#I really appreciate the corrections actually

[bucketbueckers]

TERRITORIAL

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: filth 👅 (w decent plot - cmon, we know how this goes by now) jealous!p, slight public sex & exhibitionism(?), fingering (r!receiving), packing (🌚), strap (r!receiving), oral (p!receiving), lap dances, spitting, actual warning for men

wc: 8.0k

synopsis: Paige knew what she was signing up for when she asked you, a revered dancer for Dallas’s most prolific strip club, to be her girlfriend, but sometimes she just can’t help getting jealous. Especially when someone thinks they can touch what’s not theirs.

notes: yes the title is from the kali uchis song. if there's any of my fics i recommend listening to the titular song for, this is def one!!! based on this req from 🫦 anon, hoping i did this justice for you and thank you sm for sending this in 🙏 i fear this might be the last fic for a minute - im not dying but i do have to lock in on classes 👎 not proofread but as always though i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

You and Paige weren’t a very…conventional couple by any means. You shouldn’t work well together, but you do.

You’re a stripper – although you prefer the term exotic dancer now, mostly since you’d put an end to some of the services you used to offer – for one of Dallas’s most high profile clubs, Divinity. A corny name that served an even hornier clientele of Dallas’s richest playboys, sleazes, and their countless athletes. You weren’t complaining, though. It’s putting you through college, you’re well on your way to paying off your mom’s house, and you were fortunate enough to have understanding employers who were aware of the ramifications of their business. When you told them that you’d prefer not to perform lap dances or other private shows out of respect for your relationship, they’d readily agreed, a fact you were more than appreciative of.

Paige is one of Dallas’s up-and-coming stars, a bright-eyed, attractive, alluring athlete with the world at her disposal. She was shockingly grounded despite that, humble where you would have expected an arrogant jerk. For all intents and purposes, she wasn’t anything you were preparing yourself for, but you don’t think you’d ever be so thankful to be so surprised.

The two of you have been together for nearly a year, having met during a preseason match during her rookie season. While she was diving for a loose ball near the courtside seats, she ended up at your feet and spilled your drink onto the court. Paige was incredibly apologetic, hardly registering the fact she’d been awarded free throws for the foul, more focused on wiping the water off of your Dunks. After standing and staring at your face for a solid few seconds, as if wondering how you were real and in front of her, she offered to buy you a drink, but the refs were growing impatient and she was out of time.

That didn’t stop her from tracking you down after the game, though. Nor did it stop her from shaking your hand with an enraptured, charismatic little smile, asking for your name and when you’d be free like you’d already accepted her date offer. When you teased her for that, her smile just grew before she pointed out, “Well, you waited for me to come find you. Figured you were at least a little interested.”

In fairness, she was correct. You were interested, not because she was Paige Bueckers or some beginning of a superstar athlete, but because of her humility and how she sank to her knees in front of a sold out arena to dab the water off of your shoes with the hem of her jersey. That meant something to you. So you go out, enjoy the drinks and the company, and you see her again. Then again after that.

Before you could let your relationship grow out of hand, you knew you had to sit her down and explain your profession. You were really into her, but you could see how it could be a dealbreaker for a lot of people, especially since Paige was a public figure. She took it a lot better than you’d been expecting, which led to a lengthy conversation about everything under the sun. She asked if you enjoyed doing it – you did, you were just a dancer at heart and you would be the first to admit that dancing has helped you come out of your shell. 

In turn, you asked her if being with you would make things difficult for her. She was reasonably confused, then almost offended at the idea, before ensuring you that her private life was just that – private. Obviously, being the celebrity athlete she is, it would be near impossible to promise that the two of you could keep things that lowkey, but she was honest and told you upfront that she was falling for you and promised that if push came to shove, the two of you would work through it.

That was the heart of the conversation. Paige asked you to be her girlfriend a week later. It was after a private, rooftop dinner and movie in the fading sunlight of the Dallas summer. You’d said yes, of course, because you were falling hard for her, too. The officiality of your relationship sparked a new conversation regarding boundaries. You agreed on keeping your relationship private, mostly for your benefit – Paige had explained that she could handle the heat on her end, but recognized she had some…hardcore fans, and didn’t want them showing up to your workplace and harassing you.

You told her you’d talk to your employers about dancing only and discontinuing the private shows that people would pay for. It was for both yours and Paige’s peace of mind – you didn’t feel comfortable being so close to other people and performing intimate acts, even if it was your job. It wasn’t necessary and that was a boundary you were willing to enforce because you liked Paige, saw a future with her, and wanted to ensure there was no miscommunication about anything in your relationship. Paige, to her credit, had seemed guilty, making sure to repeatedly emphasize that you didn’t need to change your life or endanger your job for her. You just rolled your eyes, kissed her, and reminded her that you care a whole lot more about her than whether or not old, sleazy men get their rocks off. She’d probably never admit it, but she was relieved that you took that boundary so seriously.

Paige wasn’t known to be an incredibly jealous person. Communication, despite how uncomfortable it could be, was the very foundation of your relationship. The two of you were so secure with one another and any of her jealousy could be derived from a deep-rooted possessiveness.

It’s not the uncomfortable kind where she controls your every move or makes decisions for you – you’d had an ex or two who were like that and you were not keen on repeating that. It was more of a mutual agreement – you were hers, she was yours, and honestly, she was probably developing a bit of a complex about it; you’d perform for a crowd full of people who’d give anything to be with you, but it was her you’d go home to every night. In essence, she just didn’t like it when people got a little too close to what wasn’t theirs.

You and Paige weren’t a conventional couple. But you were a healthy one. You communicated, you had a whole lot of love for each other, and you worked. Despite that, you can’t always control how you feel, and sometimes, Paige just can’t help being jealous.

It was a Friday night at the club and it was already packed wall to wall with patrons, mostly your regulars, but there were also some new faces – investors, foreign athletes, various rookies for the hometown teams. It was a typical show-out, so you weren’t expecting much of it, not until one of your coworkers walks into the dressing room while you’re applying a thin layer of gloss to your lips.

“Never in a million years will you guess who just walked in,” Asha, better known by her stage name Vixen, states in lieu of a greeting. You glance at her through the mirror, your brows raising slightly. She’s dressed to the nines, her make-up gorgeous, and she smoothes out her hair while she waits for your answer.

“Hello, Asha,” you deadpan. “Yes, I’ve had a good day, thanks for asking.”

“Girl!” Asha kisses her teeth while she rolls her eyes at you. “You’re so high maintenance.”

You allow yourself a ghost of a grin, capping your gloss and spinning in your chair to face her. “Okay, who? Was it another rapper? Athletes? Married man?”

“Depends on your definition of rapper; yes, they’re all athletes; and I’m pretty sure there’s at least one or two people in there who are married, but they’re not men,” Asha responds.

You hum. “Well, who are we to yuck their yum?”

Asha huffs, annoyed at the fact that you’re not really reacting, before finally saying, “It’s the Wings, girl. As in the WNBA team. As in First Team All-Studs. I’m either walking out of here tonight with hundreds in my purse or a wife. Shit, maybe Arike’s looking for a third.”

At that, you can’t help but laugh. That morning, before you and Paige went your separate ways – you to the gym and Paige to practice, she’d told you that they’d be out on the town tonight to celebrate some of their rookies, although you thought that would include the bar and some drinks, not a strip club. Knowing Paige, bringing her team to your club wouldn’t have been her first choice, so you figure someone else on her team had the bright idea. You weren’t upset, mostly amused since Paige tends to react to the club in the same way she does while walking through the lingerie section in Victoria’s Secret store – with a lot of dramatic horror like she’s not allowed to look at anyone that’s not you.

You like to joke you have her pretty house-trained, but you find it more endearing than anything else, and you trust your girlfriend.

“I’m sure Arike is very happy in her current relationship,” you say apologetically, knowing first hand that she is. You’d been to their place for dinner many times and Arike practically worships the ground Lala walks on.

“Let me dream,” Asha bemoans. Then, a sly grin appears on her face, and she slides a little closer to you, almost conspiratorially. “You plottin’ on any of them? I think I saw Paige Bueckers out there.”

You smile knowingly, trying not to laugh at Asha’s ignorance – a testament to how quiet you’d kept your relationship. “She’s fine,” you agree, trying to not look too helplessly in love. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll want a private show.”

Her grin widens, but you’re both out of time – one of the stage managers knocks on the door to announce your call time. Asha wishes you luck while you strap on your heels, making your way backstage. The manager guides you to your spot and you take a deep breath in preparation, adjusting the thin, teasing bikini cover over your body. It hides the matching set you’re wearing – an alluring, dark red with glittering rhinestones. You have half a mind to steal it and take it back home with you, but knowing Paige, she’d probably object and buy you a different set entirely for your eyes only.

On cue, you walk out in time with the music, a slow, sultry R&B song, and you make eye contact with the people crowding the stage. The lights, while usually dimmer, have been brightened slightly in preparation for your set. You make your way to the front of the stage, where you’re amused to see your girlfriend and her team waiting. Paige’s eyes brighten at the sight of you, drinking you in, drawing her lip between her teeth almost absentmindedly. 

Deciding to tease her a little, you spin on your heel, your back to her as you pull your cover down inch by devastating inch. Your motions are deliberate, revealing miles upon miles of smooth skin, the lingerie covering your body, the lights catching the rhinestones perfectly. You’re practically glowing. With the cover in your hand, you crouch, making eye contact with Paige, and you smile cunningly at her while you wrap the cover around the back of her neck, pulling her in.

The crowd’s cheering, but you hardly register them as Paige’s hands find your skin. You brush your lips across her ear, knowing you don’t have much time, and you murmur, “What’s the girlfriend gonna think when she finds out you’re at the club?”

Paige slips a crisp hundred dollar bill into your bralette, her hands lingering longer than necessary, but you don’t mind. Her eyes are glued to your chest for a beat, but when they meet your gaze, her pupils are blown wide with desire and a thinly veiled mischief. “Sin now, beg for forgiveness later, right?” she murmurs over the bass of the music. “I’ll make it up to her.”

Your smirk widens and you release her, intending to actually start your set now. You don’t miss how Paige’s teammates jostle her in excitement. Arike was the only one who knew the truth and she just grins knowingly, shaking her head.

You always lock in when you dance, so your set goes by smoothly and ends before you know it. With a smile, you make one last lap around the stage, interacting with the club-goers and winking at the Wings team. If you blew a kiss to them, then that’s no one’s business but your own, but you make your way off the stage and towards your dressing room to change.

Asha’s up next after you, so she congratulates you on a good set before she’s off to do hers. You’re just barely slipping out of your heels when there’s a knock at the door. Thinking it’s a stage manager, you call for them to come in, but you’re surprised when Neil, one of the club managers, walks in. He’s a new face, hired mostly just to fill the vacancy. You don’t know him well – you usually answer to Nicole, but she’s out for the week on a trip.

“Hey, Neil,” you greet, sliding your cover back on to ward off the room’s chill.

“Hello,” he says stiffly. “I’ve got a gentleman in Private Room C. He’s requesting you.”

“I don’t do private dances anymore,” you say, your tone not apologetic. “I think Jess is available.”

Neil sighs. “You know…” he says, trailing off, and you already know he’s about to say something out of pocket. “This is a business. You’re employed here. At a strip club. This is your job. If you were working at McDonald’s, your boss wouldn’t really like it if you refused to make the burger, right?”

You barely resist an eye roll, retorting, “I don’t actually think that’s the same.”

He clears his throat. “Either way, I wasn’t asking. An investor in the private room wants a show from you, so you will do it. You’re the only one here who thinks they’re above the business and refuses to do private shows. Pull your weight or you can find a different club to dance at.”

You raise your brows, meeting his gaze, and smiling in disbelief. “You’re serious?” you ask, laughing uncomfortably. “You can’t fire me. I’ve been here for years.”

“This is Dallas,” he says noncommittally. “We can find someone to replace you. Someone who actually wants to work. Take your pick.”

You stare at him, shaking your head in contemplation. You didn’t want to do the show – it went against the clear boundary you’d set in your relationship early on, one that has been strictly adhered to for the year and some change you and Paige have been dating. But you didn’t want to jeopardize your job, either. Given that Divinity caters to Dallas’s most wealthy, there’s strict rules the patrons have to adhere to to even step foot in the club. It pays extremely well, but this is also the safest you’ll ever be. 

Maybe you’ll get the chance to see Paige before you have to go to the room – just to quickly explain. She’d understand. You knew she would, and that you would make it up to her tenfold. But this feels strangely like betraying her and it leaves a sick feeling in your gut.

“One minute,” you say finally. Neil’s eyes narrow. “One minute is all he gets. You know I don’t do private dances.”

“Five minutes,” Neil bargains. “He’s paying a lot.”

“One minute,” you reiterate. 

“Fine,” he huffs.

