#and they made me change literally everything

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which one night changed everything

The atmosphere from the stage was still buzzing in your bones.

You’d just wrapped your sold-out show in New York, the city’s skyline glittering like applause, and the rush of it all—the screams, the lights, the way the crowd had sung your lyrics back at you—was impossible to shake off. So when your manager asked if you wanted to head back to the hotel, you grinned, slid your sunglasses back on even though it was well past 11pm, and said, “I feel like dancing.”

Which is how you ended up here: in a club in SoHo, drink in hand, bass vibrating through your chest, trying to let the night swallow you whole.

Until you crash right into someone.

“Oh, shit—” you blurt, watching your drink spill straight down the front of a tall blonde’s jacket and shirt. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The girl takes a half step back, blinking at the wet mess now soaking her clothes. But instead of freaking out, she just laughs. A soft, breathy kind of laugh that catches you off guard.

“It’s fine,” she says, brushing at the wet fabric. “Honestly. I’ve had worse fouls.”

You blink. “Are you... sure? I literally just baptized you in tequila.”

She smiles then—kind of sideways, kind of cocky—and that’s when it clicks.

You know that face.

“Wait… aren’t you Paige Bueckers?”

She arches a brow. “Guilty.”

You laugh, then clap a hand over your mouth. “God, this is so embarrassing. First time meeting you and I immediately drench you. Nice to meet you, I’m a walking disaster.”

“Well, I like disasters,” she says, grinning. “Especially ones with good taste in tequila.”

You laugh again, this time more relaxed, her tone somehow instantly calming.

“Can I at least buy you another drink to make up for it?” you ask, already half-turning toward the bar.

She hesitates for a second, like she’s about to say no, but then: “Only if you drink it with me.”

So you do. And then one turns into two, and then the crowd starts to feel too close, too loud, too much. She leans toward you, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Wanna find a quieter corner? Or ditch this place completely?”

You look at her, at the little dimple in her cheek, the warmth in her eyes, the way she’s looking at you like you’re the most interesting thing in this club.

“Let’s get outta here,” you say.

The New York night air hits like a wave of clarity. It’s cooler now, streets still buzzing, the hum of late-night taxis and laughter in the distance.

You and Paige start walking, no destination in mind.

“So,” she says, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets. “You always that graceful with drinks?”

You groan. “Don’t remind me. I swear I’m not usually a hazard.”

“No complaints here,” she teases. “It’s probably the most memorable way I’ve ever met someone.”

You glance over at her. “So you’re saying I made an impression.”

“Oh, definitely,” she says, nudging your shoulder. “You sing and spill drinks. Real triple threat.”

You laugh, heart fluttering unexpectedly. “You were at the concert, weren’t you?”

“I was,” she admits. “I’ve been a fan for a while now. Didn’t expect to end the night wearing your drink, though.”

“Hey, you’re lucky it wasn’t red wine. I’ve ruined tour outfits with that before.”

She smirks. “Good to know. I’ll make a note, don’t let you near wine in public.”

You both fall into a rhythm as you walk, trading jokes and stories like you’ve known each other for longer than the hour you’ve shared. The city fades around you, becoming background noise to the conversation.

She tells you about basketball, how weird fame can feel, how much she misses home sometimes. You tell her about tour life, how lonely it can get between cities, how much it means when people connect with your lyrics.

“Do you ever feel like... even when you're surrounded by people, you're still kinda alone?” you ask, not really sure why you're getting this vulnerable. Maybe it’s the way she listens—like she actually cares. Maybe it’s the tequila. Maybe it’s just her.

“All the time,” she says. “Especially when I’m traveling or doing press. It’s like... everyone's around, but no one really sees you, you know?”

You nod. “Exactly.”

There’s a pause. A comfortable one.

“You’re easy to talk to,” she says quietly.

You smile, glancing at her. “You too.”

You reach the edge of a small park. She gestures toward a bench. “Sit for a minute?”

You nod, and the two of you collapse onto the bench like it’s your own little world.

“So, real question,” Paige says, turning to face you slightly. “Do you always run into basketball players after your concerts, or am I just lucky?”

You laugh softly, “Very lucky. It’s usually just fans and a very enthusiastic sound guy named Trevor.”

She grins. “Trevor sounds like competition.”

“Trust me, Trevor’s happily married. To my lighting designer.”

“Well then,” she says, leaning back, stretching her legs out. “Guess I’ve got a shot.”

Your heart stutters, just a bit.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, playful.

“Yeah.” She turns her head, looking at you with those soft blue eyes. “Would it be crazy if I asked for your number?”

You blink, heat blooming in your cheeks. “No. It wouldn’t be crazy at all.”

You grab her phone and type it in, your name saved with a little sparkle emoji at the end. When you hand it back, she’s smiling like she just won a game-winner.

“I’m really glad I ran into you tonight,” she says, voice soft now. Almost like she’s shy.

You look at her—at the way the streetlight catches in her hair, at the gentle curve of her lips—and your heart does something weird and warm.

“Me too,” you say honestly.

It’s almost 3am when you finally call it a night. She walks you to your hotel, hands deep in her pockets again, the city quieter now.

At the door, she pauses. “Hey. If I text you tomorrow, you’ll answer, right?”

You grin. “I’ll be waiting.”

She starts to turn away, then glances back, her smile small but real. “Goodnight, mystery singer.”

“Goodnight, soaked-in-tequila basketballer.”

You both laugh, and then she’s walking down the street, head ducked slightly, like she’s trying to hide how much she’s smiling.

You watch until she turns the corner and disappears.

And somehow, you already know—this won’t be the last time you see her.

Your phone buzzes the next morning before your eyes even open.

You groan, roll over, and blindly reach for it on the nightstand. One eye cracks open.

Unknown Number: Is it too early to say I miss talking to you?

You blink. Then grin.

Tequila-soaked Paige Bueckers apparently turned into Smooth Paige Bueckers overnight.

You sit up, rubbing your face, the memory of last night rolling in slow and warm—her laugh, the way she said your name, that quiet moment on the park bench. It already feels like a dream.

You text back:

You: I don’t know, Paige. We’ve known each other for, what, 6 hours? This might be moving too fast.

She replies immediately.

Paige: Damn, already getting curved.

Paige: Can I at least take you out before you block me?

You grin, flopping back against the pillows, heart beating a little too fast for someone just out of bed.

You: Depends. What does a Paige Bueckers date look like?

Paige: Lowkey. Chill. Snacks are guaranteed. Good conversation. Great company, if I’m lucky.

You: You’re cheesy. I kinda like it.

Paige: Good. ‘Cause I kinda like you.

You stare at that one for a second too long. Then—

You: Pick me up at 7. No drinks involved this time.

Paige: Deal. No tequila. Just me and my charisma.

She picks you up outside your hotel exactly at 7, dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a UConn hoodie that’s definitely too comfortable-looking to hate.

You slide into the passenger seat, glancing at her. “Points for being punctual.”

She smirks. “Would’ve been earlier, but I had to make sure I looked cute enough to impress a superstar.”

You roll your eyes, hiding your smile. “You clean up well, Bueckers.”

“And you,” she says, eyes dragging down to your outfit—just simple jeans and a bomber jacket, but the way she looks at you makes it feel like a red carpet moment, “look... dangerous.”

You laugh, cheeks warming. “This is why you played point guard, isn’t it? All smooth talk and clever moves.”

She shrugs. “I just see the opening and go for it.”

Instead of some fancy spot, she takes you to a rooftop food truck park in Brooklyn that you never would’ve found on your own. There’s string lights overhead, picnic tables, music playing from someone’s speaker, and people just vibing.

You both grab tacos and sit at a table tucked near the edge, the skyline stretching behind her like it’s part of the scene.

“You weren’t lying,” you say, taking a bite. “Great food, good company. You’re off to a good start.”

She grins, chewing thoughtfully. “Glad I didn’t blow it.”

You laugh. “Not yet.”

For a while, you just talk.

About music. About basketball. About growing up with big dreams and trying not to let them crush you. She asks about your first time on stage. You ask about her first time hitting a game-winner. She leans in when you talk about your new album, the one you’ve been pouring your soul into. You listen closely when she tells you about rehab and injuries, how hard it is to sit on the bench when all you want to do is fight.

“You’re more than just your game, you know,” you say, eyes softening as you watch her.

She blinks, surprised. “Not a lot of people say that.”

“Well, not a lot of people really see you, do they?”

She doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you. And then she nods, a tiny smile curling at her lips. “I think you do.”

It’s nearly midnight again by the time she drives you back. She parks in front of your hotel and turns off the engine, but neither of you makes a move to leave.

You glance at her. “So... you planning to ghost me after this?”

Her head whips around. “What? No. Never.”

You smirk. “Just checking.”

Paige looks at you for a second, eyes full of something soft. “Can I be honest?”

You nod.

“I wasn’t planning to go out after your concert. I’m not even a club person. But my friend dragged me out, and… you crashing into me was the best accident of my month. Maybe longer.”

Your throat tightens a little at that. “You’re not too bad yourself, Bueckers.”

A beat passes.

“I wanna see you again,” she says quietly.

You lean in, just enough for her to notice, but not enough to push.

“I’d like that.”

She smiles, and it’s the kind that hits deep. The kind that stays with you.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” she says.

“You better.”

You squeeze her hand before stepping out, heart fluttering stupidly in your chest.

And as you walk into the lobby, you check your phone.

Paige: I already miss talking to you again. Goodnight, pretty girl.

You bite your lip, smiling like a complete idiot.

You: Goodnight, smooth talker. Dream of me.

Paige: I will.

The next morning, you get a text from paige, a very vague one, to meet you at an address. The only thing she told you was to dress as if you were to workout. You questioned her, but all she sent you was he basketball emoji..

You show up in sneakers and sunglasses, trying to look chill but already sweating under the sun and nerves.

Paige’s standing under the chain-link fence, basketball spinning in one hand, the other casually in her hoodie pocket like she’s in some Nike ad. She sees you and grins.

“There she is,” she calls, tossing the ball to you. “You warm up, or should I go easy?”

You catch the ball with a fake glare. “You better go very easy. If I break an ankle, my tour manager will come for you.”

She laughs. “Deal. But only because you’re cute.”

You flush. She doesn’t even try to hide the smile that follows.

She does go easy—at first.

You start off playing HORSE. She nails everything effortlessly: off the backboard, spin move into a jumper, even a ridiculous one-legged fadeaway that makes you double over laughing.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you say between laughs. “You’re good. You’re like... disgustingly good.”

