don't get to come..."

"I'm sorry for being upset." The words tasted sour once spoken and yet the way he pushed himself inside of you aided the bitterness. The clutch made to your breast as he teased your nipple and the final trace made over your clit became reasons to forgive him. All until you were resigned from reality and set in the comfort of this toxic behavior. 

But it was all for this moment. When his dominance faltered in the release only you could offer him. The comfort only you could grant as his words were true. You would always come back. You would always forgive him. Because you loved him. And in the final motions of his hips slamming into you, he showed this as well. That soft hand to your cheek and kiss swallowing your strained breathing and panting of his name would prove this. The peace among the storm. The reason within the madness. It was worth it all for the way he collected you around him. For you knew no matter the position he has her in or the duration in which she has impressed him with, she would never have this. 

She would never fully have him in the way you had. Even if it was in pieces. It was pieces you could make illusionary to be together. By remaining at his side. By believing his lies. By forgiving him once again. 

And you would. 

Every damn time…

"I'M COMING!" You exclaimed, body in shattered tremors as he nodded, leading you against him as you pulled through a mutual high that reminded you why you worked. The destruction somehow your form of stability that would exist for a time to come. Your body left in shambles and aches he quelled when necessary. An undeserving apology. Another dual existence of a shared release. And a sweet kiss sealing another dysfunctional moment as yet another premonition of what was to come. 

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916 @belcalis9503

MASTERLIST 

RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

2ND RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

MARCH MADNESS MASTERLIST

[seoftbear]

TW

discussing the taeil situation

As I’m sure many of you have seen that Taeil was removed/left NCT due to Sexual Offense Allegations.

“On August 29, the Seoul Bangbae Police Station revealed that the police booked Taeil after a report was filed in June for alleged sexual offense.

According to the police, Taeil is being investigated after being reported by legal adult woman “A.”

source

First off I’d like to say that obviously Im absolutely disgusted with Taeil and this entire thing makes me feel sick. I know they won’t see this but my thoughts are with those effected by this and I’m glad she had the courage to speak out and I hope she gets the support and justice that she wants during this time.

Now I’d like to talk about what has been weighing on me personally about this situation? I tend to stay off of twitter but I’ve seen a lot of links and post being circulated in the last 24 hours about this and it’s been really killing me.

As of now the police have booked Taeil back in June and he is being investigated by police for sexual offense, currently that’s all of the information that’s been confirmed by authorities. (I linked the article above and that has a link to the Naver article too.)

I’m sure some of you guys may be younger and haven’t truly grasped the full gravity of this, but misinformation can really damage cases like this especially as a woman.

Unfortunately the internet spread fake news fast and screenshots and stories have been circulating on twt/tiktok social media in general being translated and mistranslated from numerous different languages and people are just adding to the narrative for the drama it seems like… (please understand that even if something is in a different language and “translated” it does not make it facts.) I’ve seen others ask people where the source was for the information they got and then get called “Taeil defenders” when they just wanted to know where the information came from in the first place. I also read comments where people were saying that it didn’t matter if it was misinformation?

This is someone’s life we are talking about and seeing people say “they can’t wait for certain youtube channels to make videos about this because they need all of the details” or “they’ve been searching for more information all day and have come up with etc etc.” is really disheartening to see it be made into a spectacle. There’s only been one statement from the police as I’m aware of and in under 24 hours twt has finalized and circulated a story that has no source.

Unfortunately this stuff will happen because it’s the internet regardless and people are curious and in shock so wanting details on something is understandable but please understand that this is someone’s life not just backlash and justice against Taeil.

Speaking out isn’t easy and speaking out against a celebrity under big company? I can’t imagine, so please please please think about what you are posting and reposting. It’s not you supporting the victim, it’s just spreading gossip, theories/speculations, and can really tamper with the case guys. This is already a traumatizing experience and now it’s public and people are prying to know details about something so horrible and invasive??? At the end of the day if no statements are released about details or information and you are upset please take a step back and really think what for.

With this Ive seen a lot of people talk about parasocial relationships, how you don’t know these men, all men are men at the end of the day, don’t trust your favs etc etc. Though I definitely agree with you don’t know the people you like at the end of the day, I think that everyone knows that to some extent. However I don’t think parasocial relationship or not knowing someone is to blame when this kind of stuff happens, rather it’s normal to believe that someone you admire/like is cool person especially if portrayed that way. The thing about abusers/assaulters is that they can be anyone, that’s not to say that you shouldn’t trust anyone and that all people/idols are secretly awful but it’s more about that it’s not anyone’s fault for believing that they were a good person. So if anyone is going through that “ I can’t believe I liked someone like that” feeling that’s okay. It’s not your fault and you’re allowed to work through them.

that’s all

sorry if this is too long and makes no sense or comes off wrong or disrespectful please let me know kindly

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

Thoughts on “Loser Baby”

—TW: talk about sexual assault/self-blaming for SA/internalized victim-blaming

I watched episode 4 of Hazbin. Warning that this will be partially more of a personal vent as well.

In regards to everything with the discourse surrounding episode 4–The arguments on Threads and all the talk about depiction of sexual assault and abuse. Well, it’s made me reflect a bit on my own assault.

And what made me reflect on it more than anything wasn’t actually “Poison”, although I will talk about my personal feelings on that later, it was “Loser, Baby”

I want to talk about my thoughts on the song—but before I do I’m going to talk briefly about my experience with sexual assault.

If I’m being honest, I feel like I have to bring it up. With all the contention surrounding the episode, I’m worried that if I try and just give my opinion, fans of the series will try and “disprove” my feelings or opinions on the song and episode.