You strap your heels back on, trying to control your features. You walk out with Neil following directly behind you. Knowing you won’t be able to detour to find Paige, you slow your steps, scanning the crowd for her. Finally, you spot her at a table in the back, nursing a drink and talking to Arike, clearly not interested in the show anymore. You’re praying for her to look up and meet your gaze before it’s too late – and she does, her expression lighting up at the sight of you before her eyes narrow, knowing where you’re headed. Hoping that she gets the message, you gesture meaningfully to Neil, and she nods, but she looks no less pissed.

Feeling a little more relieved, you try for a smile, pulling back the curtain in the private room and entering. Thankfully, the man sitting on the couch at least looks polite, so you hope that this minute will go by quickly. He attempts to make small talk, commenting on how good your set was as you slide your cover off again, but your heart isn’t in it. Your training goes out of the window and so does every pre-rehearsed line you’ve ever had to use in the past.

You spin, listening for the beat in from the music overhead, but you’re too lost in your thoughts, unable to commit to it fully. Thankfully, you don’t have to for too long because the curtain rips open again.

“Sorry,” Paige says, but she doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic as she steps in between you and the investor, who looks shocked. “She’s spoken for. Scheduling conflict.”

Without waiting for a response from you or the man, she reaches for your cover, wrapping it around your shoulders and ushering you out of the room with her hand on the small of your back. All you feel is a deep relief, letting her lead you to the glass elevators that lead to the private lounges and the managerial offices. The private lounges were usually set aside for reservations, something more elite than the VIP sections, but they’re empty tonight, as are the managerial offices.

The club has a few floors with the managerial offices at the very top. They stick out over the rest of the club almost like a balcony, with floor to ceiling glass walls, allowing for people to stare out at the stage and the seating area, but it’s usually too dim for the patrons to see up. It’s particularly effective for keeping an eye on everything and searching for unruly guests. Up here, it’s like a one way glass – fully private. You can see out but no one can see in.

“I didn’t want to do it,” you rush out as the doors close behind you. You watch the stage disappear as the elevator takes you both up.

Paige’s arm curls fully around your waist, pulling you into her. “I know, baby,” she says, but her voice is still tight. Pissed. Not at you, but at something.

You hardly hear her words. “Neil made me,” you explain, making sure she understands how seriously you see that boundary. You know she knows, but right now, you’re a little anxious, and you want it to be obvious. “He threatened to fire me.”

“I’ll deal with him,” she promises, her voice still dark as she presses her lips to your temple, your forehead. You have no doubt in your mind that she would, but the reassurance makes your heartbeat calm. The elevators open with a sharp ding! Paige leads you out and towards the managerial offices, her hand heavily over your waist, burning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, leaning into her, the cool silk of her fitted, white dress shirt cold against your heated skin. “I was just a little pissed. But I’m good now.” She hums, trailing her fingers down your sides in a way that almost makes you forget. Your body burns for a different reason now. Swallowing thickly, you admit, “Just wanna be close to you.”

You can almost feel Paige’s smile as she dips her head down, her breath hitting your ear. “Do you?” she murmurs, her voice low, sharp, like she’s daring for someone to try to take you away from her. She leads you towards the glass wall, pressing you against it gently, her chest to your back. Your breath hitches, your eyes scanning the floor below you – dozens of people lost in their own world, in the dancer controlling the stage, too unaware of the fact that if they looked up, they’d see Paige Bueckers holding her girlfriend against the glass.

It’s almost thrilling. The fact you can see all of these people, but they can’t see you. You know they can’t see you, even if it looks like they can.

Paige’s hands trail to your shoulders, reaching for your thin, lacy cover, pulling it off with an agonizing slowness. Her lips follow the path, dancing across your shoulders with a gentle laziness, like she has all the time in the world to pick you apart. Her kisses burn, stoking a flame in your belly that’s been ready to ignite since she slipped the bill into your bralette earlier. She calms the heat with her tongue, licking your skin and groaning at the flavor like she can’t get enough of it.

Finally, your cover is off, and she throws it somewhere to the side without a care in the world. Her hands find your hips, squeezing possessively, and a moan slips from your lips when she presses lingering, wet kisses to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder. You shudder when her fingers trail down, slipping under the waistband of your lingerie, but she doesn’t touch you – she just hovers. Something about the reminder that despite it all, despite the many different facets of your life that she doesn’t control, that she refuses to control, your pleasure is the one thing she takes the most pride in. She has all the time in the world to figure out how she wants to touch you, how she wants to work you up.

“Just want me to take care of you, don’t you?” she hums against your skin. You nod immediately, feeling the flush settle on your skin, something in your brain floating away because you know you’re safe here. You can relax and let Paige handle it all. She kisses your skin once more before finally, she presses her hips into you, and your breath stutters. You can feel the outline of the strap in her pants, every maddening inch of the silicone. It makes you shudder with want, your arousal already leaking out and soaking your lingerie – you can feel it.

Something smart returns to you and you laugh a little, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder, letting her wrap you up fully. Slowly, she grinds the strap against you, her breath coming a little heavier due to the dual stimulation. “Optimist, are you?”

Paige bites the lobe of your ear, her smile turning a little dark as she pulls you tighter against her. “JJ wanted to go out,” she murmurs in your ear, slipping her hand fully under the waistband of your lingerie. “Some club called Divinity, she said. Figured my girl would want a little break. Just me and her, a private room. She works so hard, you know?” Her fingers find your wetness like it’s second nature and she groans in delight when she discovers just how slick, how ready you are. “Oh, baby,” she coos, her voice dripping in sin and concern. “All this for me?”

“Nobody else,” you affirm, and she rewards you with a deep kiss to your jaw, a firmer swipe against your clit. It makes your hips buck before she steadies you. “P, please, need it so bad.”

“I know,” she says. Her fingers are everything and nothing, reaching down to your entrance, gathering the arousal pooled there, and using it to rub maddening circles against you. The stimulation is simultaneously overwhelming and not enough, especially coupled with the realization that anyone could look up and see Paige Bueckers ruining you against a window.

Her hips are insistent against yours, controlled in how they give you the slightest bit of friction before pulling away. You’re aware she’s holding you up fully by this point, so you give into it, reaching up with your right hand to thread your fingers through her hair, dragging her back down to your neck.

She doesn’t hesitate, her tongue licking from the base of your throat to your pulse point, smiling when she feels the relentless pounding of your heart against her lips. You can’t find it within yourself to be ashamed, not when her fingers are circling your sensitive clit like her pleasure depends on whether or not you’re feeling good.

“All those people down there…” Paige whispers, her teeth scraping against your skin, the heat of her grin branding her name into your skin. “They don’t know what I have up here. That the woman they throw their salary at comes home to me. That I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Touch you like this.”

“Fuck, Paige,” you whimper, feeling boneless when her fingers speed up ever so slightly, your body trembling and buzzing under her ministrations. She presses her lips against your shoulder, teeth sinking into the muscle there, not letting up until a dark spot blooms under her touch. She kisses it gently, tongue swiping over the mark, almost as though she’s rewarding you for being good, for taking it. Her pride unravels you and your breathing comes in quick bursts, feeling ready to fall apart.

“You want my fingers, mama?” she coos, shaking her head in displeasure when you nod.

She doesn’t have to say anything – you correct yourself immediately when the fingers on your clit slow. Your fingers tighten in her hair for stability as you babble, “Want them, P, please. Want you to make me feel good. Please–” You cut yourself off with a moan when her fingers resume their speed and press a little firmer into you.

“That’s it,” Paige soothes, her lips kissing your heated skin gently, her soft words a gentle contrast from the intensity of her fingers. It’s nearly shocking, the dual sensations muddling your brain. “Lean against the window for me.”

You do as she says, letting her guide you to her liking, your palms pressed flat against the glass. Your forehead presses against the window, the sweat beading at your hairline smudging the surface, and Paige enters your personal space immediately. She tangles her fingers into the waistband of your lingerie and pulls them down your thighs with a devastating slowness, groaning to herself when a strand of your slick sticks to the fabric and breaks when the stretch is too much. The lingerie pools at your knees and Paige presses her hips flush against your ass, grinding against you until you’re pushing back in search of friction.

You don’t have the time to beg. She reads the sheer need in your expression immediately, her arms wrapping around your waist, knees pushing your legs apart. Your breath fogs against the glass, and if you look close enough, you can just barely see your reflection staring back at you – hair messy, lips red from your teeth, the shine of your neck from Paige’s efforts. You can see the sharp outline of her smile, too, like the idea of claiming you in front of everyone in this club is exciting.

She wasn’t usually jealous. You were hers, she was yours, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. But possessive? She wanted to show everyone who you were with, who gets to take the skimpy lingerie off of you after long nights. She wants everyone to be well aware of the fact that while they’re the ones fantasizing, she’s the one who gets to hold, to touch, to ruin you for anyone else.

Her mouth finds your neck while the opening notes of Kali Uchis’s Territorial reverberates through the club below. You can feel the bass coursing through your veins, the tinkling strings raising goosebumps on your flesh. Every sensation nearly fades to background noise when Paige’s fingers settle on your clit again, dragging through your folds to coat them in your slick, and her middle finger probes your entrance before sliding in with ease.

The motion punches dual moans from the both of you, yours in pleasure, hers in a near disbelief. No matter how many times she gets you off, the feeling of your cunt sucking up her fingers is one that gets her right every time. You clench, already feeling her brush against the spot that makes electricity course down your spine, moaning wantonly when she curls just right.

With her free hand, she cups your chest, thumb brushing against a nipple covered by the thin lace of your top. You gasp at the feeling, your forehead dropping onto the glass, fingers twisting around nothing, and the hand kneading your breast redirects to lift your chin. “Watch them,” Paige orders, her voice rough, wrecked. “Let them see who’s fucking you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, heat coiling in your belly at her words. You try to focus, you really do, but your vision blurs when Paige slides in her ring finger, her pace increasing in speed and intensity. If keeping your eyes on the club below you wasn’t hard enough, then it becomes near impossible when Paige’s slow grind against your ass starts up again, her soft sighs and choked moans like music to your ears as she chases a high you have to strain to see.

Her reflection in the glass is the perfect image of someone who’s ruined. Her hair is a mess from how you tangled your fingers in the strands, her brows pinched together in pleasure when the base of the strap brushes against her clit just right. It’s hot – really, really fucking hot, watching and listening to Paige lose her mind rutting against you while her fingers work you up to a quickly approaching high.

The flames lick at your skin, sweat slicking every inch of your body, your breath fogging the glass in front of you. The knowledge that you’re wholly hers combined with the feeling of her fingers scissoring in and out of you, knowing which buttons to push as if you were an extension of her, makes you keen, your hips unsure of whether or not they should buck into her or grind down in time with her fingers. You settle on both, gyrating and chasing your high, but you all but whine when her hand abandons your chin to press against your sensitive clit.

It’s overwhelming – Paige’s fingers curling inside you, pushing in and out relentlessly, her opposite hand rubbing delicious circles against your needy clit, the strap against your ass, your nipples brushing against the cool glass, and the breathless sound of your girlfriend’s moans as she gets off behind you is enough to push you closer and closer to the peak. With a broken gasp, you cry out, “Fuck, P, close,” and she nods against the sweat-slick skin of your neck.

Her hips slam into yours with a little more intensity, pushing you into the glass, both of her hands increasing their pace and pressure in tandem. “I know, mama,” she rasps, leaving marks on your skin, the indents of her teeth left in their wake. Paige sounds destroyed, like she’s moments away from unraveling completely. All that does is push you to the edge. “Give it to me, baby. Gonna make me so proud, aren’t you? My perfect girl.”

You come with a breathless shudder, unable to force the words through your windpipe, and Paige sags against you, her lips jerking messily while her fingers slowly work you through the lingering shockwaves of your orgasm. The cool glass is like a balm against your skin, the sensation so needed while your skin burns and sizzles from the electricity. Paige is panting heavily into your ear – it reminds you that she’d gotten off, too, just from grinding against you. That makes the heat coiling in your belly return tenfold.

You push yourself off of the glass window, hardly thinking about the smudges on the surface, and Paige steadies your hips when your legs tremble. You turn in her embrace, smiling when she wraps you up, pressing your back against the glass now. She kisses your lips – deep, lingering, tongue probing for an entrance that you grant immediately. With her left hand, she pulls your lingerie off completely, tossing the bottoms to the side haphazardly, and she lifts you into her arms with ease. Your legs wrap around her waist, arms around her neck, as she begins mouthing down your chest.

“Nicole’s gonna be so pissed when she gets back from her trip and realizes someone got defiled against her glass window,” you mutter in between heaving breaths.

Paige smirks against your skin, dragging your bra down with her teeth, encircling a nipple with her lips, causing you to gasp. “Defiled is crazy work,” she mumbles. “I prefer worship.”

“You’re annoying,” you say, your body betraying your words when you arch into her mouth.

