#tw: victim-blaming language | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fangdokja · 21 days ago

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Trust no one. Not even yourself.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world where love feels like a cage and loyalty is a loaded weapon, you must navigate the suffocating grip of those who claim to care—because sometimes, the ones who love you most are the ones who break you.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! College! Bully x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. Torn Between Us - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 12,333

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, social isolation, bullying, love bombing, explicit domestic violence and realistic depictions of abuse in the family, mature language, crime, unhealthy coping mechanisms, gaslighting, victim blaming

♡ A/N. It's kind of hilarious that I get comments from "Are you okay?" to "Why do you romanticize sexual abuse in glamorous ways". Yes, in that wording too. The dichotomy of comments. Of course, already putting it out there, I'm not the type of person to chat and waste time in internet arguments. If one doesn't obey RULES, immediate block, no questions asked. It's also to make sure these people don't get bothered by my content that disturbs them. So, it's a win-win. But, to me, it's funny. Like "Wow, thank you. It's so good that it felt so realistic, huh?". That makes me happy. A big turn-off for me as a writer (but I don't mind it when other authors do it) is "inaccurate world building and logic." I get genuinely irritated at myself. It's why when it comes to fandom characters, I make sure it's as accurate as a Yandere character can get. Same goes with anything world building. I like worlds that still have systems and logic involved, even in fantasy settings. And, by default, this also includes, controversies and taboos. Yeah, I talk a lot in these notes. But, honestly? Considering how fast you long form readers go through my work. Might as well chat, since I hardly talk anyway. And, if you read these notes. Thank you. :)) Also, I was supposed to put the NSFW until I realized it was reaching 13k+ words already...

The first thing you felt was pain.

It wasn’t the kind that built slowly, easing its way into your senses—it was sharp, sudden, and all-consuming. A brutal yank at your scalp wrenched you out of the fragile limbo between consciousness and exhaustion. Your head snapped back, the roots of your hair screaming as you were dragged from the mattress by an iron grip.

You hit the floor hard, the side of your head smacking against the cold tile. The sting of impact shot through your temple, and for a moment, everything blurred—the light filtering through the curtains, the outline of the woman looming above you.

Your mother.

Her face was twisted in rage, but there was something worse in her eyes—a hunger, a satisfaction in your helplessness.

The door clicked shut behind her, sealing the soundproof room in its suffocating silence.

“You really thought you could hide from me?” Her voice was a low, venomous hiss, the kind of quiet that always preceded something worse. “You think I wouldn’t find you, huh? After everything I’ve done for you?”

You stumbled back, your body already trembling with an instinctive fear that seized your lungs and made it impossible to breathe.

“I—I wasn’t hiding—”

“Don’t you lie to me!” Her hand shot out, grabbing the front of your shirt and yanking you forward so violently your head snapped back. Her face was so close to yours you could smell the acrid stench of cigarettes on her breath, could see the bloodshot fury in her eyes.

“You haven’t come home in weeks,” she snarled, her voice trembling with rage. “You think you can just disappear? Just run away? I had to come all the way to this shithole because of you. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is for me?”

She threw you down, and your back slammed into the edge of your desk. Pain radiated up your spine, sharp and paralyzing, but before you could catch your breath, her hand was on you again—this time in your hair, wrenching your head back so hard it felt like your scalp was on fire.

“Answer me, you little leech!” she screamed, shaking you violently. “Do you think I enjoy cleaning up your messes? Huh? Do you think I like chasing you down?”

She yanked you upward by your hair again, dragging you to your knees. Your scalp burned, and a whimper escaped your lips before you could swallow it down.

You whimpered, trying to pull away, but she yanked harder, the tendons in your neck straining painfully as you choked on a sob.

“I don’t have the money,” you gasped, the words spilling out in desperation. “I promise, I—”

The slap came so fast you didn’t even see it, just felt the explosive pain as her palm connected with your cheek. Your head whipped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth.

“Of course you don’t have the money,” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “You’ve been too busy playing house here, haven’t you? Hiding away like a pathetic little coward, thinking I wouldn’t notice.”

Her hand released your hair, only to shove you backward. You hit the wall hard, the impact rattling your teeth, and before you could even think about moving, she was on you again.

“Please,” you choked out, your voice hoarse from the lack of sleep. “I—I’ll get the money. I just need more time—”

Another slap came fast, cracking across your cheek with enough force to whip your head to the side. The metallic tang of blood bloomed on your tongue, and your skin prickled with the sting of her hand.

“Time?” she barked, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Time doesn’t pay the fucking bills. Time doesn’t keep a roof over your head, you little parasite!”

Her words struck harder than the blow, each one carefully crafted to cut where it hurt most. You weren’t her child. You weren’t even a person in her eyes. Just a burden. A mistake.

She shoved you backward, and you scrambled to catch yourself, your palms scraping against the rough tile. The small, cramped dorm room felt even smaller, the walls closing in as her shadow loomed over you.

“I raised you,” she hissed, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “I fed you. Clothed you. And this is how you repay me? By acting like a selfish little bitch? By keeping what’s mine?”

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. Crying would only make it worse.

“I don’t have it,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I promise, I’ll—”

Her foot connected with your side, and pain exploded in your ribs. You crumpled, clutching your stomach as she kicked you again and again, each blow punctuated by her snarling words.

“You don’t have it? You don’t have it?” she repeated, mocking your desperate tone. “Then what the hell have you been doing all this time? Lying around, feeling sorry for yourself?”

“I had to come all the way here,” she hissed, dragging you across the room and throwing you onto the bed. The back of your head slammed into the wall, and your vision blurred. “Because you’re too much of a coward to face me like a damn adult!”

You tried to sit up, but she was faster, straddling your chest and pinning your arms down with her knees. Her fingers closed around your throat, nails biting into your skin.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is?” she spat, leaning in so close that her spit flecked your face. “Do you know how humiliating it is to have to track down my own child like some fucking runaway dog?”

Your airways constricted, panic surging through you as you choked, your nails scrabbling uselessly at her hands. Her grip was too strong, her weight crushing the breath from your lungs.

Tears streamed down your face, and the corners of your vision darkened.

She released you suddenly, and you gasped, coughing violently as your lungs screamed for air. Before you could recover, she slapped you across the face again—once, twice, three times. Each strike was sharp and deliberate, her rings tearing into your skin.

“You’ve been hiding at this university,” she said, her voice cold and measured now, as if she were recounting a list of your crimes. “Pretending you’re some poor little victim. Do you think anyone here gives a shit about you except me?”

Her hand closed around your arm, nails digging into the soft flesh as she yanked you off the bed and threw you to the floor. You landed hard on your knees, pain shooting up your legs.

“Answer me!” she screamed, her booted foot colliding with your ribs.

The impact sent you sprawling, the air rushing from your lungs. You tried to crawl away, but her foot came down on your back, pressing you into the cold tile.

“You think you’re so clever,” she continued, her voice rising. “Hiding here, avoiding your responsibilities, avoiding me. But I know you, baby. I know every little secret, every little lie.”

She grabbed the back of your head, slamming your face into the floor. Blood spattered across the tile, warm and sticky as it seeped from your nose and split lip.

“You owe me,” she hissed, crouching beside you and grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look at her. Her nails dug into your cheeks, her breath hot and foul against your skin.

“Do you understand?” she said, shaking you violently. “You owe me. I don’t care if you have to steal, cheat, or whore yourself out—you will get me that money. Do you hear me?”

Your voice cracked as you sobbed, nodding frantically. “Y-Yes—”

The next slap sent your head snapping to the side.

“Louder,” she demanded.

“Yes!” you cried, your voice breaking. “I’ll do it! I’ll get the money!”

———

The hand in your hair yanked with ferocious strength, pulling at your scalp until the roots screamed in agony. Your head snapped back, the sharp crack of vertebrae forced into an unnatural angle resonating in your ears. Before you could cry out, a fist collided with your cheekbone, the impact sending shockwaves through your skull. Your vision blurred with stars, and the coppery tang of blood filled your mouth as your lip split open.

Her voice was low and cold, slicing through the air like a blade. “You thought you could hide from me, didn’t you?” A sharp tug on your hair wrenched a pained gasp from your throat. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?”

You tried to stammer out a response, but her fist collided with your cheek, the force sending you sprawling. “Shut up!” she hissed, towering over your trembling form. “Do you think I’m stupid? Running off to your little school, acting like you’re too good to come home.”

Your body was dragged across the floor like a rag doll, the rough texture of the tile scraping the skin from your knees and elbows. A boot slammed into your stomach with brutal force, driving the air from your lungs. The sensation was hollow, a sickening vacuum where breath should have been, your diaphragm spasming as you choked on nothing.

A boot slammed into your ribs, the sickening crunch of bone making your breath hitch. “You don’t even deserve this education. What have you done to earn it? Nothing!” Another kick landed against your stomach, and you doubled over, clutching yourself as the air left your lungs.

“Do you know what I’ve sacrificed for you?” Her voice rose, venom dripping from every word. “All the things I could’ve had if it weren’t for you? And you have the nerve to ignore me, to avoid your responsibilities?”

Before you could even attempt to rise, another kick landed squarely against your ribs, the crack unmistakable this time. A sharp, jagged pain bloomed in your chest, each shallow gasp of air accompanied by the fiery agony of bone grinding against bone. You curled in on yourself instinctively, arms shielding your head, but it offered no protection.

A hard-soled shoe came down against your forearm, the force bending it at an unnatural angle. A white-hot flash of pain exploded in your vision, your own muffled scream echoing in your ears as the limb gave way. You clutched it to your chest, trembling, only to feel fingers clawing at your shoulders, wrenching you upright.

You whimpered, curling into yourself, but she wasn’t done. She grabbed your arm, twisting it cruelly as you yelped in pain. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” She dragged you upright, slamming you against the wall. Your head hit the plaster with a dull thud. “You think I’m blind? You think I don’t know about the money you owe me? About the favors you’re dodging?”

Her nails dug into your shoulders as she leaned in, her breath hot and acrid against your face. “I should’ve left you to rot,” she snarled. “Ungrateful little bitch.”

The shove against the wall was unrelenting, the back of your skull slamming into the unforgiving surface with enough force to make the plaster crack behind you. Your head swam, the room spinning violently as nausea roiled in your stomach. Her nails raked down your arm, leaving red welts in their wake, and the dull thud of another punch to your abdomen left your knees buckling beneath you.

She didn’t let you fall.

Your body was dragged upright again, only to be shoved forward. You crashed onto the floor, your face bouncing off the tiles. The sharp edge of your jaw hit first, sending another sharp stab of pain radiating through your skull. You tasted more blood, hot and metallic, as it spilled from your mouth, pooling beneath your chin.

You flinched as she slapped you across the face, the sting blooming into a sharp, fiery pain. “Do you think the world cares about you? Do you think anyone at that school will protect you when I’m done?”

You tried to pull away, desperation overtaking your fear. “Please, I—”

“Please?” She mocked your voice with a cruel sneer. “Please, please, please,” she repeated, punctuating each word with a punch to your side. “That’s all you ever do. Begging like a worthless rat.”

She pressed you to the ground, her foot pressing into the small of your back. “Get up,” she spat. When you didn’t move fast enough, she grabbed your hair again, yanking you upright. “I said get up!”

You sobbed, choking on the blood pooling in your mouth. “I’ll get the money, I promise. Just give me time—”

“Time?” she interrupted, laughing bitterly. “Time is for people who deserve it. You think you’re entitled to my patience?” She slammed your head down against the floor, the impact making you see stars. “You’re nothing but a burden. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

A foot pressed onto the small of your back, grinding down with her full weight. The force flattened you against the floor, your bruised ribs screaming in protest as you struggled for breath. The heel twisted, grinding into your flesh, and you bit down on your own lip to keep from screaming, the already tender flesh splitting further.