Or say that I’m shutting down victims, even though I’m just trying to talk about how the song made me feel in relation to my own experience with sexual assault.

So. Here we go.

Final tw—talk of sexual assault/groping/internalized victim-blaming

I hesitate to even call it an assault, because I was groped, and I feel guilty calling it that. Like, there are victims who have been actually physically assaulted and raped and had it so much worse, and so I don’t have the right to call it “assault”.

Maybe I minimize it because it makes it less scary, the idea that there are people who just believe they can do whatever they want to you and your body. I don’t, and won’t, call myself a survivor because I just can’t when I think about everything others have had to go through and still survive. All I had to survive was the shame of what happened to me, and the shitty hangover I had the next day.

Anyway.

When I living abroad as a teacher, I was groped by a stranger multiple times while I was out drinking with coworkers. I didn’t speak the local language fluently. I’m pretty sure I was 24.

At the time I was really really drunk. I don’t remember a lot of that night, just that every-time I got up from our booth to go to the bathroom or get a drink this old man at the bar kept touching my ass.

And I remember not understanding what was happening at first, and then slowly realizing the situation. After that I know I drunkenly I told him off to his face angrily. I remember shouting “I do not forgive you” in the local language. I remember storming outside the bar. I remember that when I was screaming at this man who believed he had the authority to touch my body without my consent, he was smirking and smiling at me, unimpressed by my indignation.

My coworkers came outside and asked me if I needed a taxi to get home but I was so embarrassed that I said I was okay and walked home. I called my friend who was also a foreigner like me and told her what happened. I talked to her most of the walk home, and she comforted me and distracted me by telling me about her day when I asked her to.

I remember as I got close to my apartment I finally fell apart. I just have this memory of leaning up against a telephone poll down the street from my apartment building and sobbing against it. It was probably somewhere between 1 and 2 in the morning, and I had never felt more alone in my life.

I felt so embarrassed and so so stupid. Like. Why had I decided to drink that much? If I hadn’t I would’ve been able to tell what was going on sooner. Maybe I could have stopped it! Maybe the guy wouldn’t have touched me at all if I had been sober! I felt humiliated and violated and like I had made a fool of myself.

In short. I felt like a loser.

What I’ve come to realize since then is that no. I am not a loser. I didn’t do anything wrong that night.

It was the man that groped me, the man that wrongly believed he had a right to touch my body wherever he wanted, who was the loser.

I think that’s why the song “Loser Baby”, to me, is so so much worse than anything Poison could have portrayed. And why it feels so so unnecessarily hurtful.

I don’t want to “reclaim” the feeling I had that night. I want to scream and scream and scream at the man who assaulted me until his head pops like a balloon.

I want to tell EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. Who has ever been touched or groped or assaulted or worse that, no, it’s not your fault. It will never be your fault. You did not do anything wrong. You are not to blame for this. You are not a loser, and you have nothing, nothing, NOTHING to be ashamed of.

And. I think I also want to somehow minimize what happened, because I know that worse has happened to other people.

When I think about this—and don’t worry, I think about it very rarely now—but when I do, a part of me says “you’re complaining about that? A couple of ass pats and grabs? What’s wrong with you? Other people have been raped! What you went through was nothing! Quit whining and feeling sorry for yourself”

And the same way I try to minimize my own feelings and pain about when I was sexually assaulted, Husk minimizes Angel Dusts feelings and trauma around his abusive relationship. I realized that was a big part of why the song upset me so much too.

In the show Husk sings to Angel about how he’s being a baby. About how he’s whining and lots of people have it bad or are also in shitty situations and are losers so he should embrace it. That they’re losers together!

Except after seeing the beginning of the episode and after seeing the montage of abuse Angel went through in Poison, I don’t want him to think he’s a loser. He’s not. He’s not sloppy seconds, he’s not used goods, or a degenerate, or a cum-dumpster, or “problematic”.

He’s not those things to me anyway. To me, he’s an abuse survivor who deserves love and respect and to be told that he is not to blame for his abuse.

And I really don’t think the intent behind the song was to say that he is all those things and that he is truly a loser. At least. I hope that wasn’t the intent. But I personally have a really REALLY hard time interpreting it any other way.

If the song makes you feel empowered, or safe, or anything positive, I want you to know that I am truly, truly not trying to take those feelings away from you. Nothing I say can invalidate your feelings, your opinions, your passion for things you love. Please remember that.

I’m just talking about my experience and my own feelings regarding the song and the episode. And well.

It made me feel real bad.

(Final note—it’s okay to reblog this—but PLEASE do not use it as a way to shut survivors or victims who feel differently than me down. Please don’t use it to invalidate anyone’s feelings or opinions. I wanted to share my feelings here, because I felt strongly about doing so, because I felt like maybe I was just crazy and the only one feeling hurt by this at all, and because I knew if I didn’t get them out somewhere I was just going to fester on them until I got even more upset.)

[mewpangxin]

♥️The Queen Of Hearts♥️

TW: Yandere, Manipulation, Graphics Of Violence, Deaths mentioned, Adult themes maybe?, Toxic relationship, Victim Blaming, Psychological horror, etc.

Note: I'd like to say that my Mc is not cheerful, there's a hint of them being bullied in this.

(It's probably obvious TT that English is my second language, hopefully my grammar is okay!)

“Are you ready to begin, my darling?”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

—ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS A CURIOUS LITTLE THING, sometimes bolder than normal.

You were admired in a universe which titles 'Wonderland' and met many strange customs in it.

How astonishing to be exploring and talking in fantastical stories! That was until you caught the attention of the monarch himself.

He finds your existence.. peculiar.

“Oh, and who is this lost dear?” His tone has no bite as his gray eyes dilated innocently at you.