She squeezes your ass, walking the two of you backwards until her knees hit an armchair and she sinks down, pulling you onto her lap. The front of her pants are wet – you can’t tell if it’s yours, or hers, or a mixture of both, but it just makes you hungry when you pull her up to kiss you again. “You’re spoiled,” she retorts, fingers reaching up for the clasps of your bra. You let her pull it off you completely, smiling to yourself when she stares at you like you’re one of the ancient wonders of the world. “And so, so fucking fine. Jesus.”

You laugh against her lips, your fingers working on unbuckling her belt. She lifts her hips to help you pull her pants and boxers down in one quick motion and you quirk a brow at the sight of the slick between her thighs. You swipe a finger through the wetness accumulated on her legs, sucking it into your mouth with an indulgent moan. That makes the smug smile on her face disappear, and she grips your thighs tightly like she’d lose her mind if you weren’t on her strap immediately. “Can’t believe you came untouched,” you tease, your fingers dancing across the silicone gently. Paige tenses like she could feel it.

“You could touch me right now and fix that,” she offers, voice a little choked, her hips bucking up in invitation. You can’t help the way your mouth waters, knowing that Paige would have you right in minutes.

Instead of giving her what she wants, you stand up, your heels still giving you a slight height advantage over her as she manspreads in the armchair. She pouts, looking disappointed at your departure, but you lean over her and begin unbuttoning her shirt. With your breasts so close to her face, she looks determinedly less upset, although you have to swat her hand away when she tries to touch you.

“Rule one of lap dances,” you murmur, voice silky smooth, “is that you can’t touch the performers.”

“Shit,” she breathes, eyes widening in realization. “You’re killin’ me, mama.”

With her shirt fully unbuttoned, you slide it off her shoulders, leaving her in a dark sports bra. You grin at her wickedly, pulling her shirt over your arms as you coo, “I know.” Her jaw falls open in lust and disbelief at the sight of you – messy, fucked out, and wearing nothing but your heels and her shirt, which is multiple sizes too big on you. You don’t button it, but the message is the same. Paige always liked seeing you in her clothes, and now? You can tell she’s actually going to lose her mind.

She leans back in the armchair, one hand gripping the armrest, the other resting on her thigh, fingers twitching. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen so much unadulterated want on her face. With the Kali Uchis song still playing distantly in the club, you stalk over to her in slow, calculated movements, hips swaying. Paige doesn’t know where to look – your face, your chest, the glistening spot in between your legs. She breathes heavily the closer you get.

You settle both hands on the armrests, leaning over her, not reprimanding her when her lips brush against your chest, seeking out your nipples. You inch closer to her ear, breath fanning against the shell of it as you murmur the lyrics of the song to her. “See, I’m a lover, but I’ll go to war about mine, toe to toe.” Her breath hitches, but you’re gone as quickly as you’d come, turning your back to her.

Your hips move sensually, hypnotically, and you can feel that you have Paige’s undivided attention. Reaching for her left hand, you bring it to your waist, allowing her to lift the back of your shirt so she can get a clear view of your ass. She groans emphatically, her hand falling to squeeze your flesh. It makes your breath catch, too, the feel of her hand swallowing your skin.

You spin around again, the song fading away with the lyrics, “Once I claim my territory, I get territorial,” but you stop in your tracks. Paige’s free hand is wrapped around the strap, stroking absentmindedly as if it were an extension of herself, veins popping and expression gone. You’re throbbing immediately, wanting nothing more than to crawl onto her lap and let her have her way with you, but she takes matters into her own hands.

Paige reaches out for you, spinning you until your back is to her, and she lowers you gently. You sink down slowly. The stretch is delicious, nearly overwhelming as it splits you open, and the both of you moan at the feeling. Both of her hands reach up to cup your breasts as your ass settles flush against her lap, the strap hitting deep inside, and you’re feeling so wound up you could probably fall apart right now with her breathing unevenly in your ear, fingers tweaking your nipples, and her hands kneading your breasts.

Her manspread widens, her hips bucking up to drag the strap in and out of you. You grip the armrest with both hands, using it to lift yourself up and down, head throwing back in a drawn out moan when Paige emphasizes a thrust with a pinch. The slight sting of pain mixes with the pleasure, creating a heady, devastating feeling in your core, and you melt when Paige licks a stripe up your neck again, sucking bruises into the skin of your shoulder.

Her right hand drops, leaving her left to brush against your nipples, traveling down your front to brush through your folds. You gasp at the feeling, whimpering when she coats her fingers in your slick and starts circling your clit again. She curses under her breath. You can’t tell for sure if it’s because of the sheer amount of wetness waiting for her or if it’s because she glanced down, watching your cunt suck the strap right in. Regardless of the reasons, her hips are canting up against yours, timing your thrusts together.

It doesn’t take long before moans are tumbling from your lips quicker now. Her fingers speed up, rubbing against your oversensitive clit with precision and pressure, the hand that was fondling your breasts dropping down to your hip to help you ride her, your legs giving out from the pleasure and the exertion. She’s rambling nonsense in your ear, more sound than words, but you’re able to make out, “You feel so good, mama, taking me so well. So fucking perfect for me. Want you to come for me, please, baby – give it to me–”

The sound of her breathless moans in your ear, the pressure of her fingers on your clit, her hand bruising your hips – it’s enough to send you over the edge. With hardly a warning, you spill all over her lap, your slick soaking the strap, the armchair beneath you, and she brings you down from your high with incoherent words and slowing her thrusts and fingers.

Energy gone, you’re more than ready to curl up with her in this armchair, but her hips shift – discreetly, like she’s still searching for her release and trying to play it off like she’s just trying to get comfortable. It makes you feel guilty immediately. She makes a soft noise of protest as you hoist yourself off her lap, your legs wobbling, and she shoots forward to steady you, a look of confusion on her face. The confusion melts into desire when you sink to your knees before her, fingers reaching to unbuckle the harness, but she pauses you with a hand to your wrists.

“You don’t gotta–” she tries, but you cut her off with a firm, “Paige Madison,” and she shuts up immediately, leaning back in the armchair. You haphazardly discard the strap to the side, curling your arms around her thighs. Before you press your lips to her dripping cunt, she grabs your loose hair, holding it in a ponytail with her hand. You kiss her clit in thanks, smiling when her hips jolt and she sighs softly.

You brush the flat of your tongue across her slit in one smooth motion, moaning at the taste and at the feeling of her grip tightening in your hair, dragging you closer to her. Listening to her wordless command and knowing that she probably doesn’t need much to come, you drink her up like you’re parched, sucking her clit in your mouth and suctioning with your lips. Paige grunts, her hips bucking up, and you don’t stop her, letting her chase her high against your mouth.

You alternate between kitten licks against her clit and long, flat strokes of your tongue against her cunt. It’s not often that you get to see her like this – fucked out and ruined, pliant and soft beneath you, dripping messily onto the surface below, but it never fails to activate a part of your brain that wants to watch her come over and over again.

Wanting to see her fall apart beneath you, you double down on your efforts, your tongue sliding messily through her folds and sucking at her clit until she cries out. You tighten your grip just as she tightens her grip on your hair, pulling you even closer into her – and if this is the last thing you see before you drown, her soaked cunt and the watery, pleading expression on her face, then you think you’d die a happy woman.

“Fuck, mama, ‘m so close,” she rambles, her hips moving against you with a fervor, chest heaving. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

You hum against her, and she whines, moans falling from her lips until she chokes on the last one. Her thighs tense around you, caging you in as she comes, a long, drawn out groan reverberating through the room while you work her through the aftershocks. You lick once more, twice, until she releases your hair and pushes you away, too sensitive after two orgasms.

Paige doesn’t let you get too far. She pulls you back onto her lap, arms wrapping around your waist while you wipe her slick off of your cheeks, sucking the taste off of your fingers. She catches your wrist on the last one, sucking your thumb into her mouth and humming emphatically at your combined tastes. You smile coyly at her, thinking about nothing more than getting her home tonight and making her writhe. You sit motionlessly in her lap while she cleans off all of your fingers.

“You want more?” you ask teasingly, not really meaning it, but raising your brows when she nods quickly, her eyes blown wide. The heat is already licking at you as you grip her jaw with one hand, leaning over her face, and her mouth opens obediently. You let a string of saliva fall from your mouth directly onto her tongue and she swallows immediately with a low groan of pleasure.

You don’t get to say much else before she’s pulling you back in, your lips crashing together messily, her tongue swiping across your lips in search of more. It draws a ragged moan from you, one that she monopolizes on instantly. It’s like she’s trying to swallow you alive, to memorize the way you taste when her slick is on your tongue. It makes your brain spin pleasantly before she pulls away, a dangerous sort of glint in her eyes, but it softens when she sees the blissed out smile on your face.

“You okay?” she murmurs, squeezing your hips, and just like that, the heat of the moment fades – for now.

“I should be asking you that,” you joke. “Could have sworn you blacked out for a moment.”

“Shit, I might have,” she agrees, drawing a breathless giggle from you. You lean your head on your chest, listening to the vibration of her voice against you as she asks. “For real. You’re okay?”

You don’t have to ask for clarity to know she’s referring to before, to Neil. “I’m okay,” you promise, more glad than anything that Paige came in when she did. “Nicole’s gonna be pissed, though. Not even about the window.”

Paige hums, the sound almost noncommittal, but you’ve been with her long enough to know she’s being dead serious about a situation. If the moment were any lighter, she’d probably make a joke about you snitching – but you might be the one thing in the world she doesn’t play about. “I’ll handle him,” she swears, her tone hard enough that it makes you shift on her lap. She doesn’t even notice, which amuses you, but she continues speaking, her voice thoughtful. “I know you like working here. Dancing. It’s safe for you. But don’t let that make you feel like…you don’t have other options, you know? As long as I’m around, you don’t have to worry. Don’t let Neil – or anyone else – threaten to take this place away from you. Your safety and happiness are important to me.”

You soften, her words hitting home. Paige doesn’t pressure you to say anything – she never does, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin. “Thank you,” you say eventually, and she makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, like that’s something she needs to be thanked for. Paige would move mountains for you – you knew that. “I appreciate that. And for you looking out for me.”

Paige presses a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against your skin, and she murmurs, “You’re my girl. I’ll always look out for you. Especially when you dance like that.”

You roll your eyes as she laughs, but you’re inexplicably happy. You kiss her again, softly requesting, “Take me home?” and Paige doesn’t hesitate. Not even a little bit, even though her clothes are a mess, her mascara is flaking, and she looks like she’s been put through a woodchipper. Your girlfriend might be a little territorial, but the one thing you know about her is that she’s always going to make sure you’re taken care of.

(When you wake up in the morning to Paige’s smug grin, you check the work group chat at her insistence, where Nicole is informing everyone about Neil’s termination. 

“Neil got fired,” you say flatly.

“Oh, wow,” Paige says innocently, but her beaming grin breaks through her feigned nonchalance. “That’s really unfortunate.”

You huff in amusement, turning off your phone and setting it on the nightstand. You swing a leg over her waist to straddle her and she wastes no time before resting her hands on your hips, sinking into the pillows beneath her, a chain glimmering in the morning sunlight, her smile far too satisfied. “You’re insane,” you murmur, like it bothers you. It doesn’t.

“Mmm,” she hums, pulling you down to her level to kiss you. “Think you like it.”

All you can do is grin, because you do. You really, really do like it.)

[romanreignsbae]

the warmth between us - chapter 1

a/n: sorry for the delay on this guys! i hope you all enjoy the first chapter of the warmth between us!!!

word count: 4k

tw: just a touch of angst and maybe some fluff! 🥰

Shutting the door behind her, Valentina flipped the sign on her flower shop's door from closed to open. The crisp morning air had her in a good mood for today’s predictably not so busy Tuesday. Opening up barely a month ago, Valentina had come to learn Tuesdays were typically the least busiest day of the week. Streets were empty, barely any cars around, let alone people, especially on this side of town.

To say the least, Valentina surprisingly enjoyed when it was busy. Not only because of the fact she was making her well earned money, though that was surely a plus. She just enjoyed interacting with others. She didn’t get the chance to interact with many people often, so when she could it was always appreciated.

But then again…what did she expect moving to a big city. All alone..no family, no friends, just her and her puppy, Aurora.

It was a sad and quiet experience, but in some way peaceful? She’d never felt so at peace before, but also never so bored.

Valentina has always leaned to be more on the shy side. To people she didn’t know, she was quiet, barely speaking at all. But when she warmed up to someone they’d never hear her shut up.

Nonetheless, opening 'Marianna’s' had always been her dream. From a young age it's all shes ever wanted. Her grandmother, whom she named her flower shop after, was one of the large influences for her love for gardening. Valentina would spend her whole summer break planting flowers all around her house, street, neighborhood. Valentina loved the concept of caring for something so beautiful, it made her feel like she has a purpose.