She grins. “Your form isn’t bad. Just needs... you know. A few years of elite training and a God-tier jumper.”

You fake pout. “That’s all?”

She walks over, dribbles behind her back, and then stands behind you, pressing a hand lightly to your back.

“Here,” she murmurs, positioning your elbow. “Relax your wrist more.”

Your breath catches a little at how close she is, how gentle her voice turns when she’s focused. You glance back at her, and she smiles softly.

“There you go. Now try.”

You shoot.

It bounces off the rim.

“Tragic,” you say.

She grins. “We’ll work on it.”

Later, you sit side by side on the edge of the court, water bottles in hand, the late-afternoon sun dripping gold across the pavement.

“That was surprisingly fun,” you say.

Paige nudges your leg. “You didn’t even cry after I beat you. I’m impressed.”

“Oh, I’m crying inside.”

She laughs, head tilted toward the sky, and for a second, the noise of the city fades into background static.

“You ever write love songs?” she asks, voice quieter now.

You look at her, tilt your head. “Yeah. All the time.”

“Anyone ever write one about you?”

You shrug. “I don’t think so.”

She nods slowly. “You should be someone’s muse.”

The way she says it—like it’s already written in her—makes something stir in your chest.

“Maybe I’ll write one about this,” you say, trying to keep it light. “Tequila, HORSE, getting coached on a public court.”

She laughs. “I better get a writing credit.”

You smirk. “You’ll get the bridge.”

The sun dips below the buildings by the time she walks you back to your place. You reach your door, both lingering again like last time.

“This was fun,” you say.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, rubbing the back of her neck. “More fun than I expected, honestly.”

You bite your lip. “Is that your way of saying you like hanging out with me?”

She leans against the doorframe, close enough that you can smell her cologne again.

“I love hanging out with you.”

A pause.

“I don’t want this to just be... like, a New York thing,” she says, quietly.

Your heart stutters. “I don’t either.”

She looks relieved. “Good. Because I wanna keep seeing you. And texting you. And maybe... calling you just to hear your voice.”

You smile, stepping a little closer. “You can call. But only if you sing backup on my next album.”

She raises a brow. “Even if I can’t sing?”

“Especially if you can’t. It'll keep you humble.”

She laughs, shaking her head. Then her eyes drift to your lips, and for a moment, the air changes.

She doesn’t kiss you—yet—but she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and murmurs, “Goodnight, superstar.”

And just like that, she’s walking back down the hallway again, hands in her pockets, heart probably racing just like yours.

You’re somewhere between Paris and Berlin when the first wave of really missing her hits.

It’s late. You're curled up on the leather couch in your tour bus, city lights slipping past the window like streaks of gold. The after-show adrenaline is still buzzing in your chest, but it’s quieter now. Less electric. Less... full.

Your phone lights up,

Paige: Hey, superstar, just finished practice. Everything hurts. I’d kill to hear your voice right now.

A smile find its way on your face, heat creeping up your neck. You quickly click on her contact, hearing it ring twice before you see her face pop up on the other side.

“Superstar!”

She looked exhausted but still was excited to hear your voice. You started taking about anything, just wanting to be in the presence of each other even thousands of miles away. 

“Play me something?” she asks, seeing your guitar on your lap.

You strum softly, trying to find the right chords. You made up some lyrics on the spot, something about missing someone in the quiet moments. You could see her eyes starting to close, the weight of the day finally catching up to her, but before she fell asleep, you heard her mumble.

“You’re gonna make me emotional before bed huh? That was beautiful. You always sound like home.”

You let your eyes linger on her face as she falls asleep.The distance grows louder over the next couple of weeks.

She’s in Dallas, grinding through practices and media days, trying to earn her minutes. You’re bouncing from Amsterdam to Rome, meeting fans and filling arenas—but something always feels missing.

At night, you call each other.

Sometimes it’s FaceTime at 1am your time, where she’s brushing out her curls with a hoodie on, sitting on her kitchen floor with a smoothie and sleepy eyes.

Sometimes it’s you whispering in a stairwell, your voice hoarse after a show, as she talks you down from the chaos of being known.

One night, the call turns heavier.

You’re in a hotel room in Madrid, lying on your back in the dark. Paige is on the other end, quiet.

“You still there?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “Just thinking.”

“What about?”

“You.”

Your breath catches.

“This is gonna sound dumb,” she continues. “But sometimes I think about how easy it would be to let this fade. Like, I know the world wants us to let things go when they get hard.”

You stay silent, listening.

“But I don’t want to let this go. Even if it means texting across time zones and calling you when I should be sleeping. Even if I have to miss your shows and you have to miss my games.”

“Paige,” you whisper, voice cracking, “I don’t want to let this go either.”

You hear her exhale on the other end, shaky.

“Okay,” she says. “Then we won’t.”

There’s a pause.

Then she adds, quietly, “When the season starts, I want you at a game. I don’t care if it’s one or five. I just... I want to look up in the stands and know you’re real. That this isn’t just a midnight thing.”

Your chest aches, full of something fierce and warm.

“I’ll be there,” you promise.

A week later, she texts you a photo: her standing on the Wings court in her new uniform. Number 5. Media day.

Paige: I’m officially a pro. Not bad, huh?

You: You look hot. Like, I’d-throw-my-bra-on-the-court hot.

Paige: You’re gonna make my pictures look weird cause you keep making me bush.

You: I will be framing those photos.

Paige: Keep gassing me up.

It’s not easy.

You miss her laugh, the way she casually touches your hand when she’s not thinking. She misses your voice in real time, not just in echoes.

But you keep showing up for each other.

In stolen hours. In blurry video calls. In the voice notes that fill the silence between spotlight and stadium.

And one night, after a sold-out show in Prague, you sit alone on a balcony, phone in hand.

You call her.

She picks up immediately.

“Hey, superstar,” she says, tired but warm.

You look at the sky, at the stars above a city you’ve never been to before.

“I think I’m falling for you,” you whisper.

There’s silence.

Then a quiet, breathless, “Yeah?”

You nod even though she can’t see it.

“Hard.”

You hear her swallow.

“I think I’ve been falling since the moment you spilled that drink on me.”

You laugh, tears springing to your eyes.

“I don’t know how this works,” you say honestly. “But I want to keep trying. With you.”

“I do too,” she says. “We’ll figure it out.”

A pause. Then—

“I love that it’s you.”

You whisper back, “Me too.”

You're in Venice when the song first hits you.

Not the full thing. Just a feeling. A line. A chord progression that won’t leave you alone.

You’re in the back room of a centuries-old venue, sunlight leaking through antique windows, your team buzzing around about stage setup and lighting angles—but all you can hear is the soft melody playing over and over in your head.

“I like me better when I’m with you…”

It slips out under your breath, almost a whisper. You don’t even realize you’ve picked up your guitar until you're already strumming the first few notes, chasing the rhythm that’s been living in your chest since that last late-night call with Paige.

You close your eyes and lean into the feeling.

“I knew from the first time, I’d stay for a long time…”

You hum the lyrics into your phone’s voice memo app, fingers dancing across the strings. You’re not writing for a crowd tonight. Not even for the label. Just... for her.

The next few days are a blur of writing sessions between sound checks and flights. You’re scribbling verses on napkins, whispering melodies into your phone while your head leans against cold hotel windows, everything wrapped in Paige's voice, her laugh, her sleepy texts from halfway across the world.

Paige: Just saw you announced the Italy show. The crowd’s gonna lose it. Wish I could be there.

You: I wish you could too.

Paige: What are you working on? I can feel the writer brain from here.

You: A new song.

Paige: Is it the sexy one or the sad one?

You: Plot twist: it’s the soft one.

Paige: I’m intrigued.

Paige: I like soft. Especially from you.

You don’t tell anyone you’re going to perform it.

It’s still raw. Still new. But something about tonight feels different. The air’s crisp, the square outside the venue in Milan is packed with fans, and your hands are itching to share something real.

So you slide it into the setlist—right before the encore, no announcement, no title.

Just you and your guitar under the lights.

You walk out on stage, soaking in the roar of the crowd, and then let the silence settle.

“This next one,” you say into the mic, “is about someone who makes me feel like the best version of myself. It’s new. It’s honest. Be gentle.”

The first chord hits and you swear your hands tremble.

But then you sing.

“To be young and in love in New York City To not know who I am but still know that I'm good long as you're here with me…”

The crowd quiets. It’s like the whole city is holding its breath.

Your voice wavers slightly when you hit the chorus—because suddenly, you see her.

There. In the third row. Hat pulled low, hoodie on, but you’d know her anywhere.

Paige Bueckers.

Smiling. Eyes glassy. Hands folded against her mouth like she’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

You falter for half a second, heart slamming against your ribs. She came.

You blink through it, focus, and sing directly to her like she’s the only person there.

“I like me better when I’m with you...”

Your voice breaks a little on the last line. The crowd cheers like they felt it too—but you’re only watching her, and she’s clapping with tears in her eyes, mouthing the words back to you even though she’s never heard the song before.

After the show, you rush backstage, adrenaline crashing through your chest, half expecting it to have been a dream. But she’s there, waiting in the hall.

When you see her, you don’t even hesitate.

You run.

She catches you in her arms, lifting you slightly off the ground like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You bury your face in her shoulder, laughing, crying, overwhelmed.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you whisper.

She pulls back, brushing your hair from your face. “I wanted to surprise you. Took a red-eye right after practice. Nearly missed my connection.”

You cup her face, forehead to hers.

“I thought about you the whole time I wrote that song.”

She smiles, soft and teary. “I knew it was about me the second you started.”

A breathless laugh escapes you. “Of course you did.”

“You really like yourself better when you’re with me, huh?” she teases.

“I like everything better when I’m with you,” you say, voice breaking with truth.

She leans in and finally—finally—kisses you.

It’s slow. Deep. Everything you’ve been aching for since you left New York.

And in that moment, nothing else matters.

Not time zones. Not distance. Not the flashing cameras or the headlines.

Just her.

Just you.

You wake up to warm sunlight spilling through your hotel window and a very real Paige Bueckers fast asleep in your bed, her cheek squished against the pillow, hair a little wild from the night before, one hand still curled against your hip.

You smile.

You don’t move. You just watch her, soaking in the softest version of the girl who once had a tequila sunrise spilled all over her. The girl who now knows every version of you: stage star, sleepy mess, secret romantic.