Your good arm instinctively reached out to crawl, but she stepped on your hand with calculated precision, the heel of her shoe crushing your knuckles into the hard tile. The popping sensation was sickening, each joint folding under the pressure, and the pain was enough to make your vision go black for a moment.

Her grip returned to your hair, yanking your head up and slamming it down once more. The impact jarred your entire body, the sound of your skull cracking against the floor echoing in the small room. Blood smeared the surface where your face had been, a sickening trail that blurred with your tears.

There was no reprieve. No pause between strikes. Each hit, each blow, felt calculated—designed to hurt, to maim, to leave a mark that would ache for days, weeks. Your body was a canvas for her violence, every bruise and laceration a testament to her fury.

The world faded in and out, each moment marked by a new wave of pain. When her hands finally released you, your body crumpled onto the cold, blood-slick tiles. Every breath was a struggle, every twitch of your limbs a reminder of the damage inflicted.

The room was silent now, save for the ragged sound of your own breathing and the steady drip of blood hitting the floor.

———

After a while, the barrage stopped, and you dared to glance up, only to find her crouched in front of you. Her face was close—too close—and her breath reeked of stale alcohol and cigarettes.

Her voice softened suddenly, a terrifying shift that sent chills down your spine. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out yet,” she murmured, crouching down to meet your tearful gaze. “But keep this up, and you’ll find yourself with nowhere to go. Understand?”

You nodded weakly, trembling beneath her cold, predatory stare. She patted your cheek almost mockingly, smearing your blood across your face. “Good girl,” she said, her tone dripping with malice. “Now clean this mess up. I don’t want to see a single drop of blood when I get back.”

Her voice mellowed, sickly sweet, as she reached out to cup your bruised cheek.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, her tone dripping with soft tenderness. “You know I don’t want to hurt you. But you make me do this. You make me.”

You flinched as her thumb brushed over your split lip, and her smile widened.

“Don’t cry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t make me feel bad, okay? You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You’ll fix this. You’ll find a way to make it right.”

Her other hand clamped down on your shoulder, nails biting into your skin.

“You will, won’t you?” she pressed, her voice hardening just enough to make it clear that this wasn’t a question.

You nodded, the motion jerky and desperate. Anything to make it stop.

Her smile returned, and she stood, brushing her hands off as if you were nothing more than dirt she’d stepped in.

“That’s my girl,” she said, turning toward the door. “Don’t disappoint me again.”

She didn’t slam the door when she left. She didn’t have to. The sound of her calm, measured footsteps receding down the hall was worse than any explosion of anger. It meant she was satisfied—for now.

You lay there on the floor, the silence in the room broken only by your ragged breathing. Your body ached, your chest heaving as you struggled to hold back the sobs clawing their way up your throat.

The phone on your desk buzzed once, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet. You didn’t need to look to know it was another message. Probably him. The bully. Or maybe someone else who wanted to mess with you.

It didn’t matter.

You were the weak link, and everyone knew it.

────────────

The lie came easily—too easily. It dripped from your lips like oil, slick and poisonous, just like the makeup covering your face, as you stared at Domo’s face on the screen. “She’s been gone for so long, you know? And she just… wants to spend time with me.” You hated yourself for the waver in your voice, the hesitance that made it sound true. Domo smiled, her usual warmth softening her features. “Of course. Family comes first. We can always reschedule.”

Her kindness twisted the knife in your chest, but you nodded anyway. “Thanks. I’ll text you.” And then you ended the call before you could hear more, before her care could claw any deeper into the fragile parts of you that you were barely holding together.

The truth? There was no family bonding. No heartfelt reunion. Just you, sitting alone in your dorm as the hours stretched long and suffocating. You stared at the laptop glowing before you, the dim blue light washing over your battered face. The bruises on your cheek and ribs throbbed in unison with your pulse, each beat a reminder of what waited if you didn’t produce the money fast enough.

You clenched your teeth, flexing your fingers before placing them on the keyboard. This was the part of yourself you never wanted anyone to see. The part you shoved into the shadows because it didn’t fit the quiet, awkward nothingness that defined you.

But it was the only thing you had.

The screen filled with lines of code, flashing in rapid succession as your fingers moved. You had always been good at this—too good. The exhilaration of bending firewalls to your will, of slipping through systems unnoticed, had once been a guilty thrill. Now, it was a survival mechanism.

You rationalized it as you worked, forcing the bile down in your throat. It’s not like I’m hurting anyone. This isn’t stealing. It’s… repurposing. The rationalizations tumbled over themselves like dominoes, each lie shoring up the fragile structure of your conscience. You weren’t hacking major accounts or wiping people out. Just skimming from places that wouldn’t notice a few hundred dollars gone. Universities, minor corporate accounts, underused funds in bloated systems.

The screen flickered, the transfer confirmed. You leaned back, chest heaving as though you’d run a marathon. Two hundred dollars here, fifty there. It wasn’t much, but it would add up. It had to.

You glanced at the clock: 3:42 a.m. Only a few more hours until she comes back. The thought sent a fresh spike of panic through you, and you dove back in. Another account. Another breach. Every keystroke felt like a confession, a sin piling atop an already crumbling foundation.

This wasn’t the first time you’d done it. The bruises lining your arms and the faint scar under your lip reminded you of how long this had been your reality. She leaves. You buy time. She comes back. You pay her off. A cycle that never ended, no matter how desperately you wished it would.

When the hacking was done, you stared at the balances displayed on the screen. Enough. For now. Your head thudded against the back of the chair, exhaustion wrapping around you like chains. The room was cold, empty, suffocating in its silence. You wanted to cry, to scream, to do anything to break the hollow ache gnawing at your chest.

But instead, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from your side. You shuffled to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peer out into the quiet campus. The streetlights cast long, eerie shadows across the pavement, and for a moment, you swore you saw movement. A flicker of something—someone—watching.

You yanked the curtain shut, heart pounding in your chest. Just your imagination. Nothing’s there. You repeated the words like a mantra, though the uneasy weight of a presence lingered, settling into the corners of your mind.

When morning came, you’d transfer the money to her. When she left, you’d breathe again—for a little while. But tonight, you had no time to think about Domo, or bullies, or the terrifying fragility of the life you’d cobbled together.

Tonight, survival was all that mattered.

────────────

The air in the dorm room felt heavier, as if the walls themselves anticipated her arrival. You’d barely slept, the dark circles under your eyes deep enough to make your hollow face look corpse-like. The money was ready, stacked in an envelope on the small table near the door. A meager offering to stave off her wrath.

It’s enough this time, isn’t it? It has to be.

When the knock came, sharp and deliberate, your stomach twisted into knots. The sound echoed through your chest, each rap like a nail driven into your ribcage. You didn’t hesitate. Hesitation would only make things worse.

Opening the door, you saw her—your mother, standing tall in the hallway, her tailored coat spotless, her hair perfectly styled. She looked out of place in the dingy dormitory, like a predator descending on prey. Her painted lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It never did.

“Sweetheart,” she greeted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. The smell of her expensive perfume suffocated the room. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten about me. You’re cutting it close this time.”

“I-I have it,” you stammered, pointing to the envelope. She clicked her tongue, her heels sharp against the floor as she approached the table.

Picking up the envelope, she weighed it in her hand like a predator inspecting its meal. “All of it?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness.

“Yes. I promise.”

Her nails were painted crimson, as though dipped in fresh blood, and they grazed the edge of the envelope as she opened it. Her eyes scanned the money, the movements slow and deliberate. “Hmm. This isn’t as much as I expected.”

“It’s everything I could—”

The slap came so fast, so sudden, you barely registered the sting on your cheek until you were stumbling back, your head snapping to the side. Her handprint burned into your skin, but you didn’t dare cry out.

Her voice was cold, the venom behind it more terrifying than her strike. “You think this is enough? Do you think I go through all this trouble for crumbs?”

“I—I can get more!” you blurted, your chest heaving as panic clawed at your throat. “Just give me a little more time!”

She closed the envelope, tucking it into her purse with an air of calm so calculated it made your blood run cold. Then, without warning, her hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

You screamed, but the sound barely escaped before she yanked you down, dragging you toward the center of the room. Pain exploded across your scalp, blinding and raw.

“Do you think I have time for your excuses?” she hissed, her grip tightening. “You’ve always been pathetic. Always needing someone to clean up your messes.”

Her knee collided with your stomach, and the air rushed from your lungs in a broken wheeze. She released your hair, letting you crumple to the floor like a discarded rag doll.

“I should’ve known you’d be useless.” Her voice was low, deliberate, and each word sliced through you like a scalpel. “It’s embarrassing, really. How you can’t even manage something as simple as this.”

You tried to push yourself up, but her foot slammed down on your back, forcing you flat against the floor. “Stay down,” she ordered. “You’re exactly where you belong.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. Crying would only make it worse.

“Do you know how humiliating it is for me to come here?” she continued, pressing harder until your ribs screamed in protest. “To see the pathetic little hole you’ve buried yourself in? You’re lucky I even bother with you.”

She released you, and you gasped, curling into yourself on the cold floor. Her heels clicked as she walked to the door, her purse swinging at her side.

“Don’t make me come back for this again,” she warned, her tone sickeningly sweet once more. “You wouldn’t like what happens if I do.”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence. You didn’t move for a long time, your body trembling with the aftermath of pain and fear. The room was dark now, the only light coming from the faint glow of your laptop.

You stared at it, the temptation gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Just one more time. I’ll take a little more. I’ll make it back somehow.

It was the only way to survive.

────────────

The room was dimly lit by the pale glow of your computer screen, the soft hum of the CPU your only companion through the relentless hours. Your fingers ached, stiff from the endless tapping and coding, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins kept you moving. You’d done it. After days of sleepless nights, tense calculations, and hacking sessions that pushed the boundaries of legality, the number on the screen made your chest swell with something foreign: triumph.

It was the largest sum you’d ever seen in your life. Enough to keep your mother at bay for a long time, maybe even the rest of the year if you played it smart.

You leaned back in your chair, your head lolling against the worn cushion. Exhaustion clawed at you, but a smile—real, genuine—curved your lips. For once, there was no immediate shadow of fear, no sharp pang of dread in your stomach. You felt... safe.

Your gaze drifted to the photo frame sitting on the cluttered desk, the only piece of decoration in your otherwise bleak dorm. It was your high school graduation photo. Your father, with his immaculate suit and confident smile, stood tall beside your mother, who clung to his arm, her makeup flawless, her pride radiating through the glass. And there you were, sandwiched between them, holding your diploma with trembling hands.

Back then, you thought things would stay like that forever. A perfect picture. A perfect family.

Your smile faltered as your eyes lingered on your mother’s face in the photo. She looked happy then—truly happy. Not the brittle, strained version of her that had emerged after your father’s departure. The moment he left, everything broke.

You closed your eyes, memories creeping in like unwelcome guests. The screaming matches, the shattered glass, her tear-streaked face twisted in anguish as she begged him to stay. And then the silence, the unbearable silence that followed his departure, her love curdling into something sharp and possessive, clinging to you like a drowning woman to a lifeline.

“She only has me,” you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling in the quiet room. The words felt like a mantra, a justification for everything you endured. “She needs me.”