The phone ringing behind her desk cut off her thoughts. She dropped the pink roses she was holding and rushed to the phone.

"Hi, I'm Valentina, how can I help you?" she asked with a relatively cheerful tone. She didn’t get phone calls often, most people would just drop by. It was simpler that way. She had come to learn when people called, most of the time they had orders.

"Hi! I believe i'm calling ‘Marianna’s’?" The voice on the other side of the phone seemed to come from a woman. She sounded friendly and like she was around her age.

"That's correct,” Valentina wondered who would be calling bright and early at this time. It was unlikely to have customers this early, and rarely did she ever get phone calls. “how can I help you?"

"I actually work right beside you. Reigns Enterprises." Valentina always took notice of the large building, the building which was practically attached to her little shop. It was absolutely humongous, towering over every building in sight. She was impressed they even took notice of her building.

"Wow, really?"

"Yes! My husband’s cousin is actually the CEO," Valentina paused. She had heard of Roman Reigns. The CEO of Reigns Enterprises. She knew he was known for his hostility and hard work ethic. The voice on the other side of the phone spoke again “It's kinda his birthday, and well, we know he doesn't like to do much..so we just thought we'd order some flowers for him. Something small, but meaningful.”

"Aw! That's really sweet of you guys! Is there anything specific you'd like?" A big company like Reigns Enterprises ordering flowers meant a lot. If she made a good impression, the possibility of them ordering again would be likely. "Not at all, we know absolutely nothing about flowers! But, just one small favour, would you mind dropping the flowers off here? I know you may be busy but the streets out are kinda dead.”

Valentina glanced outside, the streets really were dead empty, no one in sight. Plus, it'd be cool to drop off flowers to such a professional company. "You know what, sure!"

"Just tell the people at the front, Naomi ordered flowers. I'll let them know too in case."

Hanging up the phone, Valentina skipped around her shop putting together the best bouquet she could. Grabbing a mix of red and pink roses, she tied it up the bouquet, and locked up her shop. Within less than a minute Valentina was walking into the absolutely humongous, slightly intimidating building.

The interior Reigns Enterprises was nicer then the exterior, if even possible. Valentina could even see her reflection coming off the spotless white floor. She approached the two female sectaries, who gave her a look up and down.

She blushed as she remembered her dress wasn't exactly appropriate to wear in a place like Reigns Enterprises. She smiled kindly before beginning to speak.

"Hi! I'm Val-"

"Yeah, we know, the flower girl. Head on up to the the last floor. Last door in the left hallway." The secretary was straight forward, she had a pair of large square glasses on, with an oversized yellow blouse. She had a look of disapproval on her face. A small frown came across Valentina's face, but was quickly covered up by smile.

She stood in the large elevator with the flowers tucked under her right arm. Following instructions she was headed to the top floor, nervously smiling the few employees that would hop on and off the elevator at each floor.

Knocking on the two large doors, Valentina awaited to finally meet Naomi. Instead what she didn't expect was male voice to respond in a "What?" that sounded so ever bothered.

Valentina gulped softly, before opening the door slowly. There sat a man, an undeniably handsome man, his hair slicked back perfectly, a suit the hugged his seemingly perfect body, and she couldn’t ignore the bothered look spread across his face.

She hadn’t realized she was staring at him, he looked at her dumbfounded. She fiddled with her fingers nervously, speaking in a small voice.

"Hi, i'm Valentina. I'm here to drop off the flowers that were ordered." The man looked at her intently. His face began turning a bright shade of pink, alongside his ears, indicating one thing, anger. “What fucking flowers? I didn't order anything."

"I got a call- They told me-"

"Well, I didn't fucking call. How stupid are you? Do you know who I am?" Valentina was visibly taken back by his sudden lash out. Her cheeks began to heat up of embarrassment. She hadn’t been exposed to this behaviour for…awhile now.

"No..I don't know who you are.." she whispered nervously while staring at the floor. He scowled darkly.

"I own the fucking building your standing in." His voice oozed pure confidence. Valentina peered up at him, as it all clicked. Who else would have a large office at the very top of the building? Roman Reigns.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I believe I was supposed to drop these off to someone by the name of Naomi," Pure fear overcame Valentina's body, wondering if the stories shes heard of this man were true. His brows furrowed slightly. In attempt to be respectful she began to address the reason she was sent here in the first place. "Happy Birthday by the wa-"

"That's it! That's fucking it! Get the fuck out of my office!" His hands slammed harshly on his desk. Valentina's body shook in surprise. She didn't expect that. Tears came to her eyes out of pure shock. She dropped the flowers on the floor and she could feel the tears coming.

Without second thought she ran out of his office, scrambling to the emergency exit staircase. Running down the steps, she left the building, heading back to her own shop. She couldn't believe people were actually so mean.

————

"Roman! I can't believe you acted that way! She seemed so sweet!" And beautiful Roman thought to himself. He couldn't believe Naomi actually ordered flowers for him. He rubbed his temples for what felt like the 100th time today.

He was just having a frustrating day, and took it all out on the girl who was told by his dumbass secretaries to come up to his office. He could see the way her eyes watered when he yelled at her. The guilt was now all settling in while Naomi was telling him off.

"I want you to go down there, right now and apologize." Roman chuckled at her words. "In your fucking dreams." Naomi looked at Jimmy for back up. Jimmy scoffed, before then taking notice of Naomi’s very serious look.

"C'mon Uce. Ole girl really did seem nice. Naomi had her on speakerphone. She seems real passionate bout her job." Roman looked daggers his way, while Jimmy looked at the floor, stifling his laugh. Jey, sat on the sofa, also trying not to crack up.

Roman could still vividly remember the way her pretty brown eyes were full of warmth. And how sad they looked after he acted like a goddamn nutcase.

She was beautiful either way though. That was one of the first things he noticed about her. Her beautiful eyes, the way they looked so soft and kind, her soft full lips, and her perfect figure. She was undeniably beautiful.

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Roman." Naomi spoke like she could get Roman out of his seat to go apologize. But, he also knew she wouldn't stop bickering to him about it till he did so. If there was one thing about Naomi, it was that she’s determined. Roman admired the hustle, but also got pissed off time to time.

"Fine," he spoke gruffly. "Don't expect me to fucking mean it though."

"I'll come with you, uce." Jey spoke his eyes moving from his phone to Roman. "Anything to get away from Sami ass."

The pair began to leave the room, Roman moving as fast as he could to just get this dumb shit over with. Jey however taking his sweet time, slightly causing Roman to want to yell at him.

“Her name is Valentina by the way!” Naomi called out as they left the room. A stunning name for a stunning woman, Roman thought to himself.

Roman and Jey both looked up at the girlish flower shop. It was called 'Marianna’s" the whole place was decked out in colour. How fucking ironic. Roman did wonder how the name ‘Marianna’s’ applied to her. Naomi called her Valentina, so this definitely resonated elsewhere.

"Let's do this, fast."

The door of the flower shop was so small, Roman swore if he straightened out he would have a fucking concussion from the short ass doorway. The smell of fresh flowers was all over the small shop. He saw the familiar girl sitting on a crate, sorting out the different coloured roses laid across the floor.

He couldn't seem to ignore the small frown on her face. The frown he may have had something to do with. He didn't know why, but that made his heart twitch. The fuck.

"Hey, sweetheart." Jey spoke slyly catching Valentinas attention. She softly smiled, her plump lips pressing against each other. "Hi, anything I can do to help you?"

Roman didn't know why, but he didn't like Jey talking to her. Calling her sweetheart and shit. That wasn't his place to do so. She got up from the crate she was sitting on and walked towards Jey. She then realized he wasn't exactly alone.

Her eyes moved from Jey to Roman, her smiling dropping. "My big cousin wants to apologize to you.." Jey started talking. Her eyes widened slightly. Roman moved a few steps towards her, maintaining eye contact.

"I'm sorry for speaking to you the way I did..it's- it’s just been a rough day, that's all." He spoke in an exhausted tone. He truly was exhausted. Always being in his office, and living off of 4-5 hours of sleep wouldn’t exactly make him the happiest person.

Her small smile reappeared as she nodded her head understandingly. "It's okay, I get it. We all have those days."

For some reason that made Roman feel even worse. He knows damn well if someone spoke to him that way he’d be pissed the fuck off, but she was so easily forgiving. It made him feel like shit all over again.

She was naive. He could read people well, and knew she was the type to forgive and forget too easily. He realized his anger had slightly simmered down too.

He nodded his head at her before turning around to leave. That's when he realized Jey wasn't moving. He was in a trance staring at her, with a small smile playing on his lips. She giggled when Roman pulled him back roughly by his shoulder catching his attention.

"Time to go. Now." Roman once again didn’t know why, but he felt angry all over again that Jey was looking at her like that. Like he wanted her. He doesn't even fucking know her.

The two left the shop walking back to the building.

"Don't try no shit with her." Jey looked surprised by Roman's tone. He sounded almost possessive. "Why not? You like her?" Jey said half jokingly half serious. His big cousin has never told him off regarding anything to do with a girl. Roman looked at him with a small scowl.

"Fuck no. Just don't try no shit." He spoke with a unwavering voice. He sounded convincing. "Aight, Uce. You got my word.”

------

The last thing Valentina expected from Roman was a apology. More surprisingly, a seemingly genuine apology. Her thoughts were cut off again by the door opening. This time a beautiful woman, a woman with a dark complexion walked through the doors of her shop.

"Hi, I'm Naomi. We spoke over the phone," Valentina was now also wondering what Naomi was doing here. “I’m also here to apologize for that whole misunderstanding. I shoulda been more clear with the secretaries instead of sending you straight to Roman’s office.”

Valentina did not expect that. Her eyes widene, not exactly knowing how to respond. “Oh um- that’s totally okay! Mistakes happen.”

Naomi walks towards her, leaning onto a table. “I just thought i’d come here to chill for a bit, feels good to actually interact with a female. I’m stuck with stupid men alllll day long.”

Valentina giggled softly before she decided to switch topics out of curiosity. “Was the man that came here with Roman your husband?”

Naomi laughed loudly. “No, that’s actually his twin brother, Jey.” Twins? “My husbands name is Jimmy.” Naomi looked at Valentina before beginning to speak again.

“You know what, tomorrow head on over to the building, and bring some of your pretty flowers,” Her eyes danced across the shop taking everything in. “You can help me decorate for the business dinner we’re hosting. We don't need anything super crazy, maybe just a little something to make the atmosphere look a little…happier.”

Valentina thought it through. It didn’t seem like a bad idea, and Naomi’s right, some female interaction even for her would be nice. “Sounds good, i’ll be there!"

Naomi smiled pleased, she stood up straight and walked to the door. “Be there 9 on the dot! See ya, Val!”

----

Walking into the same building that almost had her shedding tears, Valentina felt a wave of anxiety in her stomach. She had her rolling stand full of boxes with all sorts of flowers and decorations.

She was almost..scared? Not necessarily scared of the people, just the situation. Roman.

He’s all that’s been on her mind. The way he was utterly upset with her, but also genuinely apologized to her.

Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he seemed?

This time Valentina didn’t bother approaching the secretaries. Naomi texted her to inform security would just let her in, and she could go straight to her office.

Walking in, there Naomi stood laughing with two men. Twins. The man with the shorter hair who she recognized to be the man who came with Roman yesterday. And the other man with longer hair, hair that was coloured half red, that was obviously Naomi’s husband.

“H-hi..” Making her presence aware.

The trio all turned to look over with smiles on their faces. Valentina took in how similar the twins looked, hair being a way to tell them apart.

“Yay, you’re here!” A smiling Naomi walked over linking arms with Valentina.

“This is my husband Jimmy,” Naomi pointed at the man with long hair. Jimmy smiled kindly at her, with a small wave. “Wudup?!” Valentina could already tell Jimmy was a ball of energy. “And this is Jey, my brother in law.”

Jey seemed to be a little more serious. But a smile formed on his face nonetheless, added alongside a small nod.

“Aight! Let’s start then!”

While working on putting the meeting together, Valentina couldn’t ignore the way Jey kept on staring at her. Jey would stare at her for minutes on end, looking like he was trying to figure her out. It almost gave her a weird feeling in her tummy. She didn’t know if she liked him staring at her or not.

However, within 30 minutes, the four of them had the meeting room looking happier, more alive. Naomi had a look of proudness on her face. “We did a pretty good job.”

“Damn straight. Wait till Roman sees this he’s gonna be impres-”

The door behind them opened abruptly. Turning around, there Roman stood. Valentina took notice in his perfectly pulled back hair, and his sleek black suit. He looked…well..like a business man.

“You guys did a pretty good job,” Roman glanced around the room, with almost a hint of impression on his face. Valentina wanted to impress him.

Unaware of the fact he was staring almost directly at her. Valentina’s cheeked turned a warm shade of pink as she broke eye contact. She could still feel his eyes on her and as she looked down at the floor.