Surprisingly, he didn't berate you when you came out mysteriously by an opening portal created by someone's power at his tea parties and being the oh pure soul you were, you asked him upfront whether he would be okay if you’d like to be friends with him. How (ignorant) brave of you.

“Your majesty, forgive them! They didn't know any better about their etiquette and manners!” The advisor of the queen with a clover mark stated.

“Trey, don't. We should hear.. how our queen is going to handle this.” The orange head muttered, his expression was unreadable.

“..That moron is a goner. Sheesh.” The red haired boy chimed in with sympathy.

“They're not dying! Don't be weird, Ace!” His partner who was serving drinks nagged at him.

“The heck are you on, Deuce?!”

“Eh....??” Your lips thinned with anxiety.

Everyone stopped what they were doing almost comically as they prayed at the demise of yours.

What they didn't expect was that a vehement burst of giggles escaped their leader himself.

The attractive royal laughed so much!

That he forgot to compose himself!

His subjects were combusting in the background and the wine-haired male regained his senses.

“Are you bothered by this?” You inquired. A rush of memory from reality washed over to you. What if he despises you? What if he thinks you're a freak?

His brow raised as if scanning your horror.

“How terrible of me. As its ruler, I must apologize for a moment. I am Riddle Rosehearts, a queen of this land you stand. What about you, visitor?”

“Erm.. I can't say, uhh you can call me however you wish, sir..” You bowed with a grin, still waiting for his response. Unlike other 'Alices' he knew, you took your time to remember *ahem* his rules.

You both hit it off and exchanged whimsical ideas on hobbies, traditions and silly stuff that you can chat with. You became enthusiastic when you informed him about your goals, your parents and adventures that you'd often go to. He seemed peaceful and even gave you his tarts too!

“Of course, history from your country is baffling. Then again, our state isn't the same, is it?”

“Mmh, ah, your majesty! Can you teach me how I must conduct my speech in your presence? Are there any books you would recommend to me? I'm a slow learner! I don't want to be rude to you. You have been hospitable. I should repay you.”

“It appears you have problems at your school? Is it affecting your performance during classes?”

Riddle's words may be sweet like sugar and cakes but his intentions weren't out of generosity.

In it there hides a tension that you weren't able to decipher as you nodded obediently, too absorbed with your conversation to comment on his overly protective behavior about your life.

“I just feel like I don't belong there, can't I be with you for an eternity? I could work for you!” It was lighthearted and you were jesting to him.

Riddle distastefully clicked his tongue.

“You dared to farce around with ME.....?!”

You don't mean a word you apprised!

“Your majesty? What.. are you..?”

“Rule 154 # Of The Queen Of Hearts: One must not cancel a request from her majesty.”

“What?! Hold on.. I didn't agree to anything-”

“Or are you deaf in what I'm saying? I'm The Queen Of Hearts and I hereby announce that you will be my-bride-to-be! My words are law!” You weren't that stupid, putting two and two together.

“How..! That's a dictatorship!” Your mouth moved.

“When have I said I was a nice queen?”

His smirk was frigid and it looked more noxious than previous rounds he sent. “I have the impression that you promised to be with me by your own free will. You are not going back on that one pact you spoke of, are you, my crown?”

“Listen! Please, please..! I can't marry you, your majesty! I.. I can't be! That is..” Insane.

“You should beg more then.” He scoffed. No longer upholding his kind image that he feigned.

“That's..! No.. no..! Surely, you're joking!!”

“You can't leave, not unless you can kill me. You don't have the legendary sword either, do you?”

He had eradicated White Queen's goons already.

“The blade that is for slaying Jabberwocky?” Mad Hatter had explained to you of its origins.

“You don't need it.” Riddle remarked venomously.

“You destroyed it....?” You wondered.

That damned weapon he had placed a curse on it with ancient spells that only he can revert.

And? What if you're a destined hero? He will ABSOLUTELY have his happily ever after!

“I could never hurt anyone for..” Your shoulders sagged as your inner panic grew by seconds.

Riddle's expression was cruel as he analyzed.

“Our tale fancies you a lot. Alas —what can it do if you are tender-hearted with your enemies?”

“T-There are other ways to go back to my world!”

And you were correct on that. Riddle remained stoic as he took a sip of his herbal tea tardily.

He brought his cup of liquid onto his saucer.

“Yes. That is if you're competent for it.” He sighed as he finished his sentences. “So? Are you going to challenge me into a duel? A game? Which is it?”

“A duel? A game? With.. you who is a wizard?” He deliberately chose his lines to rile you up.

You weren't going to win if you were hasty.

“I'm not a savage. I allow you to take options. And you did nothing. Can you blame me?”

You would be ethereal if you were to sit on the throne with him. And it was a good opportunity that you were simply gullible. If you were smart, he'd have to break you than what he wanted.

“You..!”

A single drop of tear slid from your hazy eyes.

“I thought.. I thought we were confidants!”

“Throwing tantrums won't make me negate my resolve. It's your fault for being this credulous.”

“Fine.. I'll do it. Let's fight. I'll pick what we WILL do next, you can't cheat or turn to your allies! Most importantly, you can't use magic at all.” You have to set a covenant up, or else he could be sneaky.

“Alright, I will not do that.”

He wasn't a scummy type of man anyway.

“You promise on the sun above us?” You said.

“Yes, I do. If I cannot be faithful, I'll let you have a clue or a hint to help you back to your family.”

“Are you lulling me into false securities?”

“What are you ascribing of me?”

“So you are not?”

“You're getting off track. Shall we start?”