The screen in front of you flickered as you finalized the transfer. The money was secure, broken into portions just as you’d planned. You wouldn’t give it to her all at once—that would only end in disaster. No, you’d ration it out, let it trickle through her fingers slowly. Enough to keep her satisfied, to keep her from asking questions, from demanding more.

A wave of relief washed over you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were ahead of the game. You could breathe.

The thought of handing over the first envelope filled you with a strange kind of hope. Maybe this time, she’d smile like she did in the photo. Maybe she’d thank you, even hug you. Maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they were.

You stood, stretching your aching limbs, and crossed the room to the mirror. Your reflection stared back, hollow-eyed and pale, but there was a spark of pride in your gaze. You’d done something good—for her, for yourself. It wasn’t legal, no, but it was necessary.

Your fingers brushed against the photo frame as you returned to the desk, the cold glass grounding you. No matter how much she hurt you, no matter how much fear she instilled, you still loved her. She was your mother.

And you’d do anything to keep her happy.

———

The knock on the door was soft, almost tentative, but it still sent a jolt of adrenaline through your system. You clutched the envelope tightly in your hand, its weight heavier than the sum it carried. This was it. You smoothed your hair, tried to compose yourself, and opened the door.

She stood there, a vision of maternal grace, her sharp edges carefully filed away. Her lips curled into a warm smile, one that lit her face in a way you hadn’t seen in years. For a moment, she looked just like the mother in the graduation photo—loving, proud, whole.

“There you are, sweetheart,” she said, stepping inside and brushing a hand over your hair. Her touch was light, affectionate, as if the hands that had dragged you out of bed days ago had never known violence.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Hi, Mom.”

Her eyes flicked to the envelope in your hand, but she didn’t reach for it. Not yet. Instead, she guided you to the small couch in your dorm room and sat down beside you, her perfume a familiar cloud of roses and nostalgia.

“You’ve been working so hard,” she said, her voice tender. “I’ve been so worried about you. You look tired, baby.” Her hand cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing against the dark circles under your eyes. “Have you been eating enough? Sleeping?”

You nodded, unsure of what else to do. The words caught in your throat, tangled in the weight of her presence.

“I brought your favorite,” she said, producing a neatly packed box from her bag. Inside were homemade cookies, perfectly golden, still warm as if she’d baked them just for you. She broke one in half and held it to your lips, her eyes soft with an affection that made your chest ache. “Here, eat. You need your strength.”

You bit into the cookie, its sweetness almost overwhelming. She watched you with such intensity, as though every crumb you swallowed was a testament to your gratitude, your obedience.

Finally, you held out the envelope. “I—uh—I managed to save some money,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “For you.”

Her eyes widened, shimmering with what looked like genuine pride. She took the envelope delicately, as though it were a fragile gift. Opening it, she flipped through the bills, her expression melting into something softer, more radiant.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she breathed, pulling you into a sudden, crushing hug. “You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

Her words were honeyed, dripping with adoration, and yet they stung. You closed your eyes, leaning into her embrace, the warmth of her body erasing the bruises she’d left days before.

“I’m so proud of you,” she murmured, her hand stroking your hair. “You’re all I have, you know that? Just you and me against the world.”

Her grip tightened, just for a moment, but then she pulled back, holding your face in her hands. “Promise me you’ll always take care of yourself, for me. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

The tears in her eyes looked so real, so heartbreakingly sincere, that for a moment, you believed her. You wanted to believe her.

“I promise,” you said, the words feeling like a chain coiling tighter around your chest.

“Good girl.” She kissed your forehead, a gesture so tender it left you dizzy. “I love you, you know that?”

You nodded, your throat burning with unspoken words.

The rest of the evening passed in a surreal haze of domestic bliss. She stayed for hours, tidying your dorm, chatting about mundane things, laughing at old memories as though nothing had ever been wrong. It felt like stepping back in time, to when your world was still intact, when her love wasn’t a weapon but a shield.

And yet, beneath the surface, something gnawed at you. A shadow of doubt, a whisper of fear. Because you knew—deep down—that this wasn’t love. It was something darker, something that wrapped itself around your heart and squeezed until you couldn’t breathe.

But for tonight, you let it happen. You let her smile and laugh and hold you close. You let yourself believe, just for a little while, that everything could be okay.

———

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air, a biting reminder of the wounds she was carefully tending. Her touch was impossibly gentle, almost reverent, as though the same hands hadn’t carved those injuries into your skin just hours ago. She hummed softly, a melody you vaguely recognized from childhood, her voice smooth and warm like a lullaby meant to soothe your fears.

“Hold still, sweetheart,” she murmured, her fingers brushing your cheek as she dabbed at a cut near your temple. “This might sting a little.”

It did. The pain flared, bright and hot, but her other hand stroked your hair, grounding you in the surreal tenderness of the moment.

“You’ve always been so brave,” she said, her eyes meeting yours with a depth of sincerity that made your stomach churn. “Taking everything life throws at you with your head held high. I don’t know how you do it, baby.”

Her smile was soft, motherly, and the juxtaposition of her words against the still-healing bruises on your arms made your throat tighten.

She leaned closer, inspecting her work, her breath warm against your skin. “There. Good as new,” she said, sitting back with a satisfied sigh. Her hand lingered on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “You really scared me, you know. You’ve been so distant lately.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse and small.

She tilted her head, her expression shifting to one of exaggerated concern. “Oh, sweetheart, no. You don’t need to apologize. You’ve just… been through so much, haven’t you?” Her hand moved to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin with an intimacy that felt suffocating.

“I’ve been so hard on you,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly as though she might cry. “I hate seeing you like this, so beaten down. You deserve so much better.”

Your chest tightened, a knot of confusion and unease tangling with the faint, desperate hope that this time—this time—she meant it.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re my baby, my whole world. I just want to see you happy.”

She stood and moved to the kitchen, her movements fluid, almost cheerful. “You must be starving,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll make your favorite. Just sit there and relax, okay? You need to rest.”

Her back was to you now, and for a moment, you could almost pretend this was normal. The hum of the stove, the faint sizzle as she prepared the food—it all felt so mundane, so safe.

But the memory of her voice—razor-sharp and dripping with venom—echoed in the back of your mind.

"Don’t make me come back here for nothing, you useless little brat."

You shook your head, trying to dispel the thought. She was different now. She was kind. Loving. She hadn’t been like this in years, not since before everything fell apart.

The meal she placed before you was perfect, a careful recreation of a childhood favorite. She watched you with expectant eyes as you took the first bite, her smile widening when you nodded in approval.

“See? Mommy knows what you need,” she said, sitting beside you and placing a hand on your knee. “We’ll be okay, won’t we? As long as we have each other.”

You forced a smile, the words catching in your throat.

The warmth of her affection was almost worse than her anger. It wrapped around you like a blanket, smothering you under the weight of its expectations. But you couldn’t pull away. You couldn’t risk breaking this fragile illusion, not when the alternative was so much worse.

So you nodded, swallowing down the fear and confusion and guilt. “Yeah. We’ll be okay.”

Her smile softened, and for a moment, you could almost believe it.

────────────

The halls were quiet, the chaotic din of the usual school day replaced by an unusual calm. It was as though the entire campus had been wrapped in a fragile layer of peace, everyone too preoccupied with the looming end-of-year celebrations to pay you any mind. You walked alone, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering faintly, your shadow stretching and shrinking against the scuffed linoleum floor.

For the first time in what felt like ages, your chest felt lighter. The suffocating weight of constant vigilance had lifted, even if only for a moment. Domo was away, too busy with her responsibilities to hover protectively over you, but her absence didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like freedom.

You passed clusters of students bustling about, their faces flushed with excitement and stress as they carried props and decorations for the Christmas program. No one spared you a glance, not even the cliques that usually whispered behind your back or the bullies who made a sport of finding new ways to humiliate you. They were too wrapped up in their own lives, their own dramas.

The solitude was soothing.

Your lips curled into a faint smile as you stepped out into the courtyard. The winter air was crisp, biting gently at your cheeks and nose. The skeletal trees stood silent, their barren branches reaching towards the pale gray sky. You sat on one of the cold metal benches, pulling your coat tighter around you, and watched the world move on without you.

It was better this way.

The distant sound of carols drifted through the air, mingling with the faint chatter of students. You allowed yourself a moment to close your eyes and soak it in—the peace, the simplicity. No shouting. No biting words. No stifling fear clawing at your throat.

For the first time in months, you felt something like happiness. At least for a while.

———

The air was crisp and still as you crept through the dimly lit campus grounds, the cold biting at your exposed skin. Every step felt heavier than the last, your stomach knotting tighter with each reluctant movement. The text from him sat unread but seared into your mind, its bluntness coiled around your thoughts like barbed wire: "My dorm. Tonight. Don’t make me wait."

It wasn’t the first time. His demands always came with the same suffocating inevitability, a choice between the humiliations he’d orchestrate and the unspeakable consequences of defying him.

You kept your head low, your heart pounding as you slipped into the shadows, avoiding the few lingering students rushing to finish end-of-year preparations. The warmth of the day had been fleeting—Domo’s absence notwithstanding. You’d almost dared to hope the universe might grant you a reprieve. But he’d reminded you, as always, that peace wasn’t for people like you.

His dorm building loomed ahead, its sharp, modern edges cutting against the pale moonlight. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the door, the sterile chill of the metal handle grounding you in the moment. Inside, the fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly, the hallways deserted and eerily quiet.

Room 312. You knew it by heart. You had never asked to learn this intimately, but circumstance—and his persistence—left you with little choice.

The door was ajar when you arrived, as though he’d been expecting you.

“Come in,” his voice called, low and casual, from somewhere inside. It grated against your nerves, setting off alarm bells in the recesses of your mind.

You stepped inside, the warmth of his room almost suffocating after the cold outside. He was seated at his desk, leaning back lazily in his chair, his posture deceptively relaxed. His gaze met yours, sharp and assessing, and the faint smirk playing at his lips sent a chill down your spine.

“Right on time,” he drawled, gesturing for you to close the door. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

You said nothing, your throat dry as you complied.

The tension in the room was palpable as he stood, his movements unhurried, his towering presence swallowing the space between you. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he remarked, his tone light but laced with something darker. “Almost like you thought you could avoid me.”

“I wasn’t—” you began, your voice shaky, but he silenced you with a sharp laugh.

“Save it,” he said, stepping closer until you could feel the oppressive heat radiating off him. “I don’t care what excuses you’ve been telling yourself. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

His hand shot out, gripping your chin with bruising force as he tilted your face upward. His expression was unreadable, his eyes scanning you like you were something to be dissected. “You look happy,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “What’s got you in such a good mood, huh?”

The question was rhetorical, his fingers tightening painfully as he leaned in closer. “You know,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against your cheek, “I don’t like it when you forget your place.”

You swallowed hard, the fear clawing its way up your throat as his grip shifted to your shoulder, shoving you backward until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“Sit,” he commanded, and you obeyed, your limbs stiff and trembling.

He loomed over you, his shadow stretching long and menacing under the harsh light. “We’re going to play a little game,” he said, a cruel glint in his eyes. “You’re going to listen very carefully, and if you’re good—well, let’s see if you remember what happens when you’re not.”

The words hung in the air like a noose tightening around your neck. You didn’t dare look away, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, as his gaze pinned you in place.

And just like that, the fleeting warmth of the day was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding reality you couldn’t escape.