“O-Okay, i’m gonna head out..”

“I’ll walk you ou-” Jey was cut off by Roman. “No. I’ll walk you out.”

A scowl appeared on Jey’s face which was quickly followed by his fists clenching, then unclenching. Roman took notice immediately, barking, “Is there a fucking problem?”

“Nah, Uce. No problem at all.”

Naomi and Jimmy shared worried glances taking in the situation. Jey was a hothead, and Roman was just…well, Roman. Roman had an amused look on his face, with a small smirk playing on his lips. He always got what he wanted.

Everyone knew the cousins could get along well enough, and in the blink eye turn into each others fucking enemies. Its just the way Roman and Jey have always been. No one questioned it. There was no need to. It’d been this way since they were kids.

---

Walking into the elevator together, Valentina couldn’t help but notice the strong masculine scent coming off Roman. He smelt…expensive.

“Ya’ll did a good job, I can give you that.” His tone wasn’t hostile like yesterday. He sounded like a genuine normal person.

Valentina always loved hearing positive feedback from people regarding her job. This was definitely something she would not be taking lightly. The Roman Reigns just told her he was impressed with her work.

Her cheeks once again felt heated as she replied hesitantly. “Thank you…it..means a lot.”

“How long you been into flowers?” Valentina surely didn’t expect Roman to keep the conversation going. It was unlike him to.

“Well…my grandma introduced me to more so gardening. We used to plant all sorts of flowers though. When I was younger i’d always help her garden in our backyard. Every summer it was all we’d do.” Valentina felt a wave of emotion come through her. Eyes watering at the thought of her favourite person, Valentina felt so suddenly small and vulnerable. “I miss her so much..”

Roman’s eyes softened at her words. He stared at her as he debated on how to reply. He wasn’t all too good with this feelings shit. “I understand…loss is hard on everyone,” Debating if he should continue speaking, he settled on not being a total dick. “Everyday it gets easier and easier. I promise. Can I ask when your grandmother passed?”

Valentina eyes widened in surprise to Roman’s reaction. She didn’t expect any comfort from him. And especially not a follow up question. Today was completely full of surprises.

She smiled softly at the thought of her grandma. The kindest, most caring, and beautiful person to ever grace her in life.

“She passed away about 3 months ago. She had just turned 83. I actually opened this flower shop in honour of her. She taught me all about flowers and gardening.”

Roman nodded his head, with an unreadable look on his face. “Shit, so her death was recent. I’m not surprised you’re still upset about it. It was recent. But, like I said, day by day, shit does get easier.”

A smile spread across Valentine's face. Roman couldn't help but softly smile back at her. This damn girl was contagious. He didn't know why but a smile on her face, made him feel....at ease?

The elevator opening stopped Romans thoughts. He moved aside for her to step out first. He didn't know why but he felt the need to be kind to her. Poor girl owned a small flower shop, and looks like she’d cry is anyone raised their voice at her. He had some lingering guilt in him from his little breakdown he had yesterday.

Walking out the doors of the elevator, Valentina couldn't help but notice the nasty side eyes the same secretaries were giving her. She never liked have eyes on her, and felt herself becoming nervous.

Breathing out as they finally leave the building, Valentina goes to thank Roman. "I really appreciate your advice," she truly did. He obviously seemed to know what he’s talking about. It couldn’t help but to cross Valentina’s mind if Roman has ever lost anyone that meant a lot to him. Nonetheless she replies in a simple way. “And you’re right. Day by day things do get easier."

Roman nodded with a small smile on his face. Walking to the front of Valentina’s flower shop, Roman planted his feet, eyes lingering from the bottom of the shop, to the top.

“I’ll give to you. You’ve done a pretty good job with the place already. I see people walking round here with flowers all the time recently,” Valentina blushed profusely over his praise.

His eyes moved back to her, he looked unsure of what to say next, but spoke with confidence nonetheless. “Tell you what, if you need any business advice, or even someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

He was so bold. Valentina could barely respond with the mixed emotions coming over her. She barely mumbled out a quiet “thank you,” before smiling softly, staring at the floor. “I appreciate it.”

Roman nodded his head, his eyes moving over her once more before he turned around, walking back to his building, leaving her with a bundle of emotions to unpack.

all likes and reblogs are appreciated!! i’d love to hear everyone’s thoughts! i hope everyone enjoyed chapter 1 💗💗

[doodlejoltik]

oh my GOSH you wrote a whole beautiful essay about this. seriously blushing rn, I'm going to fall over and then bounce around the room like an overexcited steam kettle (/very positive)

[everything else below the cut because i started rambling]

I actually really love looking at paintings, especially maritime ones! went to a maritime museum only about a month ago? and you're so right about paintings being able to capture Movement and Mood and Story in such a unique way. many of the paintings I saw were also quite old ones, before photography would've been portable or easy. they perhaps depicted wrecks and disasters that nobody would've photographed at the time. whether wholly imagined or from reference, they portrayed the experience of something.

which is why I'm so, so flattered that you're describing my Own painting that way. the way you've broken down the things you noticed, the little tweaks that make the screenshot redraw all worth it.

this was just - such a special experience for me in my playthrough. I spent so long there, just relaxing, taking photos, fully immersed in the game. and you're right, reflecting on this piece, i really wanted the viewer to feel how beautiful it was in the light of a new day... (though this screenshot is actually from sunset in-game! XD but sunrise fit the Feeling and the Story better so that's another change I made when captioning/describing)

I've always loved this particular shot, the best of all of them; I've even actually printed it out on photo paper! and I've always wanted to make something based on it, I've got a bunch of loosely-written self-indulgent drabbles set in that moment.

the original sketch of this was from October of last year, actually. I roughed out the composition, was quite happy with it, but it didn't add all that much yet - it was mostly just changing up Rei's position and the framing. I hadn't even thought about adding Lumineon. then I got busy and it got shelved, with me occasionally thinking about it.

until now, when I dug it back out again. and I'm glad I didn't rush it back then, and had that time to think, because I feel that I improved a lot art-wise, and was able to put that into this piece.

other fun fact, Lumineon was originally supposed to be a Mantine because those were the first 'mons I was enthralled by when I first rode Basculegion! but I later caught the Alpha Lumineon on a separate occasion and it was a phenomenal surprise. plus it's actually from the correct area and has better colouration/patterning to be backlit XD

this is a far more subdued piece of art, conceptually, than much of the art that you see posted online in fandom, I think. it's silhouetted, zoomed out, very focused on the environment, and even that is pared down to very simple elements. so it means the World to me that you (and so many other lovely people!) see my vision, and appreciate my paintings.

thank you so much <3

sunrise at seaside hollow

[reference, and context, below!]

screenshot redraw of this!

alpha Lumineon based off the one that swims around there in seagrass haven. caught that thing without battling it (sniped with jet balls!) majestic creature...

this captures a moment after quelling Lord Arcanine.

that quest started off with urgency because of the Miss Fortune Sisters; Rei first called Basculegion sometime in the evening or around sundown, and they all have to travel to Firespit in the night. things escalated. Irida arrived swiftly, they prepped the balms fast, and they didn't want Growlithe Arcanine to suffer any longer...

and so Rei quelled the new Lord. it wasn't easy. nothing at all like Kleavor and Lilligant.

exhausted and shaken, he took his leave. intended to go back to camp, at first, but ended up aimlessly wandering on Basculegion. saw the cave and decided to stay there. to catch his breath a while.

this is actually what i did in my playthrough... discovered this cave by chance, sat and looked out at the view and decompressed (after failing the noble battle Many Times aha).

he dozed off, at some point, and woke up to the sun rising.

despite everything, the Coastlands are still so beautiful...

[dxrlingluv]

Ok another, this time quicker, idea! How about the brothers, Hades, Poseidon and Zeus(separately) headcanons or blurbs or whatever you feel like with a modern day human SO/reader. I'd love sassy reader who didn't think they were real and makes that point VERY clear but you can decide personality! -♒

Belive me, Belive me not

A/N : The Big Three is here! Zeus and Posiedon art is from Neil_illustrator.

WARNING : GN!Modern!Reader, Fem!Modern!Reader on Zeus part(but no gender was mentioned, the reader just had to wear a dress).

Word Count : 2.7k

Hades

The first time he told you he was Hades, Lord of the Underworld, you snorted so hard your artisanal coffee almost made a reappearance. You were sitting in your favourite, slightly pretentious café, the one with exposed brick and Edison bulbs, and he'd just dropped that bombshell like he was announcing the weather.

"Right," you'd said, wiping a stray drop of latte from your lip. "And I'm Tinkerbell, currently moonlighting as a barista. Did you get that off a 'Most Brooding Fictional Characters' list, or was it a dream you had after too much pizza?"

He'd just blinked, those unnervingly dark eyes fixed on you. His name, as far as you were concerned, was 'Hal' – a surprisingly normal name for someone who dressed exclusively in bespoke, dark clothing that probably cost more than your yearly rent and had an aura of perpetual, stoic gloom. You'd met him at a gallery opening (you were there for the free wine, he was... well, you weren't sure what he was doing there, probably judging the canapés).

"It is not a jest," Hal—no, Hades—had rumbled, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through the reclaimed wood of the table. "I am Hades, Ruler of the Asphodel Meadows, the Elysian Fields, and Tartarus. King of the Dead."

You'd leaned forward, a smirk playing on your lips. "Okay, 'Hal'. Look, I appreciate the commitment to the bit, really. It's very method. Are you an actor? Is this for a role? Because if so, kudos, you've got the 'tortured ancient deity' vibe down pat. But you're buying the next round of overpriced caffeine, because my disbelief is making me thirsty."

He sighed, a sound like wind whistling through a cavern. It was surprisingly endearing. "Why is it so difficult for you mortals to accept what is plainly before you?"

"Probably because 'plainly before us' is usually a guy named Kevin who forgot to take out the bins, not the literal Greek god of the underworld," you retorted, taking a pointed sip of your coffee. "And for the record, if you were Hades, wouldn't you be, I don't know, a bit more... skeletal? Or on fire? Or at least have a three-headed dog cramping your style at brunch?"

He actually looked thoughtful for a moment. "Cerberus is not fond of brunch establishments. Too many small, yapping dogs and not enough souls to... well, never mind. And the corporeal form I choose to adopt is my own business."

"Riiight. Your 'corporeal form'," you echoed, tapping your fingers on the table. "Look, Hal, it's cute. Mysterious, broody, with a flair for the dramatic. I like it. But the whole 'god of the dead' thing? I'm gonna need to see some serious, undeniable, world-shattering proof before I even begin to entertain that notion. And I mean serious. Like, make it rain frogs, turn my ex into a newt, or at the very least, get the barista to spell my name right on the cup for once. That would be a miracle."

Hades—or Hal, as you were determined to keep calling him in your head—actually managed a small, almost imperceptible smile. It was like watching a glacier crack. "Your skepticism is... persistent."

"I prefer the term 'aggressively rational'," you corrected. "Now, about that proof? Or are we just going to sit here while you try to convince me you vacation in Tartarus?"

He leaned back, a certain ancient weariness settling in his gaze, but there was something else too – a flicker of amusement, maybe even intrigue. "Perhaps, for now, you can simply entertain the possibility."

"Oh, I'm entertained, alright," you said, a grin spreading across your face. "This is the most interesting Tuesday I've had in ages. But just so we're clear, this whole 'Lord of the Underworld' claim? That's a hill I am perfectly prepared to die on. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Unless you're going to smite me for my insolence, O Mighty Hal."

He didn't smite you. He did, however, somehow manage to get the barista to not only spell your name correctly on your next coffee but also add a perfectly drawn, tiny crown above it.

You stared at the cup, then at him. He just raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Okay," you conceded, narrowing your eyes. "That's... weirdly impressive. But I'm still calling you Hal."

He inclined his head. "As you wish. For now."

And as you walked out of the café, you couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, your aggressively rational world had just gotten a whole lot more interesting. And that Hal, or whatever his actual, ridiculously mythological name was, was a surprisingly good sport about your absolute refusal to believe he was anything more than a very handsome, very strange man with a penchant for dramatic declarations. The hill of your disbelief was still standing firm, but you had a sneaking suspicion he was bringing some very persuasive, very ancient siege equipment.

Poseidon

You figured "Perry" was just really, really into surfing. And fishing. And boats. And honestly, anything remotely related to the ocean. You'd met him during that beach clean-up you'd reluctantly signed up for. He'd been surprisingly enthusiastic about hauling plastic bottles, his sun-kissed skin and sea-green eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled, which was often. He had this wild, windswept look about him, like he'd just wrestled a kraken and won.

The "revelation" came a few weeks later, after a particularly spectacular surfing session you'd watched him dominate from the shore. He'd strode out of the waves, surfboard tucked under his arm, water sluicing off him like he was personally sponsored by the ocean itself.