It was quite hilarious that you think you can weasel out of his grasp. You weren't great at these things. It was inevitable for you to end up embarrassing yourself when he's done with you. Should he kiss you? Dress you in a wedding gown? Ah, he's going to prolong your downfall, your face would be adorable to inspect when you realized you could not beat him no matter how hard you initiated.

“I hope you're not a liar, your majesty.” You said vigorously as you eyed him with skepticism.

“If you can defeat me in our bet, I'll tell you the answer you'd be glad to get. However should you fail to do this, you'll become my King Of Hearts as per our unanimity. Do you understand me, Alice?”

Your blood veins turn icy as his threat hangs.

Losing your role will mark your doom.

If you became his significant other..

You will get stuck here!

“You're.. crazy!!” You inhaled a shaky breath.

“That's excursive. Have you decided yet? What will you choose? Croquet? Hide and seek? Whatever you're confident in, I'll approve you a chance.”

❝ Now speak to us your verdict. ❞ 

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

You should have seen the warning signs because ol' sweetheart, he's not going to let you run!

He's dead set on having you as his spouse in his kingdom. My, you think he's a rational companion, isn't it? You really are pitiful aren't you, our reader?

Never trust what strangers say!

Especially if it's from The Queen Of Hearts!

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Inspired from damnation twst au by @shiny-jr

[narabea06]

Any insane chance that you have any general Jeff headcanons brewing up to yap about? 🤨🤨🤨

Sorry this took so long!!! This is only the tip of the iceberg of my Jeff hcs ngl 😭

Jeff the Killer Headcanons -

TW: Suicide Attempt, Implied Abuse, Bullying, Hospital + medicine talk, Manipulation, Talk of delusions, Murder, Toxic Relationship, Dissociation

Clockwork and Jeff both did a lot of sports and clubs in middle school and highschool, and would often get picked up together by Lyra or Liu. Jeff did it because his parents put him in a lot of activities to put a lot of pressure on him to have many talents and to be good at something so that he would get a scholarship, despite him hating the activities and never having free time because of it. These activities included hockey, soccer, STEM club, and karate. The only one Jeff actually enjoyed was karate due to it helping him get his anger out.

The incident was not Randy and Keith lighting him on fire. Instead, Jeff was relentlessly bullied by Randy for years, and was generally terrorized by people at school, that he tried to kill himself by starting a fire in his room when nobody was home. He left his suicide note in the mailbox, and it explained in detail what Randy, Keith, and Troy did to him and how they hurt him and Liu. While Jeff survived the attempt, his mother decided to publish the note in the newspaper, and everyone at school read it. Randy and Keith then actively got blamed for Jeff's attempt and everything that came after. Granted they deserved it for what they did, but it still was not a great experience for them.

When Jeff came home from the hospital, he barely spoke for the first week or so due to both his declined mental state and a side effect of the painkillers.

Margaret, Jeff's mother, was a infamous journalist who had many connections, and actually often lied and blackmailed her way to the top. She also often would write and publish about her sons, practically constantly sharing any personal moment they chose to share with her like she was a family vlogger. Because of all this, she actually ended up publishing Jeff's suicide note, exposing him to their entire state.

He's a manipulative bastard, but doesn't realize he is. He truly believes what he did to Nina, Liu, and Jane was for the best and was helping them. He doesn't have a good mental state in the slightest, but refuses to accept help because he believes he doesn't need it.

He still actively despises Randy and Keith. Hell, at one point when Randy and Keith were trying to go about their lives and move on, Jeff came after them and attacked Keith. He survived, but Jeff said he wouldn't let either of them live while he himself is still alive. Keith and Randy started staying with Troy and Jesse after that.

The only specific targets Jeff has are Randy, Troy, Keith, and Jesse. The rest are at random, though he steers clear from the Alliance, EJ, Lulu, the kids, Sadie, and Toby.

Jeff has ADHD, though his parents refused to believe he wasn't neurotypical, and would refuse to take him to therapy until after the incident, leading to Liu having to do the research for him.

Jeff has anger issues, control issues, a bit of a god complex, as well as a slight victim complex.

Jeff is terrible at social cues and body language.

Jeff often sharpens his knife as a stim during the times when he's deep in thought.

Jeff has big main character syndrome, and constantly believes that everything revolves around him.

Jeff absolutely adores copycat killers of himself, since he loves the idea of people looking up to him and his “work”, and seeing his crimes as he does, like art. He sees copycats almost like people just inspired by him, and even sometimes will stalk people and encourage them to follow in his footsteps to go down the path he did.

Jeff has had so many times where he will say stupid shit, and Liu has to get him out of trouble because he never watches his mouth. Due to Jeff having no self preservation nor any sense of consequences, they never end up realizing when to back down though.

Jeff is very impulsive and will do stupid shit a lot because "why not". As long as it's fun and doesn't include him eating or drinking anything, he'll do it. He has terrible self control.

He truly believes him and Jane are still friends and that he isn't in the wrong for killing their parents, because in the moment, Jeff made themself believe Jane's family was abusive. Jane actively expresses to him that she hates him, but Jeff just thinks she's joking around.

Jane has kicked Jeff in the shin with her heels too many times to count to the point where his heels are super bruised.

Ben and Jeff are frenemies, and BEN kinda sees Jeff almost like a weird cousin she doesn’t want to hang out with. She does enjoy Jeff's company though, and is happy to have a friend.

One of his best friends is Killing Kate. They hang out every Wednesday to do karaoke.

Jeff used to somewhat be in a relationship with Nina for a few months after the incident, though neither had actually verbally expressed that the relationship was anything romantic, leading to Nina believing they were in love and Jeff thinking that they were nothing serious and Nina would never be his top priority. Nina, heartbroken, left him after hearing him say to her face too many times that if she died, he wouldn't care.