———

He leaned against the desk in his dorm, his expression dripping with smug satisfaction, as if he had already won a game you didn’t even realize you were playing. His phone rested in his hand, the glow from the screen casting shadows on his face.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he began, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. His tone was light, almost amused, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. “All this time, I thought you were just pathetic. Turns out, you’re also a little criminal. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

Your stomach dropped, your breath hitching as his words sank in. He chuckled darkly at your reaction, pushing off the desk and stepping closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” he sneered, tilting his head as he studied your wide-eyed panic. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? That you could just go around doing… that and no one would notice?”

He held up his phone, the screen flashing with what could only be described as evidence—screenshots, transaction logs, even security footage. Your heart pounded in your chest, a sickening rhythm that drowned out everything else.

“You’re so damn stupid,” he said, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “Leaving a digital trail like that? Rookie mistake. But I guess I shouldn’t expect too much from someone like you. After all, you’ve never been anything but a useless, desperate little nothing, right?”

The insult stung, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. His grin widened at your silence, his enjoyment of your fear palpable.

“Let me spell it out for you,” he said, stepping even closer until you were forced to back up against the wall. “I’ve got everything I need to ruin you. Everything. Those little stunts you pulled to get your precious mommy her money? Yeah, I’ve got it all. And trust me, it’s enough to get you expelled, arrested… maybe even worse.”

You shook your head frantically, your voice trembling as you tried to protest. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, save it,” he snapped, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t give a shit about your sob story. You think anyone else will? You’re nothing, sweetheart. Just a sad little loser with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.”

The tears burned at the corners of your eyes, frustration from everything welling up as if ready to pour out; but you blinked them back, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. He noticed, of course, and his smirk turned cruel.

“Aw, don’t cry,” he mocked, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You wouldn’t want Mommy Dearest to find out, would you? Imagine how disappointed she’d be. Or worse—imagine what she’d do if she found out her little cash cow has been hiding things from her.”

His words were a dagger to your chest, twisting with every syllable. He knew exactly where to strike, exactly how to exploit your deepest fears and vulnerabilities.

“But don’t worry,” he continued, his tone softening into something almost sweet. “I’m not a monster. I’m willing to keep this between us… for a price.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight. “W-What do you want?”

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Oh, nothing too crazy,” he said, leaning in until his face was inches from yours. “Just a little obedience. A little gratitude. Maybe even a little fun. After all, we’ve got such a good thing going, don’t we?”

His hand reached up to cup your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Or, you can try to run. Try to fight. But let’s be real—you don’t have the guts. You’ve never had the guts. So why don’t you just be a good little slave and play along? It’ll be so much easier for both of us.”

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His words wrapped around you like a noose, tightening with every passing second. There was no escape, no way out. He had you, and he knew it.

———

The air in the room felt oppressive, suffocating, as his words dripped into your ears like poison. His grin was wide, vicious, a predator toying with its prey, knowing there was no escape. He perched on the edge of the bed, his presence overwhelming even as he leaned in casually, as though you were equals in this twisted game.

“You really think she doesn’t know?” he murmured, his voice a low, mocking purr. His eyes glittered with malice, reflecting your panic like a mirror. “Domo. Your precious, perfect Domo. She’s not stupid, you know. I mean, come on, you’ve been sloppy, haven’t you? Or did you think you could actually hide all this?”

You flinched at his words, the knot of anxiety in your chest tightening. You had been careful. Meticulous, even. But now, doubt began to claw its way into your mind. His smirk widened at the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes.

“That’s the thing about people like her,” he continued, his tone almost conversational. “She’s got this shiny, righteous exterior. Strong sense of justice, doesn’t she? Loves tearing people like you apart. The frauds, the liars, the criminals. Do you even know what she’d do if she found out?”

Your stomach churned. You’d seen it yourself—how Domo could rip someone’s reputation to shreds with a single exposé, how her ruthless sense of morality left no room for gray areas. And you, with your secrets, your crimes…

────────────

The first time you saw Domo’s sense of justice in action, it left a deep impression—one that you didn’t know whether to admire or fear. It was a cold, rainy afternoon, the kind where the sky seemed to weep with an intensity that felt personal. Most students had already gone home, but you stayed late in the library, hunched over a stack of outdated textbooks you couldn’t afford to replace.

That was when you heard it—low, vicious laughter echoing from the stairwell. Curious, you crept closer, peeking from behind a bookshelf.

There she was. Domo.

And in front of her, trembling like a trapped animal, was a senior. He was taller, broader, someone who carried himself like he owned the place—until that moment. His usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a look of sheer panic.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far!” he stammered, his hands raised as if to shield himself from her words. “I was just messing around—”

“Messing around?” Domo’s voice was calm, almost too calm. It carried no heat, no anger, only an icy precision that made your blood run cold. “So stealing exam papers and selling them to desperate students counts as ‘messing around’ now?”

She took a step closer, her shadow looming over him despite her slightly smaller frame. The rain continued to pour outside, its rhythm punctuating her words.

“I have the screenshots, the emails, the recordings. Every lie you told, every bribe you took—it’s all here.” She held up her phone, her finger hovering over the screen. “It would only take one click for this to reach the dean’s office.”

The senior’s face paled. He stumbled backward, his bravado crumbling into a pitiful mess. “Please, Domo. Don’t ruin me. I’ll do anything—just don’t—”

“Ruin you?” she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “You ruined yourself the moment you decided your greed was worth more than the futures of those you exploited.”

There was no room for argument in her tone, no opening for negotiation. She wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t emotional. She was just. And that made it worse.

When the senior finally broke down into sobs, begging on his knees, Domo didn’t gloat. She didn’t smile. She simply pressed send.

You didn’t need to stick around to know what happened next. The senior was expelled within a week, his disgrace plastered across every whispering clique in the halls.

———

Another time, you saw her in action during a group project. It was supposed to be simple—divide the workload evenly, finish on time, get a decent grade. But one of your teammates, a quiet girl with a perpetually nervous expression, confessed to Domo that someone had been stealing her ideas and presenting them as his own in front of the professor.

Domo didn’t hesitate.

She called the guy out during the next class, her voice ringing clear across the room. “I think it’s only fair to credit the person who actually did the work, don’t you?”

The guy laughed nervously, brushing her off. “What are you talking about, Domo? We all worked on it together.”

“Really?” she said, tilting her head slightly. Her eyes glittered like shards of broken glass. “Because I have the timestamps on her drafts and the plagiarism report showing your presentation is word-for-word identical. Care to explain how that’s a coincidence?”

The classroom went silent. The professor frowned, leaning forward in his chair.

“Domo, I—” the guy started, but she cut him off with a single, raised hand.

“I don’t want your excuses,” she said firmly. “I want you to admit what you did, apologize to her, and redo the work properly. Or we can take this up with the academic board. Your choice.”

You could almost hear the sound of his pride shattering. He mumbled something that vaguely resembled an apology, avoiding everyone’s eyes, and spent the rest of the term walking on eggshells around her.

———

Domo’s sense of justice wasn’t loud or flashy. It didn’t rely on intimidation or physical strength. It was quiet, methodical, and utterly terrifying.

She didn’t give second chances. She didn’t forgive dishonesty.

And that was why you could never let her find out. Not about your hacking. Not about the money. Not about how you had initially planned to use her kindness for your own survival.

Because if she ever did…

She wouldn’t just hate you.

She’d destroy you.

────────────

“I mean, it’s almost funny,” he said, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Here you are, pretending to be this innocent little thing, latching onto her like a leech. But let’s be real—this friendship of yours? It’s built on lies. You used her.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, your voice trembling. “That’s not true. I—”

“Oh, but it is,” he cut you off, his tone sharp and biting. “You needed her, didn’t you? Not for who she is, but for what she could give you. Money. Protection. A shield to hide behind. You’re pathetic.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I care about her,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Care about her? Don’t make me laugh. If you really cared, you’d have told her the truth by now. But you won’t, will you? Because deep down, you know she’d drop you in a heartbeat. She’d see you for what you really are—a selfish, manipulative little rat.”

The words hit like a slap, and you recoiled, your heart pounding. “I didn’t—”

“Save it,” he sneered, cutting you off again. “You think she’s going to believe you over me? I’ve got proof, sweetheart. I’ve seen what you do. All those late nights, the hacking, the money you’ve been funneling. You really thought you’d get away with it?”

You opened your mouth to protest, to deny, but he didn’t give you the chance. “Don’t bother,” he said, his tone softening to something almost tender. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to tell her… yet. But imagine how she’d look at you if I did. Imagine the betrayal in her eyes when she realizes her best friend is nothing but a criminal.”

His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of affection. You flinched but didn’t pull away, too frozen by fear. “But I’m not the bad guy here,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m giving you a chance. A way out. All you have to do is listen to me. Do what I say. It’s not that hard, is it?”

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you tried to stand your ground. “I won’t let you manipulate me.”

His grin widened, his eyes dark with amusement. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need to manipulate you. I just have to tell the truth. And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? You’ve already done all the hard work for me. All I have to do is hand her the evidence, and you’re done.”

His hand slid down to your wrist, his grip tightening just enough to make you wince. “So here’s the deal,” he said, his tone cold and commanding. “You’re going to do exactly what I say, when I say it. No questions, no hesitation. Because if you don’t…”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’ll make sure she knows everything. And when she does, she’ll hate you. She’ll destroy you. And I’ll be right here to watch.”

You shuddered, the weight of his words crushing down on you. He pulled back, his grin as smug as ever. “So, what’s it going to be?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Are you going to be a good little girl and play along? Or do I need to make a few phone calls?”

The silence stretched between you, suffocating, as he waited for your answer. And in that moment, you realized there was no way out. Not without losing everything.

———

His lips crashed against yours again, rough and demanding, his fingers curling into the nape of your neck with enough pressure to make your scalp burn. You didn’t resist—not because you wanted this, but because resisting would only escalate things. His breath was hot and suffocating, his teeth grazing your lower lip as if to punish you for every shudder of disgust you couldn’t suppress.

Your mind spun in chaotic circles, desperately searching for an escape even as his body pressed you further into the mattress. His weight pinned you down, his hands wandering in a way that felt more like a claim than an embrace.

You closed your eyes, trying to block him out, but that only made your thoughts louder. They roared with a single name: Domo.

Domo, who would never forgive you. Domo, who could never know.

The thought of her was a knife in your chest, sharp and twisting. You didn’t fear her anger—you feared her disappointment. Domo wasn’t just a friend. She was the only light you had, the only one who ever made you feel like maybe you weren’t completely worthless. But Domo had a sense of justice as unforgiving as the universe itself.

You had seen her at her most ruthless. She wasn’t the type to scream or cry when betrayed. No, Domo dissected you with precision, unraveling every thread of your lies until you were nothing but a tangle of shame and regret. You had watched her dismantle people who thought they could outwit her, her sharp words leaving them gutted in ways they never recovered from.

If she found out about the hacking… the money…

Your stomach twisted. You’d seen it happen before. The way her eyes hardened, the way her voice turned cold, like steel slicing through flesh. Domo didn’t just destroy people—she erased them, made them into cautionary tales.

And she’d do the same to you.

But more than that, you’d lose her. She wouldn’t see the circumstances. She wouldn’t see your desperation, your mother, your empty dorm room filled with shadows. She’d only see the crime, the betrayal, the weakness.

The bully’s lips moved to your neck, and you bit your tongue to suppress a gasp. His hands slid lower, possessive and mocking, as if to remind you of the power he held over you.

“Thinking about her again, aren’t you?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and cruel. “Your precious Domo. Wondering what she’d say if she saw you like this.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Because the truth was, you couldn’t let her see. You couldn’t let her know how far you’d fallen, how much you’d compromised. If she knew—if she even suspected—she’d leave you.