She stirs eventually, blinking up at you.

“Hi,” she mumbles.

“Hi,” you say back, brushing a piece of hair from her face. “Still real?”

She nods, smile lazy. “Very real. Very jet lagged. But worth it.”

You spend the day wandering Milan like a pair of tourists with a shared secret.

Coffee and fresh pastries at a tiny café. You both try to pronounce cornetto with your best Italian accents and fail miserably. Paige dips hers in espresso and groans like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.

“I’m not going back to Dallas,” she says with her mouth full. “I live here now. I’m gonna play for... AC Milan Women’s Basketball or something.”

“That doesn’t exist,” you laugh.

“It will. I’ll start the team. Just to stay close to you.”

You explore side streets filled with blooming flower stands, boutiques, and locals on vespas. Paige snaps photos of you under every archway and old stone bridge, and you start teasing her about being your personal paparazzi.

“Smile,” she says, lifting her phone. “The light’s hitting you like you’re in a movie.”

“I am in a movie,” you grin. “You’re the love interest.”

She laughs, then slips her hand into yours without hesitation. No nerves. No hiding.

Just you and her.

You’re walking near the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II when you hear the first shutter.

A camera click. Then another.

You glance up and spot a guy with a long lens a few feet away, pretending to admire the architecture.

Then a girl with her phone out, eyes wide.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, clutching her friend’s arm. “It’s her. That’s them.”

You meet Paige’s eyes.

She squeezes your hand, calm. “You okay?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I don’t want to hide. We can keep it private but I’d never want to keep you a secret.”

And with that, she leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek—right there, in the middle of the plaza, with people watching.

@/BasketballUniverse: Is that Paige Bueckers in Milan… holding hands with [Y/N] after their show last night???

@/WNBAUpdates: Paige really said “distance who?” and flew to Italy mid-preseason 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 Love wins 🥹💙

@/concertswithY/N: I WAS THERE. I SAW THEM. She sang “I Like Me Better” and Paige was in the CROWD??!! They kissed after!!! I’m never recovering

@/PaigeBueckersFan69: so this means… that’s HER muse?? she wrote that song about HER???

Later that night, you're back at the hotel, scrolling through the chaos. You see blurry photos of you two on the street, kissing in front of a bookstore, laughing over lunch.

Some are stunning.

One shows Paige holding your hand while you reach up to adjust her sunglasses.

Another shows her staring at you like you hung the stars.

You hand her your phone.

She scrolls through slowly, then looks up at you.

“You okay with this?” she asks. “The noise, the questions, all of it?”

You wrap your arms around her waist.

“If it means I get to love you in the open? I’m good with it.”

She kisses you again, slow and sweet.

“I like me better when I’m with you,” she whispers against your lips.

You smile, because yeah—so do you.

Dallas is warmer than you expected.

The city hums with spring heat and WNBA excitement, the air heavy with the buzz of a new season. Posters of Paige and her teammates decorate downtown walls. There’s a billboard with her face on it just a few blocks from your hotel—smiling, fierce, confident.

You grin every time you pass it.

“She’s so cool,” you whisper like a fangirl to yourself, snapping a photo from the Uber.

She texts you before morning shoot around.

Paige: Today’s the day Kinda nervous Not for the game tho For you seeing me in my element

You: You mean sweaty, locked in, intimidating Bueckers? Yeah I’m shaking.

Paige: Shut up Are you coming to the tunnel?

You: Wouldn’t miss it.

You wait just outside the players’ entrance, baseball cap low, hoodie zipped, trying to blend in even though it’s impossible. The moment someone recognizes you, phones start coming out. You smile politely, taking a few photos, but your eyes keep drifting toward the hallway where you know she’ll walk out.

And then—

There she is.

Hair slicked-back in a bun, jersey crisp, headphones around her neck, and that unmistakable focused look in her eyes.

Until she sees you.

Then she melts.

“Hey, superstar,” she says, walking straight into your arms.

“You look insane,” you whisper, drinking her in. “Like… this is what the billboards don’t show.”

“You nervous?” she teases, hands settling on your hips.

“I might faint.”

She grins. “You better not. I need you conscious so I can wink at you when I hit my first shot.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

She leans in and kisses you—soft, fast, but right there in front of everyone. Phones flash. Reporters murmur. Her teammates whistle.

You don’t care. Neither does she.

She’s yours. And she’s about to light up the court.

You’re in the front row when it happens.

She drains her first three with a signature step-back, and sure enough, turns and winks right at you as she runs back on defense.

You practically melt in your seat.

By halftime, she’s leading the team in points. The Wings are ahead. The crowd’s electric.

You’re hoarse from screaming. Every time she looks over, she finds you. Smiling. Cheering. Clapping with pride in your chest like it might burst.

And she shines brighter every time she sees you.

After the game, you’re waiting in the tunnel again.

She walks out flushed, sweaty, and glowing. Her jersey is untucked, towel draped around her neck, and the second she sees you, her whole face softens.

“You killed it,” you say as she pulls you into a hug.

“I heard you yelling,” she says into your ear.

“I blacked out during the third quarter. I think I proposed.”

She laughs, stepping back, eyes shining. “I might’ve accepted.”

Back at her place that night, it’s quieter.

She showers while you lay in bed, wearing her warmup hoodie, scrolling through social media posts of her game.

Fans are losing their minds.

@/WNBASTanTwitter: Paige Bueckers showing out on her debut, and her girl was court side all smiles?? We are living in a rom-com.

@/BueckersFanClub: She winked at Y/N after that three 😭 THEY'RE SO IN LOVE

@/Y/Nupdates: We saw her perform “I Like Me Better” Now we saw HER be the biggest Paige stan They are ENDGAME.

When Paige comes out of the bathroom, damp hair curling around her cheeks, oversized tee hanging off her frame, you set your phone down.

“Come here,” you whisper, opening your arms.

She crawls in beside you, settling with a content sigh, head on your chest.

“I’ve never felt like this,” she murmurs. “Balanced. Seen.”

You press a kiss to her forehead.

“Me neither.”

“You think we can do this?” she asks. “Your tour. My season. The distance?”

You nod, sure.

“Yeah. Because we’re not doing it alone.”

She lifts her head to look at you, eyes searching.

And then she kisses you like she’s promising something. Something big. Something real.

You fall asleep wrapped around each other, limbs tangled, dreams quiet and golden.

And even though your next show is in Berlin, and her next game is in Phoenix, neither of you feels far anymore.

Not really.

Because love doesn’t care about distance.

And you’ve already written the song.

Berlin is electric.

The crowd is wild, the lights intense, the soundcheck rolls late into the night with the hum of neon signs outside your hotel window. You’ve played three shows in four days. Your voice is hoarse. Your body aches. You’ve been pouring every drop of yourself into the music, but no matter how loud the crowd gets—how bright the lights shine—there’s a dull ache that sits just behind your ribs.

You miss her.

You miss her voice. Her dumb jokes. The way she looks at you after a show like you’re magic and made of stars. FaceTime helps, sure. Texts too. But it’s not the same.

Tonight, you're sitting on the floor of your dressing room after the encore, sweating and spent, staring at the same message thread you’ve read a hundred times.

You: I miss you so much it hurts.

She hasn’t replied yet.

She had a team dinner tonight. You don’t expect a quick response. But your throat tightens anyway. Not out of doubt, not out of fear—just longing.

Real, raw, inconvenient longing.

There’s a knock at the door. You don’t look up.

“Can we just—” you start, assuming it’s your manager or a fan service person, “—give me ten?”

Silence.

Then—

“I brought something.”

The voice is soft. Familiar. Your heart slams into your ribs.

You look up.

And she’s there.

Paige.

In a hoodie and jeans, cap low over her head, grinning like the most beautiful problem you’ve ever had.

You scramble to your feet.

“What—what the hell are you doing here?”

She drops her bag and walks into your arms like she’s been holding the motion for weeks.

“Coach gave me a day off,” she whispers. “I booked the flight before I could change my mind.”

You bury your face in her neck, shaking from the adrenaline and disbelief.

“I didn’t think I could miss someone like this,” you breathe.

“Same,” she murmurs. “You sounded a little off the past few nights. Thought I’d come fix that.”

The next day is quiet and golden.

No venue. No schedule. Just you and Paige exploring Berlin with coffee in one hand and each other’s fingers intertwined in the other.

You ride bikes down cobbled side streets. She tries to pronounce German street names and butchers all of them, laughing until she nearly crashes into a pretzel cart.

You eat currywurst from a stand near the Brandenburg Gate, take a ridiculous amount of selfies in front of graffiti walls, and lay in the grass in Tiergarten Park, shoes kicked off, her head in your lap.

“You look good in the sun,” she says softly, squinting up at you.

You brush your fingers through her hair. “You look good in Europe.”

She grins. “I look good when I’m with you.”

That night, she insists on coming to the venue again.

Just to be in the wings. To hear you sing live. To feel the thing you’ve been building city after city.

You don’t tell anyone she’s there.

But when you sing “I Like Me Better”, you glance stage left—and she’s there. Hoodie up, leaning against the wall, smiling like you’re still the most magic thing in the world.

You sing the bridge like a secret just for her.

“Stay awhile, stay awhile Stay here with me…”

You're wrapped up in a blanket, legs tangled, room dim except for the glow of the street lights outside. Paige’s arm is draped over your waist, thumb tracing slow, thoughtful circles on your hip.

“I hate that you’re leaving tomorrow,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” she murmurs. “But we’ll have time soon. The break’s coming. Two weeks with no games. You’ll be off tour by then, right?”

You nod. “I don’t care where we go. As long as it’s you and me.”

“I’ve been thinking…” she starts slowly. “Beach. No cameras. No fans. Just us and sand and sunscreen and me putting your phone on airplane mode.”

You smile sleepily. “That sounds illegal. And perfect.”

She kisses your temple. “It’s a date.”

@/PaigeBueckers: 📍 Berlin ❤️‍🔥💙🎤 [Photo: A blurry one of you singing on stage, lit up like a supernova.]

@/Y/Nofficial: Replying to @/PaigeBueckers Who let you in?? 👀

@/WNBAStanTwitter: Paige Bueckers being the supportive girlfriend every artist deserves 🙌 This era is ELITE.

@/concertwithYN: If they don’t get married by 2026 I’m staging a protest

You didn’t ask where you were going.

All Paige said was: “Pack light. Swimsuits. Sunscreen. And don’t bring your laptop.”