"You know," he'd said, shaking his long, perpetually damp hair like a cheerful golden retriever, his voice booming over the crash of the waves, "this mortal form is quite enjoyable for catching a good swell. Though, commanding the waves directly does have its perks."

You'd raised an eyebrow, handing him a towel. "Mortal form? Commanding the waves? Perry, did you swallow a bit too much saltwater out there, or are you trying out material for a stand-up comedy routine? 'Local Surfer Dude Thinks He's Aquaman' – it's got potential."

He laughed, a hearty sound like waves breaking on a shore. "Aquaman? A charming, if somewhat limited, interpretation. I am Poseidon, Shaker of the Earth, Ruler of the Seas, Stormbringer!" He punctuated this with a grin so wide it could have swallowed a small fish.

You patted his arm. "That's nice, dear. And I'm the Ruler of England, just popping down to the coast for a bit of incognito wave-watching. Seriously, Perry, lay off the sun for a bit, it's clearly getting to you."

"It is no jest!" he boomed, though his eyes were sparkling with amusement rather than divine wrath. "The very tides answer to my call! The creatures of the deep are my subjects!"

"Okay, okay, 'Lord of the Atlantis Fan Club'," you said, starting to walk back towards the beach café. "If you're really Poseidon, prove it. Make that seagull trying to steal my fries burst into a rousing sea shanty. Or, better yet, part the sea so I don't have to get my ankles wet walking back. My pedicure was expensive."

Perry—no, Poseidon, apparently—stroked his stubbled chin, looking thoughtfully at the offending seagull, then at the stretch of water between you and the boardwalk. "A sea shanty might be beyond its vocal capabilities, and parting the sea for such a short distance feels a tad... dramatic, even for me. But perhaps a small demonstration?"

Before you could quip back, the moderately sized wave that was about to splash your sandals suddenly, and very deliberately, split in two, flowing neatly around your feet and leaving a perfectly dry path of sand for about ten feet in front of you. Then it reformed as if nothing had happened. The seagull, however, just squawked indignantly and flew off with a stolen chip.

You stopped dead. You blinked. You looked at your dry feet. You looked at the now perfectly normal looking sea. You looked at Perry, who was beaming at you, dripping seawater and radiating an aura of smug, god-like satisfaction.

"Huh," you managed. "Well, that's... a neat trick. Very sophisticated sprinkler system you've got rigged up there, Perry. Or did you bribe the ocean?"

He threw his head back and roared with laughter. "Bribe the ocean! I am the ocean, my sweet! Your refusal to believe is almost as vast and deep as my domain!"

"It's called healthy skepticism, buddy," you retorted, though your mind was doing frantic mental gymnastics trying to explain the suddenly very polite wave. "And until I see you summon a kraken to fetch me a towel or something equally irrefutable, you're still Perry, the charmingly eccentric surf instructor who might be having a mild heatstroke."

He slung an arm around your shoulders, his touch surprisingly warm and solid for someone who claimed to be an ancient deity made of seawater and divine power. "A kraken for a towel? My dear, you have a wonderfully practical imagination! Perhaps I shall consider it. But for now, how about I treat the Ruler of England to some fish and chips? My treat. I know the owner – he owes me a favor from that incident with the rogue tidal wave last spring."

You sighed, but a smile tugged at your lips. "Fine. But if a single tentacle comes near my fries, Perry, so help me, I'm reporting you to... well, I'm not sure who you'd report a misbehaving sea god to, but I'll find someone."

He just grinned, his sea-green eyes full of mischief and something ancient and powerful. "I look forward to the challenge."

Walking beside him, with the scent of salt and sunshine clinging to him, you had to admit, your healthy skepticism was facing a tidal wave of its own. And Perry, or Poseidon, or whoever the heck he was, seemed perfectly happy to just ride it out with you.

Zeus

You first encountered "Zane" at a ridiculously high-powered charity gala you'd only managed to snag a ticket to because your boss was unexpectedly ill, and you were the only one who could fit into her spare gown. Zane, with his impeccably tailored suit that probably cost more than your car, an air of effortless command, and eyes that seemed to crackle with an internal thunderstorm, was holding court amongst a gaggle of fawning socialites and business tycoons.

He'd broken away from his admirers, much to their collective pout, and approached you while you were trying to discreetly unhook your heel from a particularly vicious bit of rug fringe.

"Allow me," he'd said, his voice a resonant baritone that seemed to expect instant obedience. He'd knelt and freed your shoe with a surprisingly gentle touch.

"Thanks," you'd managed, flustered. "This rug is clearly a menace to society."

He'd smiled, a flash of brilliance like lightning on a summer night. "Some things are simply beneath our notice until they trip us up. I am Zane Olympus. And you are?"

"Permanently indebted to your shoe-rescuing skills," you'd replied. "And currently employed by someone who can afford these shindigs."

Your conversations over the next few weeks were... intense. Zane was charismatic, intelligent, and had an opinion on everything, delivered as if it were divine decree. The "big reveal" happened during a particularly heated debate about a new city ordinance while you were in your car when in a sudden, a violent thunderstorm emerged. Rain lashed against the windows, thunder boomed overhead, and the lights of the city flickered.

"This weather is certainly dramatic," you'd commented, peering out at the deluge.

Zane had looked out too, a strange, almost proprietary expression on his face. "It often reflects my moods. I find a good thunderstorm rather invigorating, don't you?" Then, with a casualness that was utterly jarring, he added, "It comes with the territory when one is Zeus, King of the Gods, Ruler of Olympus, God of Sky and Thunder."

You stared at him. The car lurched. A particularly loud clap of thunder rattled the windows, perfectly timed.

"I'm sorry," you said, slowly. "I think the thunder might have made me mishear you. Did you just say you're... Zeus? Like, golden-throne, eagle-on-his-arm, serial-swan-impersonator Zeus?"

He actually looked pleased. "The very same! Though the swan episode is rather overblown by poets, I assure you. Creative license, you understand."

You let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, I understand alright. Zane, you had me going there for a second. That's quite the character you've built. Are you workshopping a new persona for a self-help guru empire? 'Unleash Your Inner Sky God: Command Your Life with a Thunderous Attitude!' I can see the bestseller now."

His smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "This is not a persona, my dear. It is my very essence." As if to punctuate his sentence, a jagged fork of lightning illuminated the street, striking a lamppost a little too close for comfort, causing it to fizzle and die. The cab driver muttered something in another language and crossed himself.

"Okay, impressive timing with the special effects," you conceded, though your heart was doing a little tap dance against your ribs. "You got connections at the weather bureau? Or just a really good app? Because that was artistic."

"The elements are somewhat... responsive to my will," Zane—Zeus—said, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and a hint of impatience. "Must I call down a personal lightning bolt to strike your skepticism?"

"Whoa there, sparky!" you said, holding up your hands. "Let's not get carried away with the pyrotechnics. Look, Zane, it's a great story. Really. Top-tier commitment. But you're a charming, if slightly egomaniacal, businessman who throws a mean fundraiser. You're not the dude who overthrew the Titans. Unless those Titans were, like, rival hedge fund managers." You paused. "And if you are Zeus, shouldn't you be a bit more... I don't know, toga-clad and surrounded by adoring nymphs, not stuck in Midtown traffic?"

He sighed, a sound like wind rushing through mountain peaks. "Mortals and your demand for outdated aesthetics. One adapts. As for adoring nymphs, quality has rather declined over the millennia. And one can only tolerate so much ambrosia before craving a decent mortal espresso."

"Right. Espresso cravings, the true mark of a deity," you deadpanned. "So, if you're Zeus, Mr. King-of-Everything, what's your next trick? Going to turn this car into a golden chariot? Because honestly, this traffic is a nightmare, and I wouldn't say no to an upgrade."

Zane—Zeus—actually looked consideringly at the worn upholstery of the cab. "A chariot might be a trifle conspicuous. But perhaps..." He glanced at you, a challenge in his electric blue eyes. "Tell me, what would it take to make you believe, even a little?"

You leaned back, a smirk playing on your lips. His sheer, unwavering arrogance was almost captivating, in a terrifying sort of way. "Honestly? At this point, you could probably make it snow in July and I'd still assume you'd just hired a really good effects team. You've got that 'man who can buy anything' vibe. But hey, impress me. The sky's the limit, right? Or, in your alleged case, your personal playground."

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the cab, and for a moment, you could almost believe the city lights outside dimmed and then flared brighter in response. "Your audacity is... refreshing. Most are too quick to cower or believe. You, however, wish for a command performance." He tapped a finger against his lips. "Very well. Consider the challenge accepted. But do be careful what you wish for when dealing with the King of the Gods. We have a rather dramatic flair for granting requests."

The car pulled up to your apartment. As you stepped out, the rain suddenly, inexplicably, stopped in a perfect circle right above you, while it continued to pour down just a few feet away. You looked up, bewildered, then back at Zane, who simply inclined his head with a regal, knowing smile before the he drove away.

"Okay," you muttered to the abruptly dry patch of sidewalk. "That was... weird." The hill of your disbelief was still very much intact, but you had a feeling Zane, or Zeus, or whatever he was, had just lobbed a fairly significant thunderbolt at its foundations. And you weren't entirely sure you didn't want to see what he'd throw next.

[rooniearts]

HIIII….HELLO…..WAVES NERVOUSLY….

I WANTED TO FINALLY SAY HIIIII I LOVE YOUR WORK SO. SO DEARLY!!! (as i’m sure is evident. pulls at my shirt collar, glances at the novel I leave in ur reblogs) YEAHHHHH…!!!!!

your art is SO DAZZLING it brings me so so soooo much joy GWAHHH,, the way you convey expressions and posing and your designs GAH IT’S EVERYTHING!!!

i am especially a fan of your AUs :3 espilver mentioned in any capacity is always a huge win for me BUT I AM SO SO SO IN LOVE WITH YOUR KNIGHTS AND POETS AU GAHHHHHHHH THEY ARE SO AWESOME!!! i’m so eager to see how their relationship will develop and such ahh!!!

AND !!!! YOU !!!! pls take this in the best, non-weird way ever but u draw blood sooooooo good IT’S LIKE. GRGRGRGRGRRRR…the formation in splatters feels so natural and generally correct so seeing my favs bathed in the blood of their enemies is a delight actually !!! glances at metal wins au. i’m sure he’s fine.

I HAVE A LOT TO SAY BUT I’LL LEAVE IT AT THAT GAH!!!! SO SORRY FOR THE LONG YAPS AS ALWAYS I HOPE I AM ABLE TO EXPRESS JUST A FRACTION OF WHAT YOUR WORK MEANS TO ME o7 don’t ask how long it took me to hype up and type this uhhhh the answer is multiple weeks OKAY BYE! HAVE A NICE DAY

AWWWHHHHH :'D This is so sweet!!! Thank you so much, I really appreciate it!! I love your art too, there is something so delightful about how sharp and defined your style is that I just can't help but love! <3

AND YESSSS I'm glad to hear you like Knights and Poets because I am still so so ill about them too :'D I just can't get enough of those silly lil guys and their drama......... I neeeeeed to draw more of them NAOWWWW!!!

Thank you so much again, this was a really sweet ask to wake up to!! :]

[debonairprincesposts]

Hi!! I loved your fic with reader wearing jason’s hoodie and jason worrying for them, and I was just wondering if I could get a hurt/comfort (or just comfort) of there actually being scars under the hoodie sleeves and Jason comforting them. it would mean so much to me, but I understand if not. Thank you!!

I do not mind at all anon! ∠(ᐛ 」∠) It would be my honor to write something that you find comfort in.

Anyway, here we go! An alternate ending to “Loving Concern”.

Loving Concern

(Alternate Ending)

Summary: You like to wear hoodies. Always. Jason is concerned that you might be hiding something underneath.

Warning(s): involves topics like self harm. If there’s anyone suffering from this, talking to a friend or professionals might offer some assistance. I’m not exactly familiar with this topic itself. So excuse anything wrong in this fic and correct me if I’m wrong.

Words: 1k

Jason watched you across the dimly lit living room of his safehouse. His Angel, his sweetheart. You were curled up on the worn leather couch, a book open in your lap, but he doubted you were reading. Your eyes were distant, unfocused. As always, you were swallowed by one of your oversized hoodies, this one a faded black with the hood pulled low, obscuring most of your face. "Baby," he murmured, the endearment feeling both natural and like a desperate plea.

You glanced up, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Hey, Jay."

He hated this. Hated the way his chest tightened every time he saw you draped in those concealing clothes. He knew it was irrational, knew you had a whole wardrobe of these things, but the darkness clung to him like a second skin. He'd seen too much darkness, carried too much himself. He'd clawed his way out of the pit, both literally and figuratively, and the scars, both visible and invisible, were a constant reminder of how close he'd come to being consumed.