And your mother…

The thought of her sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. If Domo’s judgment was cold and calculated, your mother’s was visceral and brutal. She wouldn’t just be disappointed. She’d punish you, grind you down until there was nothing left. You’d seen it in her eyes, in the way her fingers curled into fists, in the way her voice dropped to a low, venomous growl when she was angry.

The money wasn’t just a lifeline—it was the leash she held you on. It was the only thing keeping her rage at bay.

“Pathetic,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re not even here, are you? Too busy thinking about how to keep all your little secrets.”

He kissed you again, his hands tightening their grip, and your mind screamed at you to focus. But all you could think about was Domo’s face—her sharp, piercing eyes, her unwavering sense of right and wrong.

And the cold, hard truth that if she ever knew the real you, she wouldn’t just walk away. She’d destroy you.

Just like he would.

“Go ahead,” he taunted, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His smirk was razor-sharp, his gaze dark with amusement. “Keep pretending you’re innocent. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You’re just as dirty as the rest of us. And the best part? No one’s going to save you.”

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t.

Because he was right.

———

Your head swam with the weight of his words, the dark intensity behind them burrowing under your skin like thorns. His breath was hot against your lips as he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with an almost tender care, a stark contrast to the bruises you knew he’d left on your body before. The room spun with his presence, suffocating, inescapable, and yet something in you was too tired to resist.

“You think anyone else could love you like this?” he whispered, his voice low and raw, each word an anchor pulling you deeper into his orbit. His lips found the corner of your mouth, teasing, brushing, and when you didn’t pull away, he took that as a surrender.

“I see you,” he murmured, his hands trailing down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. “The real you. The one who’s scared, pathetic, desperate. I see it, and I still love you for it. No one else does. Not Domo, not your mother, no one. They only see what you pretend to be.”

He kissed you hard then, his mouth consuming yours, claiming you with a ferocity that left you breathless. The edge of his teeth scraped against your lower lip as he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes sharp and burning with something primal.

“It’s always been the two of us,” he growled, his voice thick with possession as he gripped your hips, grinding against you in slow, deliberate movements that left no room for misinterpretation. “Even when you ran to Domo, even when you tried to leave me behind, you always came back. You’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.”

Your chest tightened as his words drilled into you, his logic cutting through every feeble protest you might have had. No one else cared. Not like this. Not with this twisted, obsessive devotion that terrified you as much as it made you feel alive.

“You think Domo will stay if she finds out who you really are?” he sneered, his lips ghosting over your jawline before nipping at your ear. “She’ll throw you away like everyone else. But me?” His voice softened, his tone almost reverent. “I don’t care what you do. Cheat, lie, betray me—hell, run back to her if you want. I’ll still be here. I’ll always be here.”

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. Your lips pressed against his, hesitant, shy, but it was enough to spark something dangerous in him. He growled low in his throat, his hands tightening on you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding entry, his movements aggressive but laced with a desperate kind of love.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your lips, his hands roaming, gripping, owning. “You’re starting to get it now, aren’t you? You’re mine. No one else gives a shit about you like I do. No one else knows you like I do. And no one else ever will.”

His words were a mantra, a binding spell, as he kissed you again, his love a suffocating force, overwhelming and inescapable. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t kind, but it was real in a way that twisted something deep inside you.

“You and me, baby,” he said, his voice a promise and a threat all at once. “Always.”

———

The hesitation lingered in your body, a faint tremor in your hands, a fleeting flicker in your gaze that he picked up on like a predator scenting blood. His grip on your waist tightened as his lips hovered over yours, smirking just slightly at the way you tensed under his touch.

“Still fighting me, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and rich with amusement, a dangerous edge beneath his tone. “You don’t have to say anything. I know that little head of yours is spinning, trying to figure out what to do. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You can’t afford to push me away.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, deliberate and suffocating, drawing out every second as if savoring his victory. “Not like this is new for us,” he whispered against your lips, his tone almost tender, like a lover’s. “You remember, don’t you? Or are you gonna pretend you don’t? It’s been a while, sure—probably because you’ve been too busy drooling over that bitch Domo. But this? This has always been us.”

The words landed like blows, each one calculated to chip away at your defenses. You stiffened at the mention of Domo, your mind spiraling into the familiar maze of fear and guilt. He laughed softly, sensing your weakness, and tilted your chin up so your eyes met his.

“There it is,” he said, his grin widening as his fingers brushed your cheek with mock tenderness. “That little look of guilt. You don’t want her to know, do you? Don’t want her to see the real you. The one who cheats and lies and does whatever it takes to survive. Guess what? I already know all of that, and I’m still here. Isn’t that funny?”

You stayed silent, your breath shaky as his hands roamed with purpose, drawing you closer, forcing you to feel every inch of his control. “She’d never forgive you,” he continued, his voice a soft hum of poison. “If she found out, she’d drop you like you were nothing. And your mom? Oh, let’s not even start on her.”

He chuckled, low and dark, the vibration of it sinking into your chest. “But me?” he murmured, brushing his lips against the corner of your mouth before stealing another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier. “I don’t care what you do. I don’t care what you are. I’ve always loved you for it. Your pathetic, broken little self is mine.”

You knew he was pushing you, pressing all the right buttons to ensure you bent to his will. Your mind screamed at you to resist, to fight, but the weight of everything he had over you—the photos, the proof, the cruel knowledge of your worst secrets—held you firmly in place.

“That’s right,” he whispered as you finally stopped resisting, your body going limp under his hold. He kissed you again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, possessive and firm. “You’re getting it now. This is where you belong. With me. Submitting to me, just like you always have, just like you always will.”

He didn’t stop, even as your compliance became evident. Instead, he pressed harder, his kisses more demanding, his touch bolder, his words laced with a dangerous, almost intoxicating affection.

“I don’t just own your body,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pulled you even closer. “I own your heart, your mind, your fucking soul. Domo doesn’t get that, and she never will. This? This is ours. Always has been.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight as the reality of his hold on you settled like chains around your chest.

Every word, every touch, every calculated smile of his reminded you of the truth—you were his, and fighting back only tightened his grip.

———

His hands moved with an infuriating blend of precision and fervor, peeling away layers of your clothing as if removing barriers to what he believed was already his. Each brush of his fingers was rough, each kiss an assault, his lips crushing against yours like he was trying to consume you entirely. He growled low in his throat, a predatory sound that sent a shiver of both fear and shameful heat down your spine.

"That’s it," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his pupils blown wide with a dangerous mix of lust and obsession. His breath fanned hot against your skin as his fingers dug into your thighs, pulling you closer. “My little masochist. You like this, don’t you? Pretending to fight me, pretending you have some kind of choice. But deep down, you love it. You love me.”

The words dripped with mockery, but underneath the venom, there was something softer—something that felt almost genuine in its twisted way. He leaned down, his teeth grazing your neck, biting just hard enough to make you gasp. “Yeah, that’s the sound I want. None of that quiet, boring little act you pull for everyone else. Show me what you really are, hmm? Weak, needy, desperate. Mine.”

Your body betrayed you, arching into his touch even as your mind screamed at you to pull away. He noticed, of course he noticed, and his smirk widened, his movements growing bolder. His hands roamed over you with a hunger that bordered on savage, but there was a calculated restraint in his grip, like he was savoring every moment of your submission.

“You know,” he whispered, his voice rough and husky as his fingers slipped beneath the last layer of fabric, “I could ruin you, completely destroy that pathetic little life of yours. But I don’t. You know why?” He kissed you hard, swallowing your unsteady breaths before pulling back just enough to whisper against your lips. “Because I love you. No one else gives a damn about you, not your saintly Domo, not even your precious mother. Just me.”

His movements grew rougher, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he pushed you back onto the bed. He hovered over you, his gaze dark and feral, his smirk curling into something more primal. “You’re so fucking stupid,” he said, his voice almost a growl as he pressed his body against yours. “Careless, weak, a complete mess. But you’re my mess. And no matter how much you screw up, no matter how much you betray me, I’m the one who’s always going to pick you up, fix you, keep you safe.”

Each word came with another bruising kiss, another searing touch that left you reeling. He whispered sweet poison into your ear, promises wrapped in degradation, affection laced with humiliation. “You’ll never find anyone else who loves you like this,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Who knows you like this. You’d be nothing without me, and you know it.”

His real personality was fully unleashed now—raw, unfiltered, and terrifyingly familiar. The mask of control slipped just enough to reveal the primal, obsessive hunger beneath. Every movement, every word, every calculated act was designed to remind you of one thing: he owned you. Body, mind, and soul.

────────────

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General TAG LIST of “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring , @lilyalone , @theogborjie , @ne7zach

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trippinsorrows · 6 months ago

Text

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.”

#roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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0xstarzx0 · 11 months ago

Text

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.

______________________________________________

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.

______________________________________________

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?

______________________________________________

[PT3]

#rafe cameron #drew starkey x reader #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks rafe #rafe x reader #dark!rafe #dark rafe cameron #dad!rafe #toxic relationship #toxic ! Rafe #rafe smut #rafe cameron x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #Spotify

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look-me · 1 month ago

Text

“𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑺𝑺”

abby anderson x masc!reader

pt 3

all the chapters in my masterlist

TW: weed, sex, idk what else

Please don’t mind any grammar mistakes, and please keep in mind that English isn’t my native language. P.S. I’ve never written smut before. Also, I probably won’t correct any mistakes because I’m too lazy to do so.

When the car finally pulls up in front of Abby’s house, You don’t even bother to look at her as you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door, stepping out into the cold night air.

Abby follows you, her presence like a weight behind you, but you don’t turn around. Not yet. You just keep walking toward the front door.

Inside, the house is quiet, too quiet. The faint glow of the kitchen light filters through the dark hallway, casting long shadows on the floor. Abby shuts the door behind you, the sound of it slamming echoing in the otherwise still house.

You glance back at her, your voice low, barely containing your fury. “What the hell is wrong with you, Abby?”

Her eyes narrow at you, the blue in her gaze like ice, hard and cold. “You think I’m the one with a problem?” she spits, her voice sharp as a blade. “You’re the one who started all this bullshit, playing games, running away from me. You kissed me, Y/N, and then you act like I’m the one who’s crazy?”

“Are you seriously blaming me for this?” You throw your hands up in exasperation, stepping closer to her. “You’re the one who can’t make up your damn mind, Abby. You act like you don’t care, like I’m just another person to fuck around with, and then you have the nerve to get mad when I try to protect myself from getting hurt!”

Abby’s nostrils flare as she steps toward you, her breath coming out in short bursts. “Don’t you dare act like you’re some victim in this,”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You recoil, but the anger inside you flares even brighter. “You think you can just tell me what to do, who I can see? Because I’m not yours Abby”

Abby takes a step forward, her chest nearly touching yours now. “You want to keep acting like you don’t care? Like none of this means anything to you? Fine.“

A sharp, tense silence fills the space between you, your breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. For a moment, neither of you moves, and then, as if an invisible line has been crossed, Abby suddenly shoves you back. You stumble, but catch yourself just before hitting the wall.

“You don’t get to walk away from me, Y/N,” she growls, her voice low and venomous.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you snap, your eyes burning with anger. “You don’t get to treat me like I’m some kind of toy you can play with whenever it suits you. If you don’t want to be with me, then stop pretending like you do. Make up your damn mind.”

The words seem to hang in the air between you, suffocating everything around them. Abby stands there, her chest heaving with anger, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, her phone buzzes loudly on the bedside table across the room.

You both freeze, the buzzing a jarring interruption to the intensity that’s thick in the air. Abby glances at it, then at you, clearly annoyed by the distraction but still unwilling to move.