Now, thirty minutes after your private plane touched down on a remote Caribbean island—no paparazzi, no tour buses, no practice schedules—you’re barefoot on warm white sand, mouth open as Paige grins beside you like she’s just pulled off the heist of the year.

“This is…” You exhale, spinning slowly to take it all in. “You planned this?”

Paige shrugs, smug. “I’ve had this bookmarked for months. Told myself if we made it through your Europe tour and my preseason, we deserved something stupidly romantic.”

You shake your head, laughing as you walk backward into the ocean breeze, hands up. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are. In love with me.”

“Bold assumption, Bueckers.”

She steps forward, hands sliding around your waist, eyes playful. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You pause.

Heart loud.

She tilts her head. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

The days blur in the best way.

Salt on your lips. Sun on your skin. Paige in a bikini, hair slicked back from the sea, eyes soft like you’re something sacred. You try to read a book in a hammock, but she keeps poking your side until you chase her into the water, laughing like kids.

There’s a private pool. A villa with doors that open right into the ocean. You take turns making breakfast—her pancakes, your espresso—and slow-dance barefoot in the kitchen to whatever playlist Paige throws on.

It’s just you two.

No headlines. No pressure. Just the sound of your voices, and the ocean outside your window.

One night, you’re on the beach—blanket in the sand, wine bottle between you, sky full of stars.

Paige is lying on her side, propped up on an elbow, watching you talk about your next album ideas.

You pause mid-thought. “What?”

She blinks, like she didn’t realize she’d been staring. “You’re just…” She exhales. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding dumb.”

“Say it.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The moment freezes.

Her voice is soft. Unshaken. Like she’s known for a while.

Your breath catches. “Yeah?”

She nods slowly. “Yeah.”

You reach out, fingers brushing hers. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve been in love with you since Milan.”

Paige grins—relieved, glowing, golden. She leans in to kiss you, slow and certain, her hand finding the side of your face like you’re her favorite melody.

Later, when you’re curled up in bed, tangled in white sheets, limbs loose from ocean air and confession, she whispers, “You’re my person. You know that, right?”

You smile against her neck.

“Yeah. I do.”

@/randomtourist: Is this… @/Y/Nofficial and Paige Bueckers?? In Anguilla??? They just held hands walking into a beach cafe and ordered smoothies like a damn rom-com I’m shaking

@/Y/Nfanacc: Y’all see this paparazzi-free private vacay?? She’s off tour. Paige is on break. The timing.

@/WNBAStanupdates: If Paige Bueckers shows up to the next Wings game with a tan and a ring, don’t say we didn’t warn you.

Dallas feels different this time.

It’s not just the humidity or the promise of WNBA season in full swing—it’s the key in your pocket. It’s your suitcase by the door. It’s the way Paige slides your duffel next to hers in the closet without saying a word, like she’s been waiting for this moment all along.

“So,” she says casually, walking backwards into the living room. “What’s mine is yours. Except my last few Oreos. Touch those and we’ll fight.”

You smirk, crossing your arms. “You’re giving me a key, but not cookies?”

“There are limits to love, babe.”

It starts slow.

A drawer becomes two. Your toothbrush appears next to hers in the bathroom, and then one day it’s her hoodie on your back while you stir pasta, and she’s setting your favorite mug down beside you before you even ask for coffee.

It’s easy. Too easy.

You don’t fight over decor—you both somehow have the same taste in soft throws, candle scents, and weird-shaped vases. You turn assembling furniture into a full-day event, music blasting, her standing on the instruction manual, you threatening to call Ikea customer service over the six leftover screws.

You crash on the couch that night, covered in sweat and sawdust.

She hands you a popsicle and kisses your cheek. “I’d build a thousand stupid shelves if it means falling asleep next to you every night.”

You mumble around the stick, “You’re such a sap.”

She grins. “You love it.”

You do.

God, you do.

The place is quiet without her.

Not in a sad way. Just still.

You’re curled up on Paige’s couch, her grey hoodie swallowing your body, a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table, and your old, worn leather songwriting journal resting open across your lap. The windows are cracked just enough to let in a breeze and the hum of the Dallas cityscape below. Somewhere, faintly, sirens. A dog barking. Life, just happening.

She’s at practice. You texted her a sleepy “miss you already” when she left this morning, and she responded with a selfie from the gym and a kissy-face emoji that made your stomach twist in the best way.

You flip through the journal lazily, half-looking, until your eyes land on a page you haven’t touched in over a year.

There are only a few lines, scribbled quickly one night after a concert in New York—shortly after you’d met Paige.

You touch the page softly, smile tugging at your lips.

You remember that version of yourself. The one who bumped into her at a club with tequila in your veins and stars in your eyes. The one who had no idea what was starting that night.

Your fingers trace over the half-written lyrics.

“Sweet baby, our sex has meaning Know this time you’ll stay ‘til the morning…”

You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head. You were so gone for her, even then.

You grab a pen from the side table, stretch your legs out, and start to write.

It’s easy, really. Once you start thinking of her—of her hands on your back after shows, her sleepy kisses on your forehead in the morning, her goofy dancing in the kitchen when you burn toast—everything just pours out.

You don’t write this one like a sad ballad.

You write it like a promise.

“Baby, let me be your woman So I can love you And if you let me be your woman Then I’ll take care of you…”

You underline the last part twice.

Because that’s all you’ve ever wanted—to take care of her. To be a constant in the whirlwind. To be the reason she exhales after holding the world on her shoulders.

You finish the final chorus just as the front door creaks open.

“Babe?” Paige calls, breathless from the stairs.

“In here,” you say, not bothering to hide the smile in your voice.

She rounds the corner, hair tied up, cheeks flushed from the Texas heat, gym bag slung over her shoulder.

She sees your journal and raises a brow. “New song?”

You nod slowly. “Not new… just unfinished. Until now.”

Her eyes sparkle as she leans down and presses a kiss to your temple. “Can I hear it?”

You hesitate.

“It’s about you,” you say quietly.

She just grins. “Then absolutely yes.”

You grab your guitar from the wall hook, sit back on the couch, and start to play—voice low, rich with emotion as you sing her song.

“Nothing ever comes easy At least that’s what they say I know I’m not perfect But I’ll love you every day…”

You glance up once.

Her eyes are glassy.

You keep going.

“I swear that I will mean it I’ll say it every day…”

When the final note fades, Paige doesn’t say anything right away.

She just leans forward and wraps her arms around your shoulders, burying her face in your neck.

“You wrote that?” she whispers, voice thick.

You nod, hugging her back.

“I’d write a hundred more,” you murmur, “just to tell you the same thing.”

She pulls back, a little tear trailing down her cheek.

“I already knew,” she says, smiling, “but hearing it like that? Damn.”

You laugh softly, wiping her face gently. “You always get like this when I sing.”

“And you always pretend not to love it.”

She kisses you slow and deep, and when she finally pulls back, she’s grinning again.

“When are you releasing it?”

You shrug. “Maybe soon. Maybe never.”

She frowns. “Why not?”

“Because…” you smile, brushing her hair back, “some songs are just for you.”

The lights dim, a single spotlight pools around the center of the stage. You step into it, holding your acoustic guitar close, and perch on the lone stool set out just for this. No flashy visuals. No backup dancers. Just wood, strings, and words that were once for her ears only.

You strum the opening chord, the crowd hushed, breath held.

“Sweet baby, our love has meaning… You stay through all my worst seasons…”

Your voice is gentle, almost like you’re whispering it across a pillow.

You don’t look at the cameras. You don’t even look at the crowd.

You look at her.

Every time your eyes lift, they find Paige. And every time they do, something in your chest softens.

“If you let me be your woman Then I’ll take care of you For the rest of my life, for the rest of yours…”

As the bridge swells, you can see Paige subtly wipe at her eyes. She tries to hide it, like she’s just blinking too long, like she’s got something in her lashes. But you know her. You know every tell.

And the truth is—she’s crying.

Not big, sobbing tears. But the quiet kind. The kind that come when something hits bone-deep. When you realize someone loves you that much.

You play the final note, let it linger.

And then—silence.

And then—roaring applause.

You stand, give a little smile, a nod of thanks. The spotlight fades as you walk offstage.

Backstage is chaos again—handlers talking over each other, compliments thrown your way, makeup artists adjusting things you don’t even notice. But your eyes are on the hallway.

And when Paige finally gets past security, she doesn’t say a word.

She just pulls you into her arms and holds you like it’s the only thing keeping her steady.

You bury your face into her shoulder, breathe her in.

“Did it sound okay?” you murmur into her neck.

She leans back just enough to look into your eyes, her own rimmed red and glossy.

“It sounded like everything I’ve never been able to say out loud,” she whispers. “You gave my heart a song.”

You smile, forehead to hers. “It was yours long before anyone else heard it.”

She kisses you quickly—just once, tucked into the corner of the hallway out of view.

@/LateNightTonight: Y/N stunned with a raw, intimate performance of their new single “Let Me” tonight. Not a dry eye in the room.

@/fangirlballer: I JUST KNOW Paige was in the crowd. I JUST KNOW. That was a love letter in song form and she wrote it with her whole chest.

@/WNBAtea: Paige was spotted leaving the studio hand-in-hand with Y/N and looked like she’d just sobbed through the second coming of Mozart. What do you mean this isn’t a rom-com.

That night, you and Paige don’t go home right away.

You find a quiet little diner that’s still open past midnight. Sit across from each other in a booth with fries between you and her fingers laced with yours across the table.

She keeps looking at you like you’re made of stars.

And for the first time in your career, you realize:

You don’t want to sing about pain anymore.

You want to write about her.

The lights of the arena are blinding, the energy nuclear, and the sound? Earth-shaking.

Game 5 of the WNBA Finals. Series tied 2–2. Winner takes it all.

You’re sitting court side at the American Airlines Center in Dallas, legs crossed, hair tied back, and Paige’s #5 BUECKERS jersey draped over your body like a second skin. Customized, of course. Small embroidered initials on the back near the collar: PB + YN. A subtle little secret between you and her.

The game hasn’t started yet, but the tension is thick enough to chew.

You can see her pacing.

She’s got her headphones in, but her body language is loud. Too tight. Too stiff. She’s stretching like it’s routine but you know her—this is nerves.

You wait for the right moment before slipping past security and finding her near the tunnel before final warmups.

She sees you and her shoulders drop just slightly.

“Hey,” you say softly, sliding your hand into hers, grounding her with your touch. “You good?”