He knew your past wasn't sunshine and roses. You'd hinted at things, shadows lurking just beyond the edge of your words. And those damn hoodies... they were a shield, a barrier. What were you hiding?

He forced himself to breathe, to unclench his fists. He couldn't let his own demons poison your relationship. He had to trust you. But the fear, the gnawing, insidious fear, wouldn't let him.

He stood, the floorboards creaking softly under his weight. He walked over to the couch and knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. Your skin was soft, warm, a stark contrast to the cold dread that had settled in his gut. "Sweetheart," he said, his voice rough, "can we talk?"

Your brow furrowed slightly. "Of course, Jay. What's wrong?"

He hesitated, searching your eyes for any sign of... what? Pain? Deceit? He didn't know. "It's... it's nothing, really. Just being stupid." He hated himself for the evasion, but the words felt like lead in his mouth.

You squeezed his hands. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

He took a deep breath. "It's just... you always wear these hoodies, baby. And I worry." He hated how weak he sounded, how vulnerable.

Your expression shifted from concern to confusion. "Worry? About what?"

He swallowed hard. "I just... I worry that you're hiding something. That you're... hurting." The word hung in the air, heavy and accusing.

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of hurt. But it was quickly replaced by something else, vague understanding. "Hurting? Jay, what are you talking about?"

He gestured vaguely at your arms, hidden beneath the fabric. "Underneath... your sleeves."

You stared at him for a long, silent moment, and then a soft sigh escaped your lips. "You think I'm... self-harming?"

He flinched at the bluntness of your words. "I... I don't know. I just worry, okay? I care about you."

You reached out and gently cupped his face, your thumbs tracing the lines of his jaw. "I know you do, baby. And I appreciate it. But there's nothing to worry about anymore."

Anymore.

His heart cracked.

He searched your eyes, desperate to believe you. "Can you... can you show me?" The words were barely a whisper, laced with shame.

You sighed in a quiet understanding. "Okay, Jay," you said softly. "I can show you."

With a slow, deliberate movement, you pushed up the sleeves of the hoodie. His breath hitched. There, on the soft skin of your forearms, were faint, silvery lines. Scars. Faded, but undeniably there. Some were thin and short, others longer and more jagged. A roadmap of past pain etched onto your skin.

The relief he'd anticipated never came. Instead, a cold wave of guilt washed over him, so intense it made him feel sick. He'd been right to worry, but the confirmation was a punch to the gut. He'd invaded your privacy, forced you to reveal something deeply personal, and all because of his own insecurities.

He reached out, his fingers trembling, and gently traced one of the scars. "Oh, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Your eyes met his, filled with a mixture of sadness and resignation. "It was a long time ago, Jay. I was in a bad place. I don't... I don't do that anymore."

"But you still hide them," he said, his voice barely audible. "That's why you wear the hoodies."

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your lap. "Yeah. I guess so. They're a reminder. And not one I particularly like to share."

He cupped your face in his hands, lifting your chin so you were looking at him again. "Hey," he said softly. "Look at me. It's okay. You don't have to hide them from me. I’m sorry that you felt that you had to hide from me at all."

He kissed each of your scars, one by one, his lips lingering on each imperfection. "These don't scare me. Just like how my scars don't scare you," he murmured against your skin. "They tell a story. Your story. And I want to know all of it."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you leaned into his touch. "Thank you, Jay," you whispered. "Thank you for understanding."

He sat next to you on the couch, pulled you close, holding you tightly against him. "I may not understand exactly what you went through," he said, "but I'm here for you now. Always. I promise."

He knew this was just the beginning. There would be more conversations, more tears, more healing. But as he held you in his arms, he knew they could face it together. Your scars were a part of you, a reminder of the battles you had fought and won. And he would be there, by your side, to help you carry them, to love you, scars and all.

You interrupt the silence with, "And for the record, I think your scars are cool."

Jason snorts. Only you would say something like that after a heartfelt conversation. He hugs you tighter.

[transmutationisms]

Hello! I have a question. My brother in law is studying to become a doctor (usamerican) and I recently had a conversation with him where we discussed drugs and addiction. I had read your antipsych faq a few days before, and though I admit that I am terribly under informed, I pushed back against some of the ideas he had, but some of the things he said I’m still working through and wondered if there any go to readings you’d recommend?

For example, when talking about drugs and addiction, I asked him if someone being an addict or being addicted was always a bad thing, because if someone wants to take drugs and are aware of the effects they should be allowed.

His response was that if a person is addicted to a drug then they don’t have that choice on the matter anymore then it is a bad thing. He also added that a lot of people aren’t actually informed of what a drug will do to them before they take it.

I didn’t have a good response to this and I’ve been thinking about it sense. I really appreciate your writings on antipsych; its definitely helped further my outlook on it. Thanks for your time!

-i have a drugs tag and an addiction tag (idr why i have both. sorry lol) you might want to check out in addition to my general psychiatry tag. for one thing Addiction is not a concept that even has a singular definition nor should we be reifying it

-this is precisely one thing that biopsychiatric diagnoses get perpetuated for lmfao, to remove patient autonomy by referring back to a biological entity that controls your brain and thus justifies the physician intervening oh so beneficently and in a manner that just so happens to always also line up with what their professional interests & thus the state and legal uses of their profession demand. does it matter these biological disease entities are heuristic assumptions that are circularly defined and always 'just around the corner' from being empirically confirmed for the last two and half centuries? no. does it matter this narrative does not 'reduce stigma' or contribute to patient 'recovery' but traps people in institutions to be traumatised? no. what matters is that your socially deviant behaviour is not actually just personally objectionable to me, the doctor, in fact it is actually prima facie evidence of your diseased brain (bc if you had a normal healthy brain then you naturally wouldn't be doing this pervert behaviour that i hate and that the state has economic interests in suppressing in order to make the lines on the graphs go up) so therefore it's clear you must lack self control and self possession and it's actually good for you if i forcibly intervene to correct you. in fact it would be irresponsible of me not to override your stated objections and impose my own judgment of what's best for you. i wrote a related essay about the rhetorical traps of these medical concepts of harm here

-if this person actually gave two shits about people being able to make informed decisions about drug use (i do) he could try oh i don't know. informing them about drugs (he won't bc he is a cop who believes only in scaring them straight and then punishing them sober)

-biopolitics tag also be upon ye

-typical doctor attitude to be quite fucking honest & exactly why i self censor intead of arguing with any of these demons irl. like godbless if you want to go back in but you won't win. sorry!

[ilikekidsshows]

https://www.tumblr.com/

enonem/

778624504194859008 (broken up)

I feel this perfectly encapsulates the exact problem with the LoveSquare (and other couples) in MLB as it is rn - the writers keep claiming Marinette and Adrien are meant to be because everyone in the show says so but don’t really do anything to JUSTIFY everyone saying this. They’re soulmates just to be soulmates and nothing else.

---

You are absolutely correct, and I feel like that post perfectly encapsulates the general thought process that seems to go into this series. In Miraculous, the characters just say things and we’re expected to accept them as facts even when they go against things that have been explicitly shown to us, sometimes even including things that have been explicitly shown to us in that very same episode. The Miraculous writers do this with a lot of concepts they throw into the series, actually.

Like what we are told versus what we can actually see happen in episodes goes like this:

Marinette and Adrien are soulmates vs. Marinette can’t tell her own grandma what she likes about Adrien, other than that he’s “pretty”

Marinette is a great leader vs. Marinette constantly plays favorites and denies her allies basic information and she hasn’t improved on this even after that led to them losing all the Miraculous

Marinette always takes care of others and no one takes care of her vs. Marinette constantly makes her problems other people’s problem and gets instant support when she feels like having a cry

Marinette is the greatest Ladybug ever vs. Marinette let the world get destroyed

Cat Noir is arrogant vs. Cat Noir has poor self-esteem and treats himself as expendable

Cat Noir is unreliable vs. Cat Noir always picks Ladybug up after she has a crisis, at least once per season

Gabriel was a flawed man with good intentions vs. Gabriel was a child abuser

Emile is a flawed man with good intentions vs. Emile is a domestic abuser

André was a victim of Chloé and Audrey vs. André actively neglects his daughter and sends her away with her abusive mother when she becomes too much trouble

Audrey’s only mistake as a parent was leaving vs. Audrey abandoned her family for years, actively and purposefully misnames her daughter repeatedly, humiliates her on live television and planned to abandon her again afterwards

Chloé is a naturally occurring, born-evil hellspawn vs All of Chloé’s villainy consists of things one or both of her parents do, meaning it’s learned behavior

The Miraculous writers rely on telling so much that what they're showing isn't even a concern but, to make matters worse, they can't even stay consistent about what is said. This is why the "lesson" learned at the end of the episode might actually directly contradict what was established at the start. 'Reflekdoll' having Cat Noir go from "I have the easy job!" to "I didn't appreciate how hard your job was," and that being presented as a change is a prime example of this lack of consistency and care in the writing being a problem that's been there all along. The writers just don't pay attention to what they're doing nearly enough. It's like the show consists of completely separate scenes with similar characters because the connective tissue between different scenes just isn't there.

Like, when the only thing your supposed main romance has going for it is the girlfriend gaslighting the boyfriend, maybe your romance is just garbage. Maybe the Miraculous writers are just god-awful at writing romance, but, like, they mess everything else up so completely too it’s like the script is being written by a generative A.I. cobbling together bits and pieces from better written stuff. But, no, this is all-natural plagiarism without understanding what you’re plagiarising or even making.

[hypercentralsilly]

Well in the comments I mentioned that realistically my hate for this man is more so because of how branch was treated and less about him.

He’s still a fucking dick don’t get me wrong but still.

Also bold of you to assume everyone you just mentioned is innocent in my eyes lmao

Everything you said was pretty much all the issues all those characters have

I admit I briefly skimmed over what you wrote so correct me if I’m wrong but if you brought up Barb you might as well bring up poppy as she was also problematic in that movie

I love all these characters regardless (yes even creek on occasion) and I just think it’s nice to spread slander and criticism just for my sake but also to see what others think wether or not they agree or disagree with me :)

I said this in the comments of my own post as a reply to someone but I’ll say it again, I’m perfectly okay with creek in the movie it’s just his show counterpart that really grinds my gears

Movie creek is arguably justified (might need a better word but you get the point) in his actions as he didn’t want to die and not everyone can be a self righteous hero who sacrifices themself for others

BroZone is actually a really realistic depiction of how most family members act and I like that they come to better respect branch by the end of the movie so I actually really appreciate them for that

Barb is a whole can of worms and deserves her own post because of it.

Thanks for the input btw (not trying to be passive aggressive btw so please don’t think that and sorry if it sounds like I am!)

TW CREAK HATE POST AND ILL TRY AND KEEP THE BAD LANGUAGE TO A MINIMUM BUT HE PISSES ME OFF.

Sorry. I fucking HATE Creek. (Talking about trolls creek just to clarify.)

THIS THING RIGHT HERE ^

YEAH. FUCK THAT GUY.

Okay, so, Originally I didn’t actually hate him when I watched the first movie when I was younger and I didn’t really hate him when I would rewatch it a few times. Yeah he sucked for betraying them but he was dead. And I was okay with that. I watched him get set on fire and then get eaten with the mountain monster and that was that.

Ignorance is bliss or something..

Well then I was informed that he had in fact somehow LIVED and was in the 2D animated series (the beat goes on)

He returns at the end of season one in the half episode titled “creek week”

….

Fuming.

Okay, I’m a branch enthusiast, alright? Let’s get that outta the way. Branch is awesome. I love branch.

So to have CREEK come back in such an episode was.. a Choice! To say the least.

The entire is branch RIGHTFULLY not wanting to forgive creek right away and being “paranoid” the entire episode.

Everyone immediately forgive creek which is fine if that’s what they wanna do but they’re like shaming branch the ENTIRE episode and getting mad at him for not wanting to forgive creek.

This triggers branch to prove that creek is the same as he was before so all of his would stop talking being annoying about him not forgiving creek.

Branch hikes will all his friends over to where creek is meditating beside a waterfall.

Branch throws himself in and pretends to be in danger.

Creek being the only one close enough, branch yells for creek to save him. Creek says that the current looks too strong and doesn’t want to get sucked in

Branch says he thought creek said he’d risk his life for any and all of them (something creek said earlier in the episode)

Branch reveals that he’s fine and that he was testing creek to prove to his friends that they shouldn’t really trust creek.

Creek yells that he’s still a coward and he can’t believe that branch would expose him like that in front of everyone etc etc..

Well Branch’s friends call branch mean and get mad with him because it turns out they KNEW creek was the same and still a coward but decided to give him a chance anyway. They get mad at branch and refuse to speak with him until creek forgives him.

So branch goes and finds the bastard and creek is over there being petty and drawing branch’s face in the sand big and crossed out.

Branch feels uncomfortable but apologizes and creek says he forgives him.