The phone buzzes again, louder this time, demanding attention.

With a sigh, Abby finally walks over to the bedside table, her movements stiff. She picks up her phone, and when she sees the name flashing on the screen, her expression falters for just a moment. Riley.

A smirk spreads across your face as you catch a glimpse of the name. The shift in Abby’s demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed by you. It’s subtle, but it’s there. A crack in the armor she’s worked so hard to maintain.

Abby’s gaze flickers to you, her eyes narrowing slightly, though she tries to hide it behind a mask of indifference. “What?” she asks, her voice tight, trying to maintain control. But you can see the flicker of annoyance in her eyes, a brief crack in her usually unshakable facade.

You step closer, your voice dripping with playful challenge. “You don’t want her to know that I’m here, do you?”

Abby stiffens, her jaw tightening, but she doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she turns the phone over in her hand, her fingers brushing the screen, but she doesn’t pick up the call.

“It’s nothing,” she mutters, though her voice is strained, as if trying to convince herself more than you.

“Then answer the phone, Abigail,” you say, crossing your arms, a challenging smile tugging at your lips. The playfulness in your voice only adds fuel to the fire of the argument that’s already been burning between you.

Abby’s gaze flickers to you once more, her lips pressing into a thin line. The room is thick with tension as she stares at the phone, her grip tightening.

“No,” she finally says, her voice clipped. “It’s nothing. Just some bullshit I don’t need to deal with right now.”

But you can see through her. You can see the doubt in her eyes, the uncertainty creeping in. Abby isn’t used to feeling vulnerable, and right now, she’s doing everything she can to hide it.

Without waiting for her to say anything else, you walk toward her, closing the distance between you. “Maybe it’s time you stop pretending, Abby. You can’t just shut people out when it gets hard. You can’t keep pretending everything’s fine while you’re stuck in this stupid game you’re playing.”

Abby looks at you, her expression hardening once again. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I know more than you think,” you say, your voice quiet but firm. “You’re scared, Abby. And I’m tired of being dragged into your mess.”

The air between you is heavy with unspoken words, with the rawness of your emotions crashing against each other. But neither of you speaks. Instead, there’s just a tense, lingering silence, both of you trapped in your own stubbornness.

Then, with a final glance at her phone, Abby walks past you, her back stiff, and heads toward the door. “I’m done with this,” she says, her voice low as she steps out of the room, you're left standing there, feeling the weight of everything that's been left unsaid. The silence presses down on you like a heavy weight, and you're seething, trying to figure out how to process everything that's just happened.

Then you hear it-the unmistakable sound of water running from the bathroom.

She's really doing this? You're still standing here, frustrated and pissed off, and she's in there taking a shower like you're not even in her house.

"Are you fucking taking a shower while we're arguing and you leave me here?" you shout, unable to keep the anger out of your voice.

There's no response.

Just the sound of water splashing against tiles. You feel your frustration building, but Abby clearly isn't interested in engaging right now. You pace the room, your fists clenched, as you try to hold on to the irritation that's growing inside of you. A few minutes later, the water shuts off, and you hear the soft sound of the bathroom door opening.

Then, she appears.

Abby steps into the room, wearing only a towel wrapped loosely around her waist, her skin glistening with the warmth of the shower. You freeze for a second, taken aback by how effortless and stunning she looks. The towel barely covers her, and your eyes automatically drift to her bare shoulders, the curve of her hips, the way the fabric clings just enough to leave nothing to the imagination.

And then, you notice something new. Her hair. For the first time, Abby's hair is down, falling in wet waves around her face. She looks different, more carefree, and it hits you harder than you expected.

You've always loved her hair down-there's something incredibly intimate about it, like she's finally letting her guard down in front of you.

You swallow hard, your mouth dry. "Damn," you mutter, before catching yourself. "I didn't know you looked like this with your hair down."

Abby doesn't miss the way you're looking at her.

She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest in a subtle challenge. "What, you didn't think I could pull it off?"

You shake your head, trying to stay focused. "I don't know what I thought. But right now, l'm more concerned with you leaving me alone in your house after a fight. Are you really just gonna ignore me like this?"

She stands there for a moment, her gaze flickering from your eyes to your body. Then, her expression softens, just a little. "It's late. You're not going anywhere. You can stay here for the night."

You're about to argue, but she cuts you off. "No, I'm not asking. You're staying. Don't make this harder than it needs to be”

You want to protest, but the look in her eyes silences you. Abby isn't giving you an option.

"You can't just make decisions for me," you snap, but she doesn't back down.

"I'm not," she says coolly. "I'm telling you. Now, go take a shower. I left some clean clothes on the bed."

You open your mouth to argue again, but she raises her hand, silencing you. "You've got two choices. Go shower or stand here in your dirty clothes. Up to you."

You huff in frustration, but you know there's no point in fighting her. You make your way to the bathroom, still simmering, but as you step inside and close the door behind you, you can't help but let out a frustrated breath.

After you've showered, you grab the clean clothes Abby left for you-just a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. As you dry off with the towel, you make your way to her bedroom to get dressed, hoping to get some space from the tension that's been hanging between you two all night.

But as you step into her bedroom, you freeze. The towel still around your waist, you feel two hands on your back, fingers sliding down your skin, sending a jolt of shock through you.

"Fuck, Abby, you scared me," you snap, spinning around, heart pounding in your chest.

Abby's standing there, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from her body, her own towel barely clinging to her figure. Her hair is still down, wet strands framing her face as she pulls you into her space. Before you can say anything else, she grabs your face gently with both hands, forcing you to look at her through the mirror.

"Not my fault, princess," she whispers, her voice low, playful, and intense. "You're in my bedroom, wearing only a towel. What makes you think I won't do something about it?"

Your pulse quickens, and you roll your eyes, trying to brush off the tension. "Stop it, I don't even like my body," you say, but the words feel hollow coming out of your mouth.

Abby's expression softens, and before you can say anything else, she grabs you by the shoulders, turning you to face her. She pins you to the bed with surprising strength. "Look at me," she demands, her voice almost a command.

You try to look away, but she holds you there, her fingers lightly brushing your chin to make sure you meet her eyes. "I said look at me," she repeats, her voice softer this time, full of something you can't quite place.

And then she says the words you didn't expect.

"You're gorgeous."

You don't know what to say, the words getting stuck in your throat as she leans in and kisses you softly on the lips. The kiss is slow, tender, as if she's trying to reassure you without saying a word.

Then, she moves down to your neck, her lips grazing your skin with a featherlight touch.

You shiver involuntarily, but Abby doesn't stop.

She trails soft kisses along your neck, sending waves of heat through your body. When she reaches your ear, she whispers, her breath warm against your skin.

"'ll make it up to you. I promise."

Her lips press against your cheek in a gentle kiss, lingering there for just a moment longer than expected. Then, she pulls back, her gaze intense as she steps away from the bed.

"Now get dressed," she says, a playful glint in her eyes. "I want to eat. I'll wait for you in the kitchen."

You step out of the bedroom, feeling the lingering weight of everything still hanging between you and Abby. You find her on the couch, dressed now in her usual loose flannel shirt and some pair of boxers, giving off that masculine aura that always seems to draw your attention. She’s scrolling through her phone, not paying you any mind. The room feels quieter now, the tension thick in the air as you stand there, unsure of how to proceed.

Without saying anything, you walk over to the couch and sit next to her. You feel your heart racing, but you can’t just keep pretending that everything’s fine anymore.

“I’m not really hungry,” you mutter softly, still not looking at her, your voice almost lost in the silence.

Abby glances at you briefly, then shrugs. “I’m not either, but I was going to cook if you were hungry.”

You nod absently, not knowing what to say next, your mind spinning with everything you’ve been holding in. Finally, the words start tumbling out, too fast to stop.

“Abby, you play with people. You have so many girls with you. You can literally call all of them to come over right now, and they’ll be here in the blink of an eye. I don’t want to be one of them.”

As you speak, your throat tightens, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. You wipe it away quickly, hoping Abby didn’t notice, but you feel that familiar rush of vulnerability threatening to overwhelm you.

“I’m scared of ending up alone, Abby,” you say, your voice raw, but still trying to hold it together. You don’t want her to see you as weak, to see you as little. You don’t want her to pity you.

But the words are out now, hanging in the space between you two, and you can’t take them back. You try to turn away, but before you can, you feel her hand gently reach for your face, turning you toward her.

Abby’s touch is tender, surprisingly soft, as her thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the tear you missed. Her hands hold your face gently, making sure you can’t look away. The seriousness in her eyes is undeniable, and for the first time, you see the raw emotion beneath her usually guarded expression.

“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice quiet, but firm. “Don’t hide from me.” She wipes away another tear, her touch almost like she’s trying to erase the hurt that’s been weighing on you for so long.

You refuse to look at her, still fighting to hold your composure, but Abby doesn’t let you pull away. “Look at me,” she says, her tone not demanding, just insistent. “Please.”

Finally, you meet her gaze, the vulnerability in your eyes clear. “I don’t want to be a part of your game. I don’t know how to be with you when I’m so scared of losing myself.”

Abby doesn’t speak at first, her hands still cupping your face as she looks at you intently. Then, with a sigh, she pulls you gently into her arms, holding you tightly against her chest, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go.

“I’m not playing with you,” she murmurs into your hair. “ I don’t want you to feel alone.”

You feel her breath against your skin, the warmth of her body comforting in a way that makes everything else seem to fade, even for just a moment. But the fear is still there, lurking in the back of your mind, and you can’t help but ask the question that’s been haunting you.

“Then why do you have so many other girls, Abby? What makes me different?”

Abby pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, her hand still resting on your cheek. The intensity in her gaze is undeniable, like she’s trying to pull the words from deep inside her.

“ I’m not going to treat you like anyone else. I don’t know how i will make you see that, but I’m going to prove it over and over, if I have to.”

You stay silent, your heart pounding, torn between the need to believe her and the instinct to protect yourself. Every inch of you wants to pull away, to shut it all out before you get hurt. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to steady your breathing and you fall asleep in Abby’s arms, the steady rise and fall of her chest lulling you into a peaceful slumber. Abby, sensing you’re completely out, stays there with you for a while, letting you rest. The comfort of her presence eases the tension in your body, and she doesn’t want to disturb you.

But eventually, as time passes and she realizes you’re not going to wake up soon, Abby carefully shifts, gently moving you so she can get up. She stands and, without much effort, scoops you into her arms, cradling you like a bride. It’s an oddly tender gesture from someone so fierce, but the strength in her arms and the way she holds you makes you feel safe.

Abby walks to her bed, carefully settling you underneath the blankets. Once you’re comfortable, she pulls the covers up to your chin, tucking you in. She stays for a moment, watching over you as you sleep, but soon lies down next to you, her body still close, but not quite touching.

The warmth of her presence keeps you feeling grounded. You stir a little, eventually waking up, and the first thing you notice is the unfamiliar softness of the bed and the fact that you’re no longer on the couch. You blink, confused, and whisper, “How did I end up in your bed?”

Abby’s voice is calm, almost amused, when she answers, “You fell asleep, princess.”

You turn to her side, suddenly feeling self-conscious and embarrassed. Without thinking, you roll toward her and instinctively hug her, pressing your face into her pillow. “I’m sorry”

Abby doesn’t return the hug. She lies there, stiff and unreadable, her breathing steady but distant. The warmth you’d felt earlier is replaced by a wall you can’t quite get through. You pull back slightly, glancing up at her face, but her expression is calm, almost indifferent.