Jeff learned Spanish from Nina. He still has a bit of a struggle with it though, and he always pronounces the words in the whitest way possible. Nina would tease him about his pronunciations a lot.

Jeff loves the Nightmare Before Christmas movies, and once dressed as Jack for Halloween pre-incident, and convinced Nina to dress as Sally with him.

Jeff can very easily lucid dream. He doesn't always know why, but usually when he's dreaming, he always realizes it's a dream rather quickly, and almost always, he will just shut down the dream he was in and start something else. Because of all of this, he has become unaware what is reality or not, and constantly just thinks almost everything is a dream. Most of the time he spends with his friends he assumes is a dream because he doesn't think in reality they would want anything to do with him. This is also why he's so careless about life, because he doesn't know whether or not anything is real or not and if he'll have real consequences, especially since he's even had times where he did actually try to do the right thing and make things right between everyone, only to realize that it was just a dream and he didn't accomplish anything.

Jeff talks in his sleep a lot. This has woken up and scared the hell out of anyone he shares a room with. Ben even has a couple videos of Jeff talking in his sleep on her phone.

Jeff secretly has a pet frog named Georgie. It chills in a pond behind the Refuge, and has a specific symbol on its back that Jeff uses to recognize it.

He has a huge fear of clowns, and absolutely hates the IT movies. A couple gag gifts that Liu got him growing up because of this were Pennywise merch. Jeff stuffed them all in a box in his closet never to be seen again.

He was a big music theater fan, though he was never able to actually take theater in highschool due to his parents seeing the class as useless.

Jeff often wears an eye mask when he sleeps so he can rest his eyes properly.

[candyrushsweetest]

The saddest part is I still love Yandere Simulator’s characters...

TW; Talk of CSAM/CSEM, Manipulation, Predatory behavior (adult [35] taking advantage of a minor [16-17])

Alex Mahan/YandereDev DISGUSTS ME! How could you even begin to support this man?

When I read his WordPress blog posts, I couldn’t believe it! He was using incredibly manipulative and abusive language that would point out that he was a predator. He clearly has zero brains when it comes to being a “public figure”, so maybe this is for the best—he should get offline FOREVER.

The fact that he thought it was fine and dandy to talk SEXUALLY to a 16-17 year old is BEYOND ME! After all of his contraversies, I’m surprised if anyone continues to play this game on YouTube..! Just thinking about what YanDev has done makes my BLOOD BOIL..! He took advantage of a MINOR and GAVE PERMISSION TO THE MINOR TO SEND HIM EXPLICIT PICTURES AND “KEEP IT A SECRET”.

You all supporting him are FUCKING STUPID!

I understand that the game was something he’s known for, but I also wish people would pay more attention to the victims of YandereDev rather than his sexual depictions of fictional schoolgirls that don’t exist. WHERE HAS THE VICTIM GONE?

All I see is people blaming others for enjoying a game about a yandere character (a COMMON anime trope) and how “the characters are in high school.”

Where did the VICTIM go???? Did you all FORGET??? You seem to give more shits about the “development” of his game rather than how horribly he has treated this girl who he is years ahead of!! Before you open your mouth about this situation, give condolences to the victim and support them.

I don’t care how you view fictional media, but—in situations like this—it is INCREDIBLY INAPPROPRIATE to discuss! It takes attention away from what happened! People just think “Oh shit, another YandereDev controversy” rather than “Oh shit, YandereDev GROOMED SOMEONE????!!!”

YouTubers aren’t safe from this criticism either. YOU ALL LIKED AND COMMENTED ON THOSE THINGS!! YOU SUPPORTED PEOPLE TAKING THE SITUATION AND TURNING IT INTO BEING ABOUT YANDERE SIMULATOR!

This doesn’t even INVOLVE the game anymore. This is a REAL PERSON, a REAL CHILD. GROW UP!

Sorry, I’m just disappointed in people...

[stardustprompts]

stick season  ( we’ll all be here forever )  -   noah kahan change tenses/pronouns as needed !!  some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw ;  mental heath ,  alcoholism ,  death ,  suicidal references ,  language

‘if I get too close and I’m not how you hoped, forgive my northern attitude.’

‘oh, I was raised out in the cold.’ 

‘as you promised me that I was more than all the miles combined, you must have had yourself a change of heart like halfway through the drive.’ 

‘now i’m stuck between my anger and the blame that I can’t face.’ 

‘I am terrified of weather ‘cause I see you when it rains.’ 

‘I saw your mom she forgot that I existed.’ 

‘it’s half my fault, but I just like to play the victim.’

‘i’ll dream each night of some version of you that I might not have, but I did not lose.’ 

‘now you’re tire tracks and one pair of shoes and I’m split in half, but that’ll have to do.’

‘so I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad that I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from dad.’

‘I am no longer funny ‘cause I miss the way you laugh.’ 

‘you once called me ‘forever’ now you still can’t call me back.’ 

‘I hope this pain’s just passing through, but I doubt it.’ 

‘I’m saying too much, but you know how it gets out here.’ 

‘no winter coat could keep out all the cold of your atmosphere.’ 

‘now I know your name but not who you are.’ 

‘it’s all okay, there ain’t a drop of bad blood.’

‘you got all my love.’

‘if you need me, dear, I’m the same as I was.’ 

‘write me a list of how it is, of how it was, of how it has to be.’ 

‘you burrowed in, under my skin, what I’d give to have you out from me.’ 

‘but I still recall how the leather in your car feels.’ 

‘at the end of it all, I just hope that your scars heal.’ 

‘I swear I was scared to death.’ 

‘I’ll never let you go.’ 

‘everything’s alright when she calls me back.’ 