She breathes out, eyes flickering over your face. “I will be.”

You tug her in gently, press your forehead to hers in a way that says breathe, baby, just breathe.

“You’re ready,” you whisper. “You’ve been ready. This is your game.”

She nods slowly. “But what if—”

“No,” you say, a little firmer. “No ‘what ifs.’ You are Paige Bueckers. You are clutch. You are brilliant. And you’ve worked for this your entire life. There is no one I’d trust more with this moment.”

Paige exhales shakily, blinking fast like she’s trying to hold back the flood. You smile, brushing your fingers over her cheek.

“And no matter what happens,” you whisper, “you already won me.”

That earns you the smallest grin—crooked, warm, hers.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay. I got this.”

“Damn right, you do.”

You watch her walk back out with a different kind of fire in her step.

And you go back to your seat, clutching your knees, heart already pounding.

The game is tight from the beginning.

Tensions boil. The crowd is deafening.

Paige? Paige is dialed in.

First quarter—three assists, a steal, eight points including a no-look jumper that has the whole bench on their feet.

Second quarter—she gets knocked hard on a drive, pops right back up, grinning, drains both free throws without flinching.

You’re screaming with the rest of the arena. Hands on your head. Heart in your throat.

But it’s the fourth quarter where she becomes something else entirely.

Two minutes left. Tie game.

She sinks a dagger three from deep. Next possession, she steals a pass mid-air and drives it coast-to-coast, finishes with a smooth reverse layup. Crowd: unglued.

Paige: ice cold.

You? Crying. Yelling. Almost fainting.

Final possession. Opponents down two. Clock ticking.

They go for a desperation three.

Paige jumps—clean block.

Ball flies loose.

Buzzer.

Game.

Dallas Wings are WNBA Champions.

The court erupts.

Players tackle each other. Confetti rains down like stars.

And Paige?

She turns in a slow circle—searching.

Then her eyes land on you.

And without hesitation, she sprints across the court, cuts past cameras and chaos, and pulls you into her arms.

She spins you in a circle, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I told you,” you gasp into her ear. “You’re that girl.”

She pulls back, eyes glistening. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You did this,” you whisper. “You earned every second.”

Suddenly, the announcer’s voice booms through the stadium.

“And your Finals MVP… PAIGE BUECKERS!”

She freezes, looks at you like she can’t believe it.

You just nod, eyes wet. “Go get your trophy, MVP.”

“Paige, you just won the championship and MVP in your rookie season. How does it feel?”

She smiles wide, wiping sweat and tears from her face.

“It feels… surreal. I’ve dreamed about this forever. But honestly? The best part is knowing the person I love is here tonight wearing my jersey. This win is for Dallas, for the team, for everyone who believed in me.”

Cue crowd losing their minds. Cameras swing to you, stunned in your seat, face in your hands, smiling like your chest can’t hold it all in.

@/paigebueckers: CHAMPIONS. MVP. But the biggest win of all is you in my corner, always. 💙 @/Y/Nofficial, this one’s for you.

@/Y/Nofficial: You blocked a game-winning shot and then stole mine and 20,000 people’s hearts. My MVP. Forever. 🏆

@/fan: YOU MEAN TO TELL ME PAIGE DEDICATED HER FINALS MVP TO HER GIRLFRIEND???? ENDGAME CANNOT STOP CRYING GETTING MARRIED WHEN??

It’s nearly 2 a.m. when you unlock the door to Paige’s apartment—your apartment now, too. Or at least it will be once the boxes arrive.

Your shoes are off before you’re even in the living room. Paige follows you in, still in her Finals Champion shirt, hair damp from a post-game shower and skin still carrying the shimmer of victory.

The silence in the apartment is almost jarring after the chaos of the last twelve hours. The echoes of cheering fans still ring in your ears, but now it’s just the hum of the fridge, the soft creak of hardwood under your feet, and Paige’s breath, steady but tired, behind you.

She drops her duffel bag by the door and sighs like her whole body is unraveling.

You don’t say anything at first. You just turn, hold your arms out, and wait.

She walks straight into them.

No MVP speech. No cameras. Just her forehead against your collarbone and your hands threading gently into her hair.

“I didn’t realize how tired I was,” she mumbles into your chest.

“I know,” you whisper back. “You held it together all night.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

You kiss the top of her head. “You don’t have to now.”

She melts into you.

You don’t sleep right away.

You sit on the kitchen counter while she eats leftover pasta cold from the fridge, and you sip sleepy tea while your voice goes soft and low.

You ask her what it felt like. The game. The title. The moment her name was called.

She shrugs, eyes still puffy, smile barely-there. “It felt… like everything. And nothing. Like a dream I’ve had since I was a kid. But when I looked up and saw you in my jersey? That’s when it hit me.”

You blink slowly. “What hit you?”

She leans in and kisses your knee. “That I’ve already won.”

You press your lips together to keep from crying again.

“You’re such a sap.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

She grins, sets her container down, and walks over to where you’re sitting. Her hands go to your hips, her forehead finds yours again.

“So what now?” she whispers.

“Now…” you hum, “we rest.”

“Together?”

“Always.”

She’s sprawled across your lap, her championship ring sitting on the coffee table beside your Grammy.

You trace patterns on her arm with your fingertips.

“Do you ever think,” she asks quietly, “about what it would’ve been like if we never bumped into each other in that club?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’d still be singing about heartbreak and tequila. And you’d still be pretending you’re not the softest person alive.”

She grins and leans up to kiss your jaw.

“You saved me,” she says. “In a hundred ways I didn’t know I needed saving.”

“You found me,” you counter. “When I didn’t know I was lost.”

[m-neuvillette]

Dante Scenario

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: day 9473292736291929 thinking constantly about this man. This idea has been stuck in my brain for so long so I had to write about it

* You are Dante’s assistant. You basically do everything for him. You do finances, cook, patch up his friends after a mission, you help run Devil May Cry, and so much more

* You and Dante have a really close relationship that has built up over the years

* Everyone knows you two like each other and always begs you two to confess to each other. But the other party always says “they don’t see me like that” or “I don’t wanna ruin our friendship”

* That is until one day…

* Imagine Lady comes to Devil May Cry to talk to Dante about a job

* There’s this club that has been having a lot of females disappear and it’s always the same story. “A single girl sitting at the bar and a guy comes up and talks to them, they leave and never get seen again.”

* Lady deduced it’s a sex appeal demon, that is essentially a walking aphrodisiac. It shows the desires of the woman to her then puts her under a spell to control her. After the spell cast the woman follows whatever the demon wants (and that’s just the demon literally sucking the life out of her)

* Lady says she wants Dante’s help with this mission

* Dante brings up how he’s a guy and he can’t do too much to get close to the demon. But if he can know what the demon looks like he can try and hunt from the shadows

* Lady brings up how the demon changes appearances every night so nobody knows who it actually is

* Dante suggests she lead the demon out but lady quickly shuts down that idea because the demon would definitely recognize her

* Dante and Lady go through multiple plans and all end up seeming like dead ends

* You sit there quietly and just listen to them go back and forth. You don’t know much about demon hunting besides stuff you’ve picked up on throughout the years

* Then it clicks in your head after they have another failed idea

* “What if I am the bait for the demon?”

* Lady looks at you and talks about how that is a great idea and starts making a plan

* But while that happens Dante stands up lets out a firm “No.”

* Lady rolls her eyes and looks at him, “It’s the only shot we got. We need to get this mission done and this is our best idea.”

* Dante looks pissed and you get it

* “I am NOT putting her in danger just so I can kill this fucking demon. We still have time so let me think of a new plan.”

* You stand up and walk over to Dante and look him dead in the eyes, “Dante we don’t have any more time. The more we wait there’ll be more innocent women that will die. I don’t want to put anyone through that. If I can help and prevent it I’ll do it.”

* Dante quickly refutes “But what about you? What if you get hurt? I could never live with myself if something happened to you because I put you in danger.”

* You reach for his hands and hold them tightly, “Well Mr Pro demon hunter will just have to protect me right? I feel the safest when I know you’re around anyways.”

* Dante tightens the grip on your hands, “I’ll protect you with my life, I promise you.”

* You, Lady, and Dante all make a quick plan because you have to get ready since you are going to the club tonight

* The plan is to have Lady as surveillance and watching you at all times (on the clubs cameras) you’re also going to be hooked up to a mic that both her and Dante can listen to

* Dante is going to be in the club laying low trying to find the demon before he can get to you

* You all confirm the plan then you go get ready

* You get dressed in a tight and short red dress (you saved it for whenever Dante would ask you on a made up date you made in your dreams)

* You put on some heels, makeup and perfume and you walk into the main area where Dante and Lady are setting up the mics

* Once you walk in Lady cheers you on and compliments you

* You thank her and turn your attention to Dante who can’t take his eyes off of you

* You’re so beautiful and captivating in his eyes, but does he admit that? No…

* He just shakes his head and goes back to adjusting his mic

* Lady frowns and looks back at you. She sees you’re upset from the lack of compliments by Dante

* Lady waves you over to put on your mic and make sure it’s hidden so the demon won’t be able to tell

* After it’s all set up Dante has you test it to make sure it’s working, once the test is successful you all head out

* You’re sitting in the back of the van Lady has with Dante

* As you all get close to the bar you feel your nerves skyrocket

* It is now that you realized what you offered to do and that it’s actually going to happen

* You’re going to be face to face with a demon and you’re not even going to know

* What happens if it succeeds? Will you die? Will it be painful?

* You start to bounce your leg up and down due to your anxiousness

* You then feel a big warm hand settle on your knee stopping you

* You look over at Dante who is already looking at you

* “I told you, I promise I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything happen, you’ll be safe.”

* You nod and thank him

* You two just look at each other for what feels like a century

* Dante opens his mouth but is cut off by Lady announcing you three have arrived

* Lady gets out of the front seat and comes to the back where she’s tapped into all the cameras in the club

* Once that’s good she spins in her seat to face you, “Alright, you’re turn. Dante will enter in about 10 minutes. Be safe.”

* “Okay I’m off then.” You go to leave out of the van but Dante grabs your wrist stopping you

* You look back at him, “If you ever feel uncomfortable and want to stop say pizza and I’ll come to you.”

* “Got it. I’ll say pizza if I’m uncomfortable.”

* You can see Dante’s expression soften a bit and see some stress melt off of him but he still looks super tense

* You leave the van and head into the club

* You walk straight to the bar and order a drink

* You slowly sip on your drink looking around waiting for anyone to approach you

* After about 45 minutes no one has come up to you and it confuses you. Are you doing something wrong?