“Go to sleep, princess,” she says, her voice low and cold, with no trace of the softness from earlier.

The words cut through the air, leaving no room for argument. You nod silently, turning away and curling up under the blankets, feeling the weight of the space between you. Abby doesn’t move closer, and the silence stretches long into the night.

You close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easily.

2 days later

The kitchen’s quiet, save for the scrape of Abby’s fork against her plate. She’s still in her workout gear, muscles tense like she just got back from beating the crap out of a punching bag. You’re leaning against the counter, watching her as you try to figure out how to say this.

“Ellie’s having a party tomorrow night,” you finally say, keeping your tone casual.

Abby doesn’t even look up. “So?”

“She invited me.”

“Good for her,” Abby mutters, still focused on her plate.

You cross your arms, leaning your weight on one leg. “I was thinking you could come with me.”

That gets her attention. Abby’s fork freezes midair before she sets it down with an exaggerated clink. Her eyes meet yours, and there’s that familiar edge in her gaze—calculated, sharp, and clearly annoyed. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

Abby leans back in her chair, arms folding across her chest as she stares at you. “You seriously want me to go to some party organized by the girl who’s been trying to get under my skin since day one?”

“She’s not gonna do anything,” you reply, keeping your voice steady. “It’s just a party.”

Abby laughs—a short, humorless sound. “Yeah, sure.”

“Abby.” Your tone is firm, but she doesn’t budge. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is. She invited me because we’re friends,” you say, keeping your voice calm but firm. “That’s it. You know where we stand.”

“Do I?” Abby’s eyes narrow, and there’s a heat in her voice now, the kind that warns you to tread carefully.

You meet her glare head-on. “Yeah. You do. Or you should, by now.”

The tension hangs heavy between you, neither of you backing down. Abby finally looks away, running a hand through her hair, her fingers tugging at the blonde strands in frustration. “I’m not going. End of story.”

You let out a slow breath, keeping your tone even. “Fine. Then I’ll go alone.”

Abby’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing. “What?”

“You heard me,” you say, crossing your arms. “If you’re not coming, I’ll just go by myself. No big deal.”

She stares at you like you just challenged her to a fight.

“I just thought you’d want to be there with me. But if you don’t, fine. Stay home.”

Abby glares at you for another long moment before she finally lets out a low, reluctant sigh. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Thank you,” you reply, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Just don’t start anything.”

Abby rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue further. She picks up her fork and stabs at her food, muttering something under her breath that you don’t quite catch.

You let her have the last word this time. You got what you wanted. For now.

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azes-silliness · 3 months ago

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Sweetest Revenge

Tw: Wanderer angst no comfort, SFW Warnings: Spoilers for Sumeru quest, su1cidal thoughts, su1cide (reader), hate, strong words, never really stated this but english isn’t my first language, and it might be more prevalent here because I couldn’t reread it 😅 check tags for more An: I hope you like it. Sorry it took so long to answer the request💞 School has been keeping me really busy for tests.😭 I'm sorry if its bad I didn't reread or proofread this.🥹🫶🫶

Summary: Scaramouche of the fatui harbingers was someone you loathed with all your heart. Except he doesn’t exist anywhere except in mere memory. Is it fair for you to hate The Wanderer instead?

”Scaramouche…” you hiss, your smile already falling from your face, slipping into a cold expression full of hate. The man infront of you was undoubtably the same on who haunted your dreams at night. The same one you thought you had started to get over after comfort from the new family you found.

Scaramouche, 6th Of The Fatui Harbingers.

Or in other words, the murderer of your parents.

You could still remember happily calling for your parents as you enter the house, excited to show your new project from school, already ready to be swung in their warm arms as they called you talented, smart and gifted.

Instead, you were greeted with the sight of the walls of the living room you had shared your moments with your parents drenched in red, crimson splashes staining the carpet and walls.

And…

“Mother! Father! Whats happening!?” You cried, running towards the place where you heard their voice, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes as you pushed open the door slowly. Yout parents were on their knees, two scary men pointing sharp things at them as they seemed to be begging, tears in their eyes as they turned to you, shocked.

And you were horrified.

Your father was breathing slowly, his hand on a gaping wound stretching over his stomach. Your mother seemed only half conscious, her arm basically in shreds, her favorite pink dress was stained and torn.

“M-mommy? D-daddy?” You whisper, your eyes widening as you tried to approach them, quickly being stopped by two of the men who put their arm infront of you, casting your parents a dark glance.

Grownups just had a weird way of communicating, right? Mommy and Daddy are just secretly talking with this person to-to- to throw a surprise party! These people were your parents friends, and this is just a normal grown up thin-

A gunshot echoed through the room.

You couldn’t even hear your own scream, overpowered with the fear thrumming in your ears and skull.

It was only later you found out the harbinger Scaramouche was at fault.

So you thoroughly convinced yourself that it was all his fault- it was when you were tired of hating yourself, blaming yourself.

But hate and guilt so deeprooted never disappears.

Its only passed on or redirected.

It was all his fault

“Do I know you?” Scaramouche huffed, sighing. He crossed his arms, his eyes showing how seemingly disinterested he was.

“You probably mistook me. I’m The Wanderer.” He grumbled, pulling his hat down and looking exasperated, his eyes sharpening to look at you.

You felt your jaw clench, holding the urge to throw the nearest item at him or atleast smack his idiotic face with it.

“Very. Funny.” You managed, your gaze still staring him down with utter disgust. This scum on earth. Ofcourse he didn’t know you. Of course he thought he could go erase himself from Irmin-whatever and all his sins were forgiven.

Really, what did you expect from this man? An apology? Some guilt? Maybe some empathy?

Hah. You had overestimated him, haden’t you? You didn’t even get recognition.

I mean, I suppose why would he care about just another child from the victims of his horrorendous crimes?

“So a joke? I don’t have time for jokes. I have homework.” He said, shrugging as if the matter was over. Done with.

But no. It wasn’t. Maybe this interaction should be though. Get this ugly hat-topped dwarf out of your sight.

So you bade him a smileless goodbye, simply muttering out the words and leaving.

—

It was incredibly reaccuring after that interaction, you’d always have thoughts of revenge, yet never daring to do it. It was as if your hand was on a loaded gun's trigger, yet you couldn't bring yourself to pull it. You had convinced yourself it was just due to the fact you were scared it would fail, that it might misfire. But only you knew, deep in your heart, you already begrudgingly admitted this was hardly the same person who had ordered your parents exterminated. — You were scared. Of Scaramouche? Of course not. Never. You had long steeled yourself against him. Your scared of the person you becoming. A cold hearted killer, just like him You had already made several plans of revenge against him- poision, sabotage, lies anything to make him suffer like you did. Anything to make him feel the pain you felt that day. You hated him. You despised him. But you never went through with it. You didn't want to kill someone, you wanted to believe he had gotten better. But he had killed your parents. He coudn't get away scotch-free. You wouldn't let him. You couldn't let him. Why were you like this? You had always been patient, bubbly and strong, not a hateful mess with a mind filled with only bloody vengeance. "I hate you..." You murmured quietly, blinking back your tears as you clenched your fists so tightly you felt it bleed. "I hate you....I hate you..." You repeated like mantra, tears threatening to spill with every word. You hated how he had mercilessly ordered your parents death. You hated how annoying and uncaring he was. You hated how he seemed to be so free of the past now whilst you were drowning in it. You hated, you hated how you felt he didn't deserve to die. You hated how you didn't want to hate his anymore. That... Idiot. — Those thoughts swirled unrelentingly in your head as you looked down, at your feet, biting your lip so hard you swore it bled. You held your vision in your hand-the symbol of the oath you had made to avenge your parents. "I'm sorry mother, father...I'm so...so...sorry." You choked out, tears welling in your eyes. Right. The vision, the gift from the archons that you had interpreted as them giving you the power to take revenge for everything you lost. What was its meaning now when you couldn't even convince yourself to go along with it? What made you so special your parents had died while you had survived? You didn't deserve this. A mere bratty child who's only thing on their mind was how to get enough candy for the day didn't deserve to live over your parents who had carried your world on their shoulders. So you didn't deserve to be here. You really didn't. And so you prayed to the archons that they would forgive you, they would accept you giving everything away. But deep in your heart, you didn't care. All you cared about was to be able to restore those days with your parents, the days of boundless bliss. So you jumped.

Thank you guys for the support 🫶🏼🫶🏼 Requests are still open.

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luneemeritus · 10 months ago

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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 😭

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #angel dust #happy birthday angel dust #hazbin hotel anthony #huskerdust #hazbin hotel valentino

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godtrauma · 6 days ago

Text

glen (@godisaknife) sexually harassed me after being told to stop

tw: persistent sexual harassment, parasocial behavior, suicidal thoughts. tumblr will not even let me use tw or cw to trigger tag this

a few months ago, i received a kinky ask after i had been sharing some thoughts about wanting a dom who was intense but caring. i received an anonymous message along these lines and at first i was interested and consented to the interactions, but i wasn’t too comfortable with the anonymous part.

while asking these questions, i was speaking with a mutual about them and how i was getting uncomfortable. he had replied on anon that he was an older mutual, and that’s when i knew it was glen; he had been liking my posts at the time of sending asks, he had a very particular typing style, he’s into that BDSM kind of stuff. i never thought of glen in a romantic/attractive way, and the fact that he’s younger than me, has a very “uwu” personality (something he literally types out), and often posts very distressing mental health/suicidal ideation to the point where i filtered his URL instead of unfollowing because i was worried that might trigger him. he sent a couple more asks, which i ignored and hoped he’d get the memo.

in one ask, he gave another clue “daddy G”

(note: please remember this is the type of ask/fantasy i had consented to at this point.)

i told the “anon” i wasn’t interested.

glen replied with the most obvious “clues” telling me who he was, and continued to use kinky language that i had no longer consented to.

(note the “ILY” after i told him to stop and calling me “his boy”)

i shouldn’t have to explain myself in why i didn’t block him then, so i won’t.

some time went by and i received a new ask, this time again with dead ringer texting style than i knew was glen. i tried to put him off in the plainest way possible, again attempting to not make him feel awful because i have a bleeding heart/savior complex personality even though i can barely manage my mental health.

(here’s another instance of him using “fren”)

glen did NOT get the memo somehow and persisted further, telling me this:

that’s when i had completely had it. this ask finally gave me the clarity and drive that i needed to message him to directly tell him he’d cross the line and that i was blocking him. i proceeded to block him everywhere else i knew him from.

i never considered glen and i very close. we both have severe and similar mental health issues that i knew weren’t good for each other so i didn’t message him often. i looked back on what messages i did send, and realized how many times he referred to be as “my beloved” and such. now of course i realize that’s weird, especially because the only thing i know about him is that he lives in italy, he’s 25, he likes horror and hannibal, and like me, he’s mentally unstable (something we have in common and im not pointing out to demonize him)

hopefully people can learn from me that if someone is upsetting you to the point where you avoid them, just cut the ties now. there’s no merit or benefit of trying to be the savior/helper when if affects YOUR mental health too.

do not go to glen’s profile and send asks/messages. block him, please. he’s in a lot of my mutual circles and i don’t want to see him around anymore. his actions led to a sleepless night, a panic attack, and paranoia. i needed others to know and avoid him and it’s taken all my energy today to post this.

additionally, and i can't believe i have to say this:

trying to discredit someone's sexual harassment allegations by saying that the harasser "wasn't TRYING to be malicious" or "lacked social cues" or "didn't threaten anything" are all victim-blaming mentalities that side with the oppressor. i can't believe i have to explain this in 2025 but lack of intent to harm does not equal a lack of harm. i do not think that glen is purposefully harmful but he still harassed me and that's what matters.