‘for bullshit, I do not have time.’ 

‘I don’t get much sleep most nights.’ 

‘I’ll love you when the oceans dry. I’ll love you when the rivers freeze.’ 

‘do you lie awake restless?’ 

‘oh, there was heaven in your eyes.’ 

‘I was too afraid of living life in your footsteps.’ 

‘i’m in the business of losing your interest and I turn a profit each time that we speak.’ 

‘come over.’ 

‘I was taking the wrong meds, feels good to be sad.’ 

‘my mouth was designed for my foot to fit in it.’ 

‘the dow jones keeps falling, but I promise you, with the view in the morning, you won’t ever go back.’ 

‘someday I’m gonna be somebody people want.’ 

‘you gave me your word, and now I can’t pronounce it.’ 

‘would we survive in a horror movie? I doubt it, we’re too slow moving. we trust everyone one we meet.’

‘we didn’t know that the sun was collapsing.’

‘I wanna love you ‘til we’re food for the worms to eat.’ 

‘til our fingers decompose, keep my hand in yours.’

‘it’s been a long year.’

‘come over, the party’s gone slower. and no one will tempt you, we know you got sober.’ 

‘there’s orange juice in the kitchen. it’s yours if you want it.’ 

‘feels like i’ve been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone.’ 

‘why’d you go?’ 

‘I haven’t drank in six months on the dot.’ 

‘it made you a stranger and it filled you with anger.’

‘don’t you find it strange that you just went ahead and carried on?’

‘are we all just pulling you down?’ 

‘remember telling me that you thought you were cursed?’ 

‘I’m in love with every song you’ve ever heard.’ 

‘if I could lose you, I would.’ 

‘those things I miss, but know are never coming back.’ 

‘no thing defines a man like love that makes him soft and sentimental like a stranger in the park.’ 

‘if I was empty space, and you were a formless shape, we’d fit.’ 

‘I’m still angry at my parents, for what their parents did to them.’ 

‘I ignore things, and I move sideways ‘til I forget what I felt in the first place.’

‘at the end of the day, I know there are worse ways to stay alive.’

‘I’m terrified that I might never have met me.’ 

‘if my engine works perfect on empty, I guess I’ll drive.’ 

‘why is pain so damn impatient? ain’t like it’s got a place to be, keeps rushing me.’ 

‘if all my life was wasted, I don’t mind, I’ll watch it go.’ 

‘it’s better to die numb than to feel it all.’ 

‘I drink ‘til I drown, and I smoke ‘til I’m burning.’ 

‘I worry for you, you worry for me. and it’s fine if we know we won’t change.’ 

‘the wreckage of you, I no longer reside in. the bridges have long since been burnt.’ 

‘it’s not halloween but the ghost you dressed up as sure knows how to haunt.’ 

‘I know that you fear that I’m wicked and weary.’ 

‘I know that you’re fearing the end.’

‘I only tell truth when I’m sure that I’m lying.’

‘the weather ain’t been bad if you’re into masochistic bullshit.’ 

‘time moves so damn slow, I swear I feel my organs failing.’ 

‘I stopped caring ‘bout a month ago, since then it’s been smooth sailing.’

‘I would leave if only I could find a reason.’  

‘I got dreams, but I can’t make myself believe them.’

‘spend the rest of my life with what could’ve been.’ 

‘I will die in the house that I grew up in.’ 

‘I don’t wanna say goodbye.’

‘it only falls into place when you’re falling to pieces.’

‘it’s like i’m still here with you.’ 

‘the past is coming back with the light in the morning.’ 

‘can I fix what is broken?’ 

‘for a minute, the world seems so simple.’

‘I am not scared of death, I’ve got dreams again.’

‘it’s all washing over me, I’m angry again.’ 

‘who was I to watch you wilt?’ 

‘you’ll always be a flower on my skin.’ 

‘I promise to be there this time, alright?’ 

‘I’m naming the stars in the sky after you.’ 

‘I spiral out, try and float.’ 

‘i’m remembering I promised to forget you now.’

‘it’s raining and I’m calling drunk.’ 

‘am I honest still?’ 

‘am I half the man I used to be? I doubt it, forget about it.’ 

‘I ain’t proud of all the punches that I’ve thrown, in the name of someone I no longer know.’ 

‘I’ll die for you.’ 

‘I’m untethering from the part of me you’d recognize.’

‘I’ll let the pain metastasize.’

‘I gave your name as my emergency phone call. it rang and rang, even the cops thought you were wrong for hanging up.’ 

‘it just ain’t that simple, it never was.’ 

‘I’m not from around here.’

‘i’ll turn up the music and I’ll forget until it ends, that I’m not ready to let go yet.’

‘it’s typical, I fear. folks just disappear.’ 

‘if I could leave, I would’ve already left.’ 

‘I pull no punches, then I feel bad for months.’ 

‘I finally got sewed up, set a time, then I showed up. now the weight of the world ain’t so bad.’ 

‘I saw the end, it looks just like the middle.’ 

‘I filled the hole in my head with prescription medications and I forgot how to cry.’ 

‘who am I to complain?’ 

‘now the pain’s different, it still exists, it just escapes different.’ 

‘I can finally eat and I can fall asleep, it’s fine.’

‘oh, you’re spiraling again.’ 

‘don’t let this darkness fool you. all lights turned off can be turned on.’ 

‘I’ll drive all night. I’ll call your mom.’ 

‘don’t be discouraged. I’ve been exactly where you are.’ 

‘if you could see yourself like this, you’d have never tried it.’ 

‘don’t want to drive another mile wondering if you’re breathing.’ 

‘won’t you stay with me?’ 

‘this is good land, or at least it was.’ 