* As if Dante can hear your thoughts, “You’re not doing anything wrong sweetheart. We got here a bit early to make sure we would be all set up.”

* You nod obviously knowing he can see you responding non verbally to him

* Another 10 minutes goes by and Lady speaks up into the mic, “Someone a little off looking just came in. He’s got on a white polo and blue dress pants. He’s has brown hair that is gelled up.”

* Dante then speaks up, “Got eyes on him.”

* Lady then calls your name, “He’s coming your way.”

* You take the last sip on your drink, by the time you’re putting it down someone appears by you

* “Well it looks like I got lucky today. The pretty girl I wanted to chat with has a drink that is all gone. Do you mind if I buy you another one?”

* You look at the man and see the exact one Lady described

* Steeling yourself you bat your eyelashes and flirt back, “Well I can never turn down a drink from someone so handsome. Do you mind joining me? There’s an open seat right there.”

* The man sits down and flags the bartender down and orders two drinks

* You stare at him trying to look if anything is off. You’ve barely seen demons so you can’t tell

* The bartender comes back with the drinks and the man faces you

* He tips his drink up to do a cheers, you tap his glass and you both take a sip of your drinks

* Small talk ensues. You’ve two talk about your jobs (well your made up one), what foods you like, what’s your favorite animal and so on

* The man finishes his drink and stares deeply at you, it kinda makes you uncomfortable

* It doesn’t feel like the one Dante gives you. His look makes your heart race but the look you’re getting now makes you feel sick

* The man pushes some hair behind your ear and then rests his hand on your cheek

* If you weren’t on a mission you’d slap his hand away

* “So tell me, what is a beautiful and single girl doing here all alone?”

* He rubs his thumb against your cheek and it’s like your mind starts to become foggy

* You don’t even really know what you’re saying while you talk

* “Oh it’s because I love someone and he doesn’t love me back.”

* The man looks shocked, “Oh really?”

* You bite your lip, “Yeah…”

* “Does he have a girlfriend already? Or maybe even a wife?”

* You shake your head, you’re not even in control anymore

* “He doesn’t.”

* The man smirks, “Then why doesn’t want you?”

* You think about it and don’t know. Why doesn’t Dante want you?

* “I don’t know…”

* The man scoots closer, “Come on sweetheart, I know you can do better than that.”

* Your stomach twists when he called you sweetheart, it doesn’t give you the same emotions it did earlier when Dante called you that

* You can hear talking in your ear but your brain can’t register it

* Little did you know it was Dante freaking out and trying to call our to you

* Lady tries to stop him so he doesn’t fuck up the mission

* Dante growls “I’m not going to let her get hypnotized by the demon, and I sure as hell don’t want to listen to her talk about the man she loves.”

* Dante then hears you speak up again

* “Well he’s my boss. He is the most beautiful person in this world. He has such a selfless heart and cares about everyone around him. He works so hard and never stops until he knows peace is coming. He is also so funny and silly. He never fails to make me laugh and smile. He’s also a great dancer. Whether he’s dancing by himself or drags me to dance with him. I love him so much but I don’t think he sees me in that way at all.”

* Your voice cracks but you continue, “I’m not strong at all. His job is very taxing and I can’t even keep up with it. I feel so useless any time he is so tired and stressed because I can’t do anything to help. He’s also surrounded by so many beautiful and strong women that I get outshined in every single way. He never compliments my looks and I just don’t think I’m his type.”

* The man brings your focus back to him, “Do you want me to help you?” He pulls his hand away and it’s like you’re in a deeper trance

* You nod and let out a meek “Yes.”

* The man smirks, “Okay what’s this man’s name?”

* “Dante…”

* Dante’s voice hitches. He feels like he can’t breathe. His heart is racing and he reaches for his chest to hold it

* He clenches his chest and heaves, How can he let you think he doesn’t love you? How did he mess up so fucking bad that you think you’re not special? You’re the most important person in the world to him. You’re so smart, kind, caring, funny, and absolutely gorgeous. He couldn’t compliment you earlier because he couldn’t find the words to describe how beautiful you are.

* Lady yells his name over the mic, “You idiot try and talk to her to see if we can get her out of the trance so she doesn’t get taken.”

* Dante frantically calls out your name

* He sees you and watches you start to follow the demon

* “Baby please, that’s not me. Don’t let him manipulate you. I promise you, I will take you out after this.”

* His voice cracks, “Just please don’t go with him.”

* By the time he finishes the demon has you in the back alley and Lady tells Dante how to get there and he goes running

* Dante tries to talk to you more though

* You feel like shit in all honesty

* This all feels off, the man in front of you looks like Dante but doesn’t feel like Dante

* His hands aren’t super big, they aren’t rough with callous’

* This doesn’t feel right

* You hear something in your ear again but it’s getting louder and louder

* “Baby- please listen to me. Please let me know you hear me. I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

* You let go of the demons hand and you mind stops fogging up a bit

* You breathe out “Dante?”

* You hear a huff and your name, “Is that you?”

* “Dante? Why is there two of you?

* “The one in front you isn’t real. Im coming to you now, get out of there.”

* The demon obviously caught on, “Come on sweetheart, don’t let go.”

* You try and rip your hand out of his but it’s futile you can loosen the demons strong grip

* “Oh so you figured it out? Well I’m not going to let you survive anyways. I’ll just devour you right now.”

* The demon grabs you by your shoulders and pins you hard against the wall

* The demon bares it fangs and goes for your neck and you hear something through the mic,“Don’t move.”

* A couple shots go off and you hear a howl from the demon

* The demon lets go of you and staggers back then a flash of red appears in front of you

* You breathe heavily “Dante.”

* Dante doesn’t look back but grabs his sword, you see his grip is tight

* “Don’t worry I’m here now. I’ll protect you, just like I promised.”

* The demon laughs, “So this is the man that you love but doesn’t care an inkling about you?”

* The demon looks at Dante, “You know I could see her memories and feel her emotions? I felt the hurt and pain you cause her. You hurt her more than anyone. YOU SAY YOU WANT TO PROTECT HER BUT YOU’VE ONLY HURT HER!”

* Dante freezes and you can see his attention wavering

* The demon tries to capitalize on this but you yell, “THAT’S NOT TRUE! Dante means the world to me and he makes me so happy. Being by him no matter what the context feels me with so much joy. I’m not going to let you make him think he’s not everything to me.”

* That seems to snap Dante back into the fight

* It catches the demon off guard and has a hard time fighting off the many attacks Dante his hitting him with

* Dante deals a fatal blow and the demon falls to the ground

* He stands over the demon who is badly injured and can barely move

* The demon growls, “You want to act like a hero but you’re not! I’m the hero here, I helped women like her be able to get what they wanted. I helped them! Not you. You only have hurt the girl that claims to love you. Stop acting like you’re some goddamn saint!”

* Dante stares at the demon, “No you killed innocent women for your selfish greed. You are no hero. A hero doesn’t march around saying all the good deeds they do, their actions are what speak volume. I’m not hero and no saint, and never claimed to be. But if she told me to do something I’d do it. If she wanted the world I’d give it to her.”

* He grips his sword and slices the demon’s head off

* “I’d do anything for her, after all I love her.”

* You breath hitches at his words

* Dante turns around and stares at you. He looks you up and down, “Are you okay? It didn’t hurt you right?”

* “I’m okay, I’m not hurt.” You two stare each other in silence

* Dante can’t take it anymore and walks over to you and pulls you into a tight embrace

* He holds your head to his chest and you can feel how fast his heart is racing

* “You really scared me sweetheart.”

* “I’m sorry Dante.”

* “Please don’t apologize for anything. I should be the one to apologize.”

* “Dante if what it said bothered you don’t listen to it-“

* Dante squeezes you tighter to him, “I’m not good with words and never have been. But I’ll try my hardest.”

* “I don’t know what I would do without you. You make every day so much better. You keep me sane in this fucked up world we live in.”

* Dante leans back and puts one of his hands on the back of your head to connect your foreheads

* You stare deeply into his beautiful blue eyes

* “I don’t think you understand how radiant you are in my eyes. You walk into a room and my eyes are instantly drawn to you. Damn it… earlier I wanted to compliment you non stop but didn’t know how or what to say. No words felt right to describe what I thought.”

* Dante softly calls your name, “You are so beautiful. Whether you be in this dress, in your pajamas, in my jacket, or wrapped up in a blanket. Even when you’re tired, exhausted, or stressed you’re still so breathtaking in my eyes. Your smile and laugh is so contagious and I crave to hear and see those two things every day. I don’t care if I have to look like an idiot to get my wish, I’ll do it.”

* “Dante-“

* “I’m not done.”

* “Having you in my arms makes me feel at home. You are my home. Coming back to you after every mission makes my heart race. I want to be with you always. I meant what I told that damn demon, if you wanted the world I’d give it to you. No matter what I had to do. Because I love you and nothing will change that.”

* You are lost for words, you have no idea what to say

* Dante was right he’s never been good with words but you can tell he put everything into this declaration

* “Dante, I don’t need the world. I just need you because I love you.”

* Dante lets out a deep sigh that turns into a laugh, “Thank god that confession was good. Don’t know what I would have done if it didn’t.”

* You laugh, “Even just if you just said you loved me I would have believed you.”

* “You deserve more than just a simple confession. But I want to do one more thing.”

* “What is that?”

* “I really and I mean really want to kiss you.”

* “And I really want you to kiss me.” You beam up at him.

* Dante leans down and pulls your head close to connect both of your lips

* The kiss is soft but is over quick

* You two pull apart and then Dante doesn’t hesitate to go back in

* He connect your lips in a heated clash

* He pulls your hips closer to him so you’re completely pressed up against him

* He slides his tongue into your mouth to connect with yours

* You get his message and let your lips and tongues dance in the heated clash

* Dante disconnects again and goes to kiss down your neck

* “You drive me fucking crazy.”

* He knows he finds your sweet spot once you let out a little moan

* “There it is.” He sucks on the spot which makes you let out another moan

* Before Dante can continue his actions you two hear a throat clear in the mic

* “Finally you two confessed but how about the first time you fuck it isn’t in a dirty alley. Where I can also hear.”

* You hide yourself in Dante’s chest out of embarrassment and the man groans

* “Did you really have to ruin the moment? Also I wouldn’t fuck her in a dirty alley, I have dignity.”