#godisaknife #literally shaking #hate to say it but i was crying while typing this out #i need to take another boiling shower

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aphrodyx · 2 months ago

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We’re all we have

supernatural oneshot: Sam Winchester x Dean Winchester x y/n (mainly Dean)

tw//: mentions of death, mentions of suicide, self-hate, victim-blaming, and mentions of being unlovable

synopsis: you’ve been waiting for your brothers to come back from their hunting trip, however, you and Dean get in an argument. It makes you question his thoughts about you and your place in the family.

fem! reader x sam winchester, fem! reader x dean winchester, family au, some angst, and some foul language

an: sorry if this is shit, i just luv my bbs 🙁

It’s been a while, too long even. It’s been over a week since Sam and Dean went on their hunt in Valentine, Nebraska. It was suppose to be only a nest of vampires. Seven? Eight? Maybe nine? They could take them easily, so why is it taking them forever to return my calls. One last time, I swear if he doesn’t answer…

Pang! Pang! Pang!

“Open up y/n!” Dean’s voice muffled through the metal.

Seriously? Now they come what the hell. I rush to the door to open it.

“Hey! Hey! How’s my favorite girl doing?” Dean walks in shuffling around me, down the stairs to the table.

“Dude c’mon— hey y /n… how are you” Sam stopping in his tracks to acknowledge me with a soft smile.

“I’m angry and you know that, what the hell Sam!” I turn haltingly and follow Dean.

I pace around Dean, angrily waiting for an explanation. They were gone for seven full days with zero contact, and it’s not like we had an argument. Over 70 messages sent and 50 missed calls, I thought of the worse. They could have been dead in a ditch or heads ripped off; why didn’t they call me, text me, sent cass, absolutely anything to me to make sure they were still alive.

“Dean, I need answers right now!”

“Y/n, I’m sorry okay… I should’ve texted you. We’re alright, see?” Dean spins in a 360, showing himself injure-free.

“No! I’m sick a tired of these excuses, you’ve been so distant. You’re so quick to go from one hunt to another, your not slowing down at all. Im worried about you. You’re not eating good or sleep properly, and when was the last time you took a shower. Seriously?

“Y/n…” Dean starts getting frustrated walking up to her.

“Y/n…” Sam interferes, trying to calm her down.

“No! fucking talk to me! What’s the matter with you!” I slam my fist down on the table.

“My dad is dead! Do you know what’s that like? To have your father taken away from you and not even knowing who did it!” He slams his fist down, kicking a chair away.

“Dean, calm down please. Yelling at each other isn’t going to mend our problem right now” Sam puts his hand on his older brother’s shoulder.

“I lost him too, you know? He was like my dad too Dean?” I say up in his face.

“He wasn’t your dad though, as much as you think he was” He pushes around y/n and storms off to his room.

I stand there. Zero thoughts flooding my mind. Am I angry? Upset? I don’t even know. I know we aren’t actually siblings and I know John wasn’t my real dad, but… he took care of me. He took me in when no one else would, fed me, gave me a roof over my head, and a family: sam and dean. Why would he say that to me… did he really not consider me as his sister… as his family? I sniffle a bit, crouching down on the floor.

“Y/n…” sam says quietly, sitting down with me on the floor. “You know Dean didn’t mean that.. John was your dad too. He was a dad to all of us, you know… he takes grief harder than the rest of us”

Sniffle… Sniffle… Sniffle

“Still, I don’t know… that felt different” I wipe my tears with the back of my hand. “He’s never raised his voice up at me… I never wanted anything less for him.”

“I know… me too… it’s just been a rough couple of weeks, he’s been sleeping terribly and drinking a whole lot more than usual” Sam rubs his face with his hands.

“It’s my fault though… I should’ve returned your calls and texts. I know you mean the best for both of us; I’ll be honest, it’s been rough for me too. I just… I don’t know ive kept my phone on silent and just didn’t want to deal with anyone… even you.”

Hearing sam confess his true feelings felt like a demon blade right through my chest. He didn’t want to talk to me either. All this time, they’ve been grieving. Maybe I didn’t truly understand, John did raise them all their lives. Their mom died when Dean was just four years old and sam at six months. I don’t know anything about how they feel. They’re broken and lost. A piece of them has been shattered and they can never get that back.

“Im sorry Sam. Im so sorry, ive been so selfish and I wasn’t caring about you guys at all and I-“

“No. Stop, you are the most caring, loving, kind-spirited person I know and I love you so so much. Dean is just… We’re just… We have a hard time regulating our emotions especially right now. If we give ourselves the chance to sit down properly, we’re going to lose our minds.” Sam exhales fast, holding his thoughts in for so long.

“It’s not you, I swear. But he shouldn’t have done that to you, it was fucked up and he knows it. I promise he will come around and apologize, you know he’s stubborn so it might take a couple of days, hours if you’re lucky, but knowing Dean… were pretty lucky all the time., right?” Sam chuckles, glancing at y/n’s glossy eyes. “Please stop crying, it hurts me a lot more than it does for you to see you like this.”

“I know… I’m okay...”

I had doubts, I know Sam says Dean said that out of frustration but I don’t know. I’ll give him some time though, I know he looked up to his dad for everything. He cared so much for him in deep admiration and devotion. Just like how I feel about Sam and Dean. I push myself off the floor, dried tears smudged on my cheeks.

“Rest now, you’ve had a long day, and there should be Chinese take out in the kitchen” I hug Sam: rubbing his hands up and down, letting him know I’ll be alright.

—————— ————time skip———————————

I lay down on my bed with music blasting in my headphones, listening to “Carry on Wayward Son” by Kansas; Dean’s favorite song. He told me anytime I’m upset, mad, happy, or confused I can always play this song and I’ll know what to do. I gave him space for a couple of hours and now I can’t fall asleep. I hate being in any grey area with Dean, he took care of me after John was gone on hunts as well. He was always there for Sam and I.

I hear a quiet knock at the door.

“Come in” I sit up, taking off my headphones to see who’s about to walk into my room.

“Hey… can we talk?” Dean says leaning against the door frame, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, what’s up” I scoot over making room for the both us on my twin xl bed.

“Y/n… Im so so sorry for how I acted with you today, I was a complete fucking jerk and I didn’t mean anything I said.” Dean spits out disappointingly. “John— dad. You lost him too, not just me nor Sam. You. You lost the only man who ever cared for you, loved you, knew you”

“Dean—“

“No. Let me continue. Dad was in your life for fifteen years. Fifteen! What right did I have to say that he wasn’t your dad either? I knew you since I was twelve, sammy was seven. We grew up together. We’re always and will be family. How the fuck could I say that to you?” Dean covers his face in his hands in shame.

“Y/n, ive been so selfish, I should’ve stopped what I was doing after dad died and just been there for you, for sammy. He’s been trying to stop me from going on all these hunts, but I won’t listen. I never listen. That’s my problem, im such an idiot.”

“Please forgive me, I didn’t mean it at all. Ive been in my head and these aren’t excuses but it’s just been so hard. It’s just always been so hard, and now dad gone just feels like my breaking point. I should’ve replied back to your calls and texts, Ive just been so angry and I just needed to kill. I needed to get out all these thoughts, and the voices out. I couldn’t stand a second staying in the bunker.” Dean’s softly sobbing now uncontrollably.

“Dean… I know… I just know how close you were with dad, I should’ve considered what would happen-“

“No, you shouldn’t consider anything. Im the oldest, I shouldve been there for you, and not the other way around. It’s just been so suffocating lately. I can’t breathe, I can’t walk, I can’t eat, for life doesn’t feel real anymore.”

I scoot closer to Dean, picking up his head.

“Don’t talk like that, we’re here still: sam, cass, and me. Your family is still here and we care so much for you. We are so loved Dean, please see that. I know it’s hard right now but going through this alone, and isolating yourself? That isn’t the way to go, we will get through this together. Like we always do. Family sticks together, Winchesters forever”

Dean’s glossy eyes reaches y/n’s; he reaches out, grasping to the sides of head, and brings it closer to him. Kissing the middle of her forehead, he says, “I never deserved you.”

“I never deserved you; I never knew I’d get loved like this ever again from people. Until John came, and told me it’s okay to come home with him. He told me he’d protect and care for me. But within all that, I never knew I would get two amazing brothers along the way.”

Dean rests his forehead against y/n’s. He takes her hand in his and squeezes it. Dean has always been this hard core man from the outside, but truly he’s just a hurt child. He always has been. It hasn’t been easy for him: losing his mom, being forced into the family business, surviving each hunt, and caring for sam. I could never blame his behavior now, he just hasn’t had the time to heal. He needs to heal, but he can’t.

“I love you a lot Dean, I hope you know that. I truly do.” I kiss the side of his head.

“I know you do, I love you a lot too y/n, you’re my little sister. Forgive me please.”

“I forgive you… but no more hunts, at least for now, we need to all take time and grieve, and spend some time together. No hunting business, no demon or angel business, just family. We can even go see Jodie for a few days?”

“Thank you y/n, seriously. Thank you for forgiving me because I don’t think I would have been able to sleep tonight if you didn’t. And yeah whatever you want to do: a family trip! Seeing Jodie will be amazing, little trip into the forest to the cabin.” Dean smiles facing y/n while pushing her hair out of her face.

“Perfect! We’ll tell Sam in the morning, it’s almost three a.m. we should probably try to sleep now.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he gets up and walks towards the door. Turning around abruptly, he says “thank you again, sweetheart. I know I let my emotions get the best of me, but I’ll try. I’ll try because I don’t want to make you feel like you don’t belong in this family. I could never let myself live again if I said that to you again.”

“I know Dean, trust me I do. Im glad we talked, dad wouldn’t have wanted this between us would he now?”

“No, he wouldn’t. He’s probably calling me an asshole for saying that to you, Im definitely on his bad side right now.”

“He knows we’re struggling, he won’t blame you and neither will I.”

Dean chuckles, smiling to the ceiling. I can still see how broken he feels inside, but it won’t go away in one night. It’ll take time and im willingly to help him out, im willing to help them both out.

“Goodnight y/n” Dean whispers

“Goodnight Dean” I whisper back.

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thecameronchronicles · 2 years ago

Text

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

#rafecameron x reader #rafecameronfanfiction #rafecameron #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #outerbanks smut #outer banks fanfiction #outerbanks #outer banks #outer banks smut #obx smut #obxfanfiction #obx #obxsmut #obx fanfiction

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seoftbear · 5 months ago

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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

#please actually think of the people involved and not just say it and spread unnecessary gossip under the guise of awareness #and this stuff about a list? and how you hope you favs aren’t on it… guys #the narrative has been lost and #this isn’t about that #i understand loosing trust and being concerned but there’s a time and place…#idk man #tagging this as nct for now i’m sorry if that offends anyone #nct #taeil #moon taeil #this whole thing has been weighing heavy on my mind and didn’t know how to get it out

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funhouse-mirror-barbie · 1 year ago

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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.)

#funhouse convo #Hazbin hotel critical #Hazbin hotel critique #Hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel episode 4 #hazbin hotel spoilers #loser baby #loser baby was like a slap in the face honestly #vent post #personal vent #media criticism #media critique #angel dust hazbin hotel #angel dust poison #poison

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mewpangxin · 2 years ago

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♥️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

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narabea06 · 9 months ago

Note

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.

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0xstarzx0 · 7 months ago

Text

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."

✩✽✩

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