‘it makes me smile to know when things get hard, you’ll be far from here.’ 

‘you’re the greatest thing I’ve lost.’ 

‘we ain’t angry at you, we’ll be waiting for you.’ 

we’ll all be here forever.’ 

‘we’re overdue for a revival. we spent so long just getting by.’ 

‘that’s the thing about survival. who the hell likes living just to die?’ 

‘you’re gonna go far.’ 

[shitswiftiessay]

tw: r*pe and victim-blaming language

A bunch of swifties in an “Anti-Olivia” group chat saying that they hope Olivia gets “R-worded” and saying she’s “dressing to get R-worded.”

[0xstarzx0]

DARK RED PT2

Rafe Cameron S3x Reader

{OPEN COMMAND}

[English is not my native language❗️❗️]

synopsis: 2 months after her abduction, the life Y/N had hoped for is not at all what she wanted.

tw: mention of murder, blame for the victim, domestic violence, violence, rejection, insult.

______________________________________________

[PT1]

You and your family had been living in Guadeloupe for two months.

Everything had gone back to the way it was, Bland and sad.

despite the fact that you and Rafe lived under the same roof, he was always busy. He only saw you very rarely, in the evening when you are waiting for him to brush your teeth and sleep, when he wakes you up because he is in you or when he decides to eat with you and his family.

Anyway, Rafe had to take care of his family again, and you hated Ward for it.

Rafe was a boy who always needs to prove that he can do better than others. If he has to kill himself at work, of course he will.

And because of that you and Rafe were arguing several times. Rafe didn’t want to take time for you and you, you didn’t want Rafe to stay all day until 11:00pm in his office.

You would often end up crying or Rafe would fuck you for hours and hours. Forcing you to apologize in his place because of the overstimulation.

________________________________________

Tonight was no exception, you and Rafe had argued the night before, you cried all night in silence, Rafe had been asleep for a long time when you were asleep.

You were sitting on the bed when you waited for him to finish his job. He came into my room and went straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth, you followed him. Starting only your skin care for the night.

He brushed his teeth and didn’t tell you, he didn’t even look at you. You wanted to cry but you held back.

You started taking out your skincare products when a hygienic protection package appeared in your field of vision.

Your blood is cold and you haven’t moved for a few seconds, the package was closed.

Normally a closed protection package was nothing. The only problem was the fact that since you arrived, you only bought one package.

It means that since you’ve been here, you haven’t had your period. You’ve come out of the bathroom in the direction of bed.

You climb on your side and crawl to Rafe. "Rafe..?" you ask hesitantly. Rafe doesn’t move, he seems to be asleep. You give him a little pat "Rafe..?". He doesn’t move.

you repeat your gestures until he starts moving. He turns around and slowly opens his eyes.

"What, what is it?" He says half asleep with a slight hint of annoyance. "I-I.." You look for your words. Rafe gets angry. He talks aggressively "I want to sleep. Don’t bother me."

"Rafe.. I have..". you look for words not to disturb him. He remains angry "What? What do you want? Go say it fast!"

"When’s the last time we fucked without protecting us?". You start shaking when her eyes pierce you. You weren’t afraid of him until you understood that the pogues didn’t lie, he really killed Peterkin.

Rafe’s eyes darken. He gets angry. "What do you mean, when we’ve been fucking without protecting ourselves? You’re not pregnant, are you?" he asks you not to scream.

You lower your head, avoiding his gaze. "I haven’t had my period since we got here"

Rafe puts his hands in front of his eyes, he always does that when he’s stressed or about to explode. And you didn’t think it could be stress? Maybe that’s why you’re late. You want to yell at him, you want to insult him.

You’re still not looking at him.

"If you hadn’t kidnapped me at the same time, I wouldn’t be stressed…"You whisper so he can’t hear you. You don’t want him to yell at you.

He approaches you. He gets angry. He speaks just below the scream. "I made the right decisions. I saved you from trouble. I gave you the freedom you want." You look up and look him straight in the eyes, "You gave me the good life? Rafe? Are you serious? You no longer speak to me, no longer look at me and you come to see me only when you are lacking!" You start to raise the tone

He grabs the back of your head and puts his hand on your mouth to silence you "I swear to God, if Wheezie or Rose gets up to see what’s going on, I’ll kill you." He says eyes filled with hate.

You are afraid and begin to tremble even more, panic takes you, and that he understands quickly. Your eyes are flooded with water making your vision blurred.

He lets go and goes back to sleep. You lie next to him and keep crying in silence, you miss your family and if you had gone with the pogues, would you be happy?

______________________________________________

You didn’t sleep all night. When Rafe got up, you pretended to sleep. 

He brought you closer to him and hugged you before kissing you on top of your head. One of the rare times you felt like he still loved you.

When he left, you started crying again.

When you got up, you stayed until 10 am in bed, you had traces in the corners of your eyes and you had no desire to get up.

You did it anyway, you washed up, made up and came down, Wheez is with Ward, Rose has to drink and Rafe had to be in his office.

You went into the lobby where Rafe’s things are. You started looking for $30 in his wallet. "What are you doing?" You jump and freeze instantly.

Rafe had his arms crossed, he was standing behind you. You got up fast and he looked at you all the way up with a suspicious face.

"It’s none of your business." You say with a hint of annoyance. He frowns and grimaces. "So you’re stealing money from me and it’s none of my business?" " I wasn’t stealing from you-" He cuts you off and walks away from you. " It’s normal because I made sure I didn’t have any cash." He says it made sense.

You open your mouth in amazement, he thinks you’re a thief. "But maybe you’re looking for this?" He pulls out his credit card. You try to take it from him, but he put it in the air. "Tell me why you need it and I might give it to you?" he shrugs.