* “Whatever just get back to the van so I can take you guys back.”

* “Okay, okay we’re coming.”

* Dante steps back and takes off his jacket and helps you put it on

* Once it on he holds out his hand, “Let’s go home.”

* You grin at him, “Let’s!”

[trippinsorrows]

love lies

authors note: tribal daddy's current storyline had me inspired. these characters and 98% of this dynamic is from a personal story i've been writing since last year. some of these scenes were taken directly from that. some things have also been changed/modified/removed to fit the specific storyline of this oneshot.

an important thing to note is that in this universe, wrestling is all real. there's no kayfabe. everything that happens is real. wwe is also up there in ranks with the nba and nfl. the big three, if you will.

roman and jey are not married in this. jey is divorced with two kids. roman....just know he has no wife. lmao.

words: 17k (if you're new around here, i'm so sorry. i talk too much.)

warnings: angst. smut. fluff. age gap. unhealthy (toxic?) dynamics. roman is....annoying.

song inspo: 'love lies' by khalid feat. normani // 'for the night' by chloe feat. latto

She should have broken it off a long time ago. 

Alamea knows this and has known this for some time. The same way she knows this should have never started in the first place. 

She should have done exactly what she was instructed to do by anyone and everyone who offered advice when she was first hired by WWE. Different variations of the same shared warning across the board.

Stay away from Roman Reigns.

Truth be told, it didn’t—or shouldn’t—have needed to be said. His reputation spoke for itself. The self-proclaimed Head of the Table, and his unassailable Bloodline, ran WWE. Had for the past couple years following Roman’s disappearance and reappearance with a new, also self-assigned title as the Tribal Chief. And, it’d been a hell of a run ever since.  

Or, it was. 

Because while Roman sat untouched and unbeatable at the top of his throne for years, it all came crashing down in the most unexpected—or expected—of ways on April 7th, 2024 when the unthinkable happened. 

Roman lost.

He lost. 

A historic 1,316 day title reign ended on the count of a one, two, three. 

Cody Rhodes defeated him and finished not only his story but Roman’s as well. 

A story that, truly, Roman himself allowed to end in a lot of ways. The chair to the back of Seth allotted him brief satisfaction but long-term misery. A personal choice that he made that cost him everything. 

Something that felt and seemed inconceivable at the time.

“I made a personal decision,” he’d told her once as they laid in bed, his gaze on the ceiling, hers focused on the wall beside them. She was atop him, finger gently tracing the outline of his tattoos. “And, I don’t regret it. I’d do it again.”

She wonders if he still feels the same. 

She also wished, sometimes, at least, that he wouldn’t do that. 

Talk to her like that. It was…confusing. 

It all is, but especially that. 

Especially something so….personal. 

Then again, one could argue that sex was even more personal, because it is, and yet, that didn’t stop her every time he showed up at her door. 

And, he always does. 

At one point or another. 

—-------

March, 2022

The most frequent piece of advice that Alamea had been given since being hired at the WWE was, again, relatively simply enough. 

Stay on task, keep up with her responsibilities, and above all, stay out of Roman Reign’s way.

She took heed to all of it, but especially the latter of the three.

Or, at least, tried to.

Because only she could manage to run, literally run, into the man himself on her very first day. 

Of course.

And what an impact it was. She felt like the wind was knocked out of her. The man was a brick wall. A solid, muscled, impenetrable wall. The brace sent her flat on her ass, portfolio falling beside her, embarrassment fighting with anxiety. Not only was she late on her first official day, but now she’d broken the cardinal rule in less than 1 hour.

Go fucking figure.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Paul Heyman, also known as the Wise Man, and Roman’s chief advisor, was instantly berating her. “How dare you—”

Roman lifted his hand to silence Paul, and it was only then that she realized it was because he was staring directly at her. A quiet gasp left her mouth at the sight of him.

She’d seen him on TV plenty of times, watching wrestling every Friday and Monday night when she could, live, and recorded on the days where she had work or class. He’d always been attractive to her, even on the TV screen. But, in person….in person was something entirely different. He was both beautiful and terrifying in the same breath. Beautiful, weary brown eyes focused on her, assessing her, slowly moving up and over her seated, sprawled out frame. 

Everything about him screamed power. 

An extra layer of embarrassment crept over when she realized she was staring. Reorienting herself to the situation, Alamea expected to be met with a fiery, annoyed gaze. Instead, he looked….he looked curious. 

She frowned, and that frown deepened when she realized he was extending his hand, willing to help her get back to her feet. Her. The same person who rudely smashed into him because she was incapable of having and successfully completing one job.

Alamea felt, and probably looked, every bit of stupid just staring between him and his outstretched hand. There was definitely too long of a delay between his offer and her acceptance. Her hand in his, the other one grabbing her portfolio, he seemed to exert all of the strength needed to pull her to her feet. And, when she was entirely upright, she snatched her hand back to push back some of her hair that refused to stay in her now messy bun. It was slicked back when she left that morning, but it certainly wasn’t that way anymore. Not with all the ripping and running she’d done.

“I’m—I’m so sorry. I didn’t—” Stammering like an idiot only made her feel even more humiliated, no doubt her cheeks shaded red to match the burning within. “I–I’m sorry, Mr. Reigns.”

Paul’s correction was swift and razor-sharp. “You will acknowledge him as your Tribal Chief.”  

She swallowed, nodding. And the grave kept getting deeper and deeper. “Of course, my apologies. I’m sorry, my T—”

“Abigail!” A loud, vexing voice shrieked, and if Alamea hadn’t had the displeasure of already being introduced to the woman, she would have ignored it. Having only a handful of meetings, each one had been marked by being called the wrong name, offering a respectful correction, and said correction being ignored for the wrong name. “Where the hell is she?”

“Oh no.” Alamea’s face blanked as she apologized yet again and moved in between Roman and his council, ignoring the brush of her body against his. He was built. “I’m really sorry again!” She called back once more, rushing towards an agitated Tiffany Stratton.

When Alamea learned that WWE wanted to move forward with hiring her, she was ecstatic, happier than a kid on Christmas morning who saw they got the number one item on their wishlist. She couldn't wait to tell her parents that a lifelong dream was finally becoming reality. For as long as she could remember, Alamea loved clothes, loved how they could be so personal and expressive. She especially loved costume designing, something she was first introduced to through WWE. And WWE was something she was introduced to by her brother.

It saddened her sometimes, often, that he was no longer around to see that she did it. She followed her dreams, and it worked out. But, she also knew that he was proud of her, and it was that desire to keep him proud that allowed Alamea to deal with the irate woman before her.

“Why were you with Roman?” Her tone was accusatory but also interrogative, like she was looking for something else. “How do you know him?”

“I don’t.” Alamea answered quickly, realizing Tiffany wanted an explanation. “I, umm, I accidentally ran into him.”

This answer seemed to please her, her thin lips forming into an amused smile. “Of course, you did.” 

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Whatever, Abigail.” Alamea had long given up on trying to correct the superstar she’d been assigned to design for. One verbal lashing was more than enough for her to realize it wasn’t a dealbreaker. “Let’s go. You’ve got one more time, and I’ll make sure your ass never works in this industry again. Understand?”

Alamea nodded silently. It was no secret how heavily Tiffy was being pushed in the women’s division. A clear company favorite. Alamea had no doubt the woman could make good on her threat. Following the blonde towards her dressing room, Alamea was wholeheartedly unaware of the set of eyes that never let her from the moment of impact. 

The eyes of the Tribal Chief himself, Roman Reigns. 

—-------

One of the many reasons Roman kept The Wiseman around was because he was true to his name. Wise. And, reliable. Fast, too.

In under a couple hours, the Wise Man had successfully delivered the requested information to the Head of the Table.

Alamea Dixon. 25. New hire to the company in the wardrobe department. Assigned to a couple of female superstars, including Tiffany Stratton. That piece of information put a scowl on the Undisputed Champion’s face. Many of the women on the roster were irritating to him, but Tiffany was insufferable. She took any opportunity she could find to bat her eyelashes and stick fake ass, hard titties up and out in his presence. The desperation was tacky. A waste of time too. 

She wasn’t his type. Too thin. 

And if he was being real honest, too white. That had never been his preference. Even growing up.

But.

Alamea…she was most definitely his type. 

Those big brown eyes, full lips, and the curves…she checked all three boxes: hips, ass, and tits. Roman needed someone to take to bed who actually satisfied his appetite. And, as of late, the pickings had been mid at best. 

But type or no type, she was a distraction. And he couldn’t have distractions. As Head of the Table, the weight of his entire family on his shoulders, he couldn’t afford distractions. Alamea could be a sight for sore eyes but nothing more. 

—------

“Ayo, I think we should get some Yeet pillows next.” Jimmy, or maybe Jey, blurted out while walking in the Bloodline locker room with two plates of food. “Maybe some beach balls as well.”

“Ohhh shit, man, yeah, that’d be sick. We could kick them around and stuff during our entrance.” The other twin, whichever one, fed into the bullshit. Some days Roman truly contemplated demanding they have their own locker room because the way they tested his patience at least once a day, usually several times within the hour, couldn’t have been good for his health.

He wished they would be more like Solo. Seen but never heard. Roman’s preference for anyone not the Wise Man.

A knock at the door pulled him away from his thoughts yet again. Jaw clenching, he miraculously stopped himself from snapping on everyone around him. How the hell was he supposed to strategize with all these damn distractions?

“Shit, that must be the wings I ordered.” Twin #1 jumped off the sofa as Roman ran his hand over his face and through his beard, a telltale sign of his growing impatience. 

“Damn,” Jimmy/Jey called out from the door. “It ain’t the wings, but I’m not complaining.”

“Hi.”

Roman’s head snapped in the direction of the door. That voice. He knew it.

Alamea.

“I’m sorry to bother.” That damn girl was always apologizing for something. “But, Sheila is out sick today, and these came in for you, so I was asked to drop them off and make sure they’re what you wanted.” Sheila was the Bloodline’s personal and lead wardrobe designer. Good at what she did and didn’t make a lot of noise. 

But, she was no Alamea. Not in looks, at least.

“Oh, for sure. Come in.” Roman watched her walk in behind Jimmy with a box that partially obscured his view of her pretty ass face. 

He cuts his eyes at Jey, demanding, “help her.” Fucking manners were a dime a dozen these days. Jey, who was sitting, jumped up and did so, taking the box from her and placing it on the island in the kitchenette area. Alamea briefly locked eyes with Roman and offered a quiet thank you before she refocused on the twins ripping the box open like fucking children. 