Branch needs creek to tell the others so they’ll believe him

Well creek decided to be a fucking CUNT bitch and had a whole song at the ready for branch to sing to him in front of everyone and embarrass himself just so creek will forgive him.

Branch does this and creek complains that it wasn’t exactly how he wanted but he accepts it anyway.

Poppy says what branch did was very nice because she knows creek can be a lot

When I tell you I felt SO BAD for branch this entire episode and literally hid my head when he was forced to sing in front of everyone…

And normally I wouldn’t hate on poppy like I love poppy but TF WAS SHE DOING THIS EPISODE?!?? LIKE??? HES YOUR FRIEND DUDE!! (At this point in the timeline anyway (please correct me if I’m wrong))

They’re all so mean to branch the entire episode for no damn reason and literally choose the side of a traitor instead of their friend literally just because they wanted him to do yoga week and omfg I hate him I hate him so so much he pisses me off like he should’ve stayed dead and he didn’t and I’m pissed and this would be typed in caps if I wasn’t so mad and actually took two seconds to click caps but I’m too pissed to do that because he pisses me off that much !!!!

He’s so annoying dude. I have more words but this is long enough for now

I’ll probably talk shit about him on YouTube when I finish making those videos so erm

TOODLES

(If anyone who sees this likes creek please explain the appeal because I’m genuinely curious. I’m not gonna argue with someone about who their favorite character should and shouldn’t be and I genuinely wanna know the appeal.)

[atlas-five]

Alice inviting Sam and Celia to the show seems less like trying to fuck w Sam or his relationship (or even flirting w then both) and more like she's fucking lonely. she might have genuinely wanted them there, cuz, y'know, hanging out w people is how you make and keep friends generally. like,,,, before Celia it sounded like Sam and Alice were chillin' at work and had regular banter but since Celia showed up Sam's attention is all on her and hes started treating every interaction with Alice as an annoyance (and just generally being grumpy, if you consider his interaction w Gwen that one time). plus it's not like Gwen has time for Alice to even mess w her anymore. everything is changing and I don't think Alice is taking it well

[kenzan-brainrot-mp4]

Hello! The twist ending of PYIH kind of shocked me. 'Twas really foolish of me for thinking that for the entirety of Kiryu's saga, Majima has just that twisted obsession with Kiryu, being a "Mad Dog" and all. I came across your PYIH analysis the other day and it really brought home what they were conveying with the ending.

I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around the premise of PYIH. Is the sole purpose of Majima's "filming/documentary(?)" is to rehearse telling it to Kiryu? Because if it had been, that would be even crazier.

Oh, and at this point, is it even reasonable right now to interpret their relationship as platonic or brotherly? What do you think?

YEAHHHHH imo I think yakuza kenzan yakuza 3 (rooftop scene) is where we first truly starting seeing a glimpse of a deeper dynamic between Majima and Kiryu that goes beyond the "weird twisted obsession" reading, and we see more examples of it later as the series goes on (gestures at yakuza 5 and IW) but moments like those were decently subtle/blink-and-you'll-miss-it (not to mention they lessen in frequency also probably in part to Majima's lessening screentime throughout the series), but pyih's ending really goes out of its way to ensure that you actually Know how deep and genuine Majima's feelings are, which I am both extremely appreciative of and Kinda Crazy about

I think the whole documentary thing is interesting. Given the fact that they went out of their way to get the equipment/crew/etc. for the "film version", I would say that the Majima's retelling of his story at the studio and at Kiryu's bedside serve different purposes, and that him telling the story on set was not specifically for Kiryu (what Majima plans to do with the "film version" I'm not completely sure, but I guess for now we can assume it's just a project Majima wanted to do while getting Majima Construction back off the ground?) I'd say the premise of pyih is both to retell Majima's story as he presents it to the "general audience" And Kiryu, hence why the game starts with one and ends with the other. It's the same story to everyone, for the mostpart, and the main difference between the two 'versions' is How he presents it (to the cameras/the players/main audience he puts on the fuckass pirate costume and the theatrics, to Kiryu he tells it to him straight, without the extra show stuff for the cameras. We can Assume the story he tells to each audience is practically identical, considering that the cutscene of him telling it to us in the beginning of the game and him telling it to KIryu at the end of the game use identical lines (cough cough in the Japanese audio), but his tone of voice between the two are notably very different)

Uhhhh shoot I don't know if any of that made sense 💀 Point is I think Majima telling the story of pyih is, in fact, meant for Everyone, it's just that Kiryu gets a sort of special, more authentically told version of it if you will (After all, Majima could've just shown Kiryu the film when it was finally done, but instead he went out of his way to tell it to him personally)

As for the question of "is kazumaji canon now", WOO boy. First of all I actually lowkey want to thank you for asking that question, I've been wanting to post about it for a while now but kept putting it off lol. I mulled over this exact question quite a bit during the week-or-so long time period that I was writing most of my analysis after finishing the game, and, despite the fact that I myself am very vocal about liking kazumaji in a romantic scenario/context, I would not personally call it canon, and I say it is still absolutely reasonable to interpret them as platonic.

While many of the aspects we see in their relationship (especially on Majima's end) such as obsession, devotion, etc. etc. are often associated with romantic interest (Especially in fandom spaces), I don't think they have to be considered specifically romantic. People who have read through my posts may remember a while back that I did an analysis of The Sun at 36.5 wondering if the song was written with the intent to represent Majima's feelings towards Kiryu (for the record this was incorrect and the meaning behind it goes past the scope of the game) and I was going pretty insane about it lol. That's because, had the song been written with that in mind, it would've meant with almost 100% certainly that they would be, in fact, canon, and that would've been Insane. However, this is not the case, and other than that theory I had there's nothing else in the games that would specifically state that either one has Explicitly Romantic feelings towards the other. Do they have a very deep and complex relationship, the likes of which they don't share with many other characters? Definitely. Is it explicitly romantic? I wouldn't say so

The main example I would like to bring up to argue against it would be minedai (*cough* my second favorite yakuza ship I fucking Love Mine Yoshitaka so much he's one of my favorites). I'll link this amazing post with all the examples but essentially, while minedai and kazumaji share many of the same themes in their relationship/dynamic (again, obsession, devotion, you get the drill (can you tell Majima and Mine are two of my favorite characters yet LOL)) the main difference between them is that, with minedai, it is basically outright said Multiple Times in Multiple Sources outside of even Yakuza 3 itself that Mine loved Daigo, with words used Specifically to convey strong romantic connotations, a choice rgg went out of their way to make every single time they wrote about them together. Kazumaji, on the other hand, does not use these kinds of words to describe each other, whether it be in words coming from Kiryu and Majima themselves, or official relationship charts, descriptions, etc.

Can feelings including romance be heavily implied without needing to be explicitly stated? Absolutely, but with the way rgg tends to Very Obviously and Explicitly state when characters Are romantically interested in each other, and also simply because there is still (imo) plenty of room to read kazumaji as Not romantic, I wouldn't say it's canon. And for the record, I wanna reiterate that this is coming from someone who is personally very enthusiastic about kazumaji as a ship, so I'm trying to be purely objective here, and that is my verdict (Also this is just a random aside, but I really don't agree with the people who are (unironically) labelling Kiryu and Majima's relationship as "queerbaiting". but that's a whole other discussion entirely)

Thank you for shooting an ask !!

[itspileofgoodthings]

thinking about the teenage boy who, once we finished Pride and Prejudice, said “aww man why didn’t they kiss” —sends me into orbit

[teruel-a-witch]

one of the things i love about steve and danny is that their appreciation for each other is so genuine they subvert dismissive/no homo memes

~~~~~

steve: you look pretty tonight

danny: what?

steve: i said you look pretty tonight

danny: aren't you supposed to say i look shitty?

steve: why would i say something so blatantly untrue?

danny: *flustered* it's how you are supposed to do this bit

steve: what bit?

*****

danny: you look hot i wanna kiss you

steve: let me guess, it's that bit where i ask 'what?' and you say 'if you were dead i wouldn't miss you'?

danny: what?? no, wtf, i would miss you very much if you died, i would never joke about that

steve: oh

~~~~~

there's no twist, they just love each other

[fishyfarms]

Obligatory 2024 Art Wrapped :) would post this over on my main but so much of it is Stardew Valley it felt wrong to Not post it here. Thank you to everyone who’s been following along! I’ve met so many people this year and made so many wonderful mutuals and I’m just so unbelievably grateful to be a part of this even if I’m not always the most active. Sending much love to everyone as we go into the new year! 🫶

[king-lena]

ew i hate looking back on any social media and seeing my old cringe posts (especially on tiktok) like help!!!! that isn’t me anymore don’t look please!!!! 😅 i can barely handle my current cringe posts don’t make me revisit the past please!!!! i am working so hard to constantly keep growing and learning and changing my mindset and becoming a better me every day and i am no longer that version of myself and i do not know her like that anymore. but dang like her reminants are still out there lingering and i do not like it one bit… 😔

[lokigodofaces]

This is actually a really interesting way of thinking of it. Thank you for the clarification of C-PTSD because lots of people forget that. And also I should apologize because I didn't state that I figured he had it as well. To be perfectly honest, I assume that most characters in the MCU have C-PTSD or PTSD, depending on the character and their experiences. They've all been through so much stuff that it makes sense to me that they have it.

But bringing up the mood swing part of C-PTSD is interesting. Because it could theoretically be mood swings caused by C-PTSD. I forget that mood swings are a symptom. And I do think the mood swings are important. Bob does talk about highs and lows, and we see them. Obviously the Void was a low, but Sentry seems to be a high, or if we use bipolar terms, a manic episode. I don't have bipolar so I can't speak for anyone, but I've heard that mania can make someone feel unstoppable, and Bob referred to himself as a god to Val. I see tons of emphasis on Void (which is fair, it was cool to see visually and it was very relatable to many people with depression particularly but I've seen posts from people with all sorts of diagnoses relating to it) but as Sentry that was mania/opposite end of the mood swing/whatever you want to call it. So yeah, C-PTSD also makes sense.

Also I Googled it because I got curious, but it isn't uncommon to have both bipolar and C-PTSD. It was a quick search, I didn't look into the specifics of if there's a causational relationship, correlational, or if it just depends. But it's a well established connection it seems. Bipolar also has a genetic factor and when Val talked about the bad stuff in Bob's life she did mention his mother's mental illness without going into anymore detail. So it could be bipolar, could also be C-PTSD since she also was in that abusive environment.

Also, I think the layman's ways we describe bipolar disorder can also describe lots of other diagnoses. Bob's words about having good times and bad times technically speaking describe every disability and mental illness. Everyone has good days and bad days due to different factors affecting each day. For example, ADHD is really a disregulation of dopamine, so when there is high dopamine during hyperfixations there will be a very distinct difference to when there is low dopamine. I've seen lots of people with ADHD say they feel very different during these extremes of "highs" and "lows," and while I haven't been diagnosed I do suspect I have ADHD and can relate hardcore. Constant ups and downs. Unfortunately lots of women are undiagnosed with ADHD, and there have been lots of cases where girls were misdiagnosed and later found out they had ADHD in adulthood and not the diagnosis they were given. One of the very common misdiagnoses is bipolar. Both bipolar and ADHD have "highs" and "lows," but for different reasons. So while Bob's language does sound like bipolar, and I know that many bipolar people have appreciated his character, you could use that line to consider other diagnoses, such as C-PTSD.

Also I tried to see what Bob is diagnosed with in the comics because I assume the movie would try to base itself off of that. But it seems like it's kind of inconsistent/not well defined based off the two minute search (correct me if I'm wrong Sentry fans). The most common answer though was schizophrenia. I don't personally know a lot about schizophrenia so I really can't comment on that. I don't know if the movie version or the comics for that matter really demonstrate schizophrenia or not. Don't ask me. Someone else can talk about that if they know more.

Is there any therapist that watched Thunderbolts that can tell me more about Bob? I found his character to be very intriguing and the acting blew me away. I'm just wondering for the sake of fic writing/meta writing. The way he described it it sounds like he might have bipolar disorder? He told Yelena he feels lots of highs and lows which to me sounded like bipolar. And I felt like the "void" as Bob called it was not so much an alter as in DID but more of a personification of depression and trauma, if that makes sense. It seemed more like a way for the movie to portray how damaging depression and trauma is and how untreated it can kind of take over. Which makes sense to me because the movie was about how you can't handle mental health problems on your own and that you need to seek support and the "void" disappeared when Bob realized he wasn't alone. So it seems like it's bipolar to me and that the "void" is just how they were best able to show it. But if anyone has any actual knowledge on psychology and mental health, please let me know your thoughts. Or if anyone has found a good YouTube video or post on here or something, reblog with the link. I just think that understanding this does impact how you interpret not just Bob but the entire theme of the movie, so I would really appreciate hearing from someone more qualified than myself.