You lower your head and start playing with your hands. "I need it to buy a pregnancy test." You say to a barely audible voice. Rafe leans over you, he pulls your face up so it’s in front of yours. "Sorry I didn’t hear, you need it for?" his eyes shrinking.

"Rafe I need it to buy a pregnancy test." You say loud enough. Rafe freezes and gives you a bad look." I told you it was just stress, don’t get paranoid about it." He gets straight, turns his back on you and starts leaving.

You start following him, begging him to give you his card. "Rafe I just want to be sure! You understand that?" You say half crying. "I understand you love, just realize how miserable you look?" He says disgusted.

You stop talking and he goes on. "You tried to steal money from me, and then you tried to trick me into saying you want to take a pregnancy test but you really just want to steal me and then go find another guy, right?"

"You know it’s miserable what you’re doing, right?" He approaches you and you start crying, "it’s not that Ra-" "shhht" he gently puts his hand on your neck, he forces you to put you on tiptoe.

"If you try to betray me or even lie to me, I will not be as forgiving as before." He kisses you and you feel the tears running down your cheeks. He lets go and leaves.

Your crying is so intense that your breathing becomes unstable. Rose arrives in the living room and sees you, she puts her glass and runs towards you. She takes you directly in a hug. She tries to calm your breath and little by little she gets there.

Rose asks you what happened and you explain the situation to her. When you’re done, she leaves without telling you anything, she comes back with two $20 bills. "Buy yourself the best tests." That’s all she tells you.

You take them and take her one last time in your arms before leaving.

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You found a small grocery store, there were different types of tests. To be sure of the result, you took three and paid them.

At night when you came home, no one was expecting you. You went upstairs to the bathroom you share with Rafe and did a first test.

You waited 15 minutes, once it was over the result was ready. You took a deep breath and watched the test.

You thought your world was going to collapse under your feet, you were barely 18 years old and you were already expecting a child.

You threw the test in the trash and rushed to do another one. You waited another 15 minutes and again, it was positive.

How are you going to deal with a baby? You’re not sure if you survive here so how do you deal with a child?

You thought about trying to stay calm, for you one thing was certain, you had to tell Rafe. You took the test and with a little confidence you went to Rafe’s office.

You came in and Rafe was there, head in piles of paper with his computer next to him.

You put the test on the piles and he stopped writing. He raised his head and you tried to keep calm.

He looked at the test again and went into his chair. He looked at you and said nothing. "Where did you get the money?" He asked you looking into your eyes. "Rose." He shrugged his shoulders. Is that his reaction?

"That’s your reaction, don’t you have anything to say?" you ask, you start getting angry.

He looked at you with disdain. "I should have another one when you’re not going to keep it?" You frown. Who said you weren’t going to keep it. "I never said that," you say. "So you’re going to keep it?" he asks with irritation.

You start staring at the point, yes you want to keep it, but on the one hand you’re scared, and if you were a bad mother. You can’t think any more because Rafe is waiting for your answer, the longer it takes you to make him understand something you don’t want.

"Yes" Rafe seemed shocked. "No." He said.

You open your eyes wide. "I beg your pardon?"

"You’re not going to babysit this kid." He says like he’s the one who’s pregnant.

"I wouldn’t have an abortion." You say clearly, Rafe’s laughing. "You know you don’t have to, getting him adopted is a good option." He says it makes sense.

"There is no question of strangers taking my baby!" You scream, Rafe gets up from his chair. " Oh well? So who will do it, You? You don’t even have the means to do it? You don’t have a job and you live on the hook of your boyfriend who also owns the child."

You put your hands on your face. "So I live on your hooks?" You look at it before eyes full of hate. "What do you call that?" He asks you.

You shake your head and walk out of his office, slamming the door. You head to your room. Once inside you take the suitcase under the bed, open your wardrobe and start throwing your stuff in.

Rafe shows up in the room when you’re closing the suitcase. "What are you doing?" He says angry holding back not to scream. 

"I decide not to live on your hook anymore, so I’m out of here." You say then that tears flow at a crazy speed on your cheeks.

Rafe laughs nervously. "No." He says. You grab the suitcase and start walking out of the room. What you didn’t expect was for Rafe to grab you violently by your waist making you scream.

"Fucking let go of me!" you’re screaming." Shut the fuck up, you really think after everything I’ve done you’re gonna break down like that with my kid?" Rafe goes crazy.

He pushes you violently away from the door and you fall to the ground. I’ve been busting my ass giving you a dream life all this so you decide to fuck everyone up " he bends over and grabs your jaw firmly . " Go away" you scream, both hands start scratching his arm. He yells at you and throws all the worst insults in the world, and you cry and insult him.

You get cut off when someone knocks on the door asking to come in, Rafe lets go and you run into the bathroom. Rose talks to Rafe and gets even more upset.

Rose leaves and Rafe starts knocking at the door asking you to open it, the only thing he hears are your uncontrollable crying.

Rafe stayed at the door for more than an hour, you did not open to him because you knew two things, first, if you went out you would probably have forgiven him what he just did to you because you love him despite what he makes you live and secondly, You were paralyzed by the fear he gave you.

That night, you slept on the cold tile in the bathroom.

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Despite your love for Rafe, you had no desire to end up like Peterkin, so you waited.

You waited a few weeks for Rafe to forget everything that happened. Rafe had to leave a few days to see a potential buyer for the cross.

And thanks to that, you were able to run away. Rose of course helped you, she gave you money and paid you a boat ticket and a plane ticket. You couldn’t go back to the Outer Banks. Illinois seemed perfect. You never told Rafe, so how could He suspect anything?

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[PT3]

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