Meanwhile, Roman tried to not focus too much on the fact that her side profile was on full display, his eyes temporarily zoning in on the curve of her ass, a nearly perfect ‘P.’

“Oh shit,” Jey cursed, lifting up one of the shirts to his frame and asking Alamea, “what you think?”

She opened her mouth and closed it. “It’s nice.”

“Be honest,” Roman instructed. She looked at him again, not for long. She was nervous. That much was painfully obvious.

“I just—” She reached out to touch the shirt. “I would have moved this further down and inverted the colors. Red on black instead of black on red. It’s too loud, and not in a good way. The font should also be less calligraphy, something more sans serif. Maybe crop this too. For you, at least. Leave it the length it is for Jimmy. Another distinction between you two.” Covering her hand over her mouth, her eyes widened as she shook her head. “But, it—it looks fine the way it is. Just—just my suggestions.”

“Naw, I love it,” Jimmy chimed and looked between him and Jey. “Shit, can you be our designer?”

Her eyes widened again in slight panic. “Oh no, I can’t—I’m Tiffany’s designer—”

“Man, fuck that bad bodied bitch. Her ass wear the same damn outfit every week. Just different colors. What she need a designer for anyway? Especially a good one.” Jey looked over at Roman, walking over to him. “Come on, uce, make it happen.”

“No, really, I—” She was cut off by her phone ringing. “Shit,” she cursed under her breath and pulled it out of her pocket. Glancing at the screen, Alamea shook her head and shared it with them. Tiffany. “See? I’ve gotta—” However, she was cut off by Roman lifting out of his seat and taking only two steps to close the distance between them. She was about to say something when he took her phone out of her hand and hit answer.

“She’s with me now.” A simple statement was all he issued before ending the call and reaching it back to her. 

Alamea might have been a distraction, but she was an even bigger distraction for the twins, which would give him some relief from dealing with their antics. So, a necessary evil.

One he could absolutely learn to manage.

—-------

April, 2022

Roman was wrong. He could not, in fact, manage it.

He anticipated Alamea being some level of distraction, but he didn’t anticipate how high that level actually was.

She was always around, and that was mostly because of his irritating as shit cousins who constantly asked for her advice, input, and designs regarding all of their stupid ass ideas. On one hand, he was happy to no longer be on the receiving end of that. But, on the other, he was still in earshot and now always in close proximity with Alamea. 

To be fair, she kept her distance and interactions with him to a minimum. He could tell it was partially because he intimidated her, as he did most people, but that was also just clearly her personality. She was quiet and soft-spoken, though the more she hung around the twins, the more he could see her comfort level increasing. She would crack jokes and laugh with them, matching their vibes as best she could.

Roman would never admit that there was some small part of him that liked how she got along with his family so well. The twins were annoying, but they were family, like brothers to him. And family meant everything.

“I wanna take this in a little more.”

She was tailoring a new shirt for Jimmy, and though he played off his disinterest well, Roman watched how focused and intense she looked when she was working, clearly finding passion and pride in what she did. “How’s that? Move your arm around.” Jimmy did so, freely, displaying the flexibility needed to wrestle. “Okay, yeah, that works. I’ll have it ready for you tonight.”

“Man, you are magic, Lay Lay.”

Lay Lay? Roman didn’t know why, but his cousin having a nickname for Alamea rubbed him the wrong way. 

Her smile was bright, warm, bubbly. Like her personality. “Always here to help.” 

Jimmy said something about craft services being ready before rushing out like a child going to see their Christmas presents on Christmas day. 

That left just Roman and Alamea, the latter of whom seemed anxious to gather her supplies and head out, probably to one of the other dressing rooms. Being alone together seemed to bother her just as much as it bothered him, even if he did a much better job of not showing it. 

In grabbing some of her supplies, she accidentally knocked down a portfolio, papers littered across the floor. 

She cursed quietly, and he smirked. Her voice was so light and soft, profanity on her tongue just sounded amusing. 

Roman moved across the room, bending down to help her out. Her head snapped up, hair framing her face. His jaw clenched. Her brown eyes, big and captivating, temporarily distracted him. Just like everything else about her.

“Thank you,” she offered, quietly. Roman said nothing, reaching her a stack of papers when his eyes landed on one in particular.

It was unfinished, clearly, but enough was completed for him to make out exactly what it was. His cousins and the Wise Man sitting around a table, Roman at the head, surrounded by money and what seemed to be a rough outline of their title belts.

He chuckled, “did you design this?”

“Y-yeah.” She added on, nervously. “I mean, it’s nothing serious. I was just messing around with different ideas to—”

“I like it,” he interjected, cutting off her rambling. 

Her surprise at his words, short and simple, were visible. “Really?” 

Reaching it to her, he ignored the slight brush of their hands and watched her add it to the top of the stack. “It’s good. Very good.”

She looked like he just told her that she was the reincarnation of God. Her cheeks were reddened as she pushed some of her hair behind her ear, bashful as always. “Thank you.” She gathered the rest of her materials, standing up and adding, “I planned on finishing it tonight for the twins—”

“No.” She frowned as he stood up as well, more or less towering over her. It was a matter of his massive size and her shortish stature. “That one’s mine. They can have their yeet shit.”

She giggled, and my God. It was like music to his ears. “You really don’t like that, do you?”

He rolled his eyes, answering. “It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“I feel like a lot of things don’t make sense with them,” she added, a sly smile on her face.

Roman nodded, chuckling. “Yeah, they been like that since we were kids.”

“You guys are really close.” It was more an assessment than a question. An accurate one. Even in the moments where the Usos' antics were met with glares and looks of disdain from the Tribal Chief, she could always recall the small smiles and inside jokes she’d been privy to witness between the three. “You’re protective of them.”

“Of all my family,” he corrected, “If I care about you, ain’t nothing I won’t do for you.”

Alamea didn’t know why his gaze and words stirred up unidentified emotions. She just knew that her weight shifted from one foot to another as she murmured an excuse about needing to get to the dressing room.

She also refused to think too much about how she felt his eyes on her retreating form up until the door closed. 

—---------

May, 2022

Roman didn’t consider himself the jealous type, maybe in his teens, even early college days, sure. But as a grown man, it’d never been an issue.

Until then.

His first mistake was agreeing to attend his cousins’ random ass party they were throwing for no reason other than they liked to organize shit like this every so often. They claimed it was to celebrate his Mania win over Brock a few weeks prior, but he knew better.

He didn't want to go. Not really, but it’d been a while, and he’d not attended the last few, something Jimmy threw in his face when trying to convince him to show up.

Well, he had, and he was regretting it almost immediately. Everyone in attendance worked for WWE in some capacity, and several of them other wrestlers he barely liked, didn’t like, or hated. The one person he didn’t really expect, though he wasn’t sure why, to be in attendance, was the sole reason for him struggling to contain his temper at that moment. 

He didn’t know how he didn’t notice her presence sooner, but when he did, he both hated and loved what he saw.

Loved because she looked fucking amazing. Her thin sleeved, burgundy dress was short and hugged every curve seamlessly, her breast more exposed than he’d seen her dress before, and he was certain it wasn't intentional. She was heavy chested, so no matter what she wore, it was always nearly impossible for him to not notice her titites. Covered or not. Her hair was straight, the first time he’d seen it like so, and fell down her back as she laughed at something Carmelo said.

That was the hate.

She was talking to Carmelo Fucking Hayes. The kid definitely fell under the hate category. Not only was he annoying, he was pretentious and annoying. Believing himself better than he actually was. And now, he was talking to Alamea.

The only thing Roman would give him is that the kid had balls. Following that situation, and the bloodied, broken scene Roman left in the wake of his rage, word quickly spread around the locker room that Alamea wasn’t to be fucked with. In any sort of capacity.

And yet this little fucker thought he was beyond Roman’s law, which was what the ‘word’ really was. If the Tribal Chief wanted something, that automatically made it law. And, he didn’t want any other man on the roster speaking to Alamea, unless it was purely professional and business related.

Roman knew for a fact wasn’t shit business related regarding the conversation happening across the room.

To be fair, he really did try to distract himself, allowing Jaida Parker, a new NXT hire, convince him why they should leave together. It was a good effort, he’d give her that, but she didn’t compare to the woman whose smile instantly made him feel better, even on the shittiest day.

And, it was when Roman saw Hayes run his thumb over Alamea’s hand that his resolve broke. He completely ignored Jaida, moving up from his seat and making his way across the club. It seemed like only a few steps were needed to bring him to his destination, Alamea’s eyes falling on him with what he could swear was a look of appreciation.

“Get lost.” Was all he said to Hayes, moving in between the two of them, fully obscuring the other man’s view of her. Good. Dipshit didn’t need to even be looking at her, let alone speaking to her.

Hayes rolled his eyes, amused. “Come on, man, we was just talking. Or, can we not speak to her either?”

“No, you can’t.” Hayes was lucky that he was even getting the benefit of only being spoken to, because anywhere else, Roman would have let his fists do the talking for him. The kid was just that irritating to him. “And if you don’t get fucking lost now, you won’t be having a match tomorrow night or any night anytime soon cause I’m gonna bash your fucking head into this bar.”

Roman felt her move behind him and looked down when he saw her hand on his forearm. His gaze flitted to her eyes, fully aware of how her touch alone immediately caused his anger to settle.

“Let’s just go.”

Roman didn’t know how or fucking why, but it only took that one statement for him to do just as she asked. He took her hand and immediately began guiding her through the crowd of people who damn near parted like the red sea to make way for him.

Alamea struggled to keep up with his pace, partially because of the long strides he took due to his height but also those heels she stupidly decided to wear. He guided them up steps, which she realized led to one of the private rooms she saw him enter when he first arrived.

For a second, she grew nervous. She was pretty sure no one else was up there. 

And, she was right.

It was just the two of them.

Alone.

It was only when they were in the room that he spoke, slamming the door behind him, “hate that fuckin’ kid.”

Alamea shrugged, quietly. “He’s persistent, but he seems harmless.”

At that, Roman turned and looked at her, “has he tried to talk to you before?”

“I’ve done a couple fittings for him,” she answered, unsure why he seemed annoyed at that. “He’s asked me out.”

Judging by the fire burning in his eyes, Alamea realized she could have left that last part out. “And what the hell did you tell him?”

She was unsure where this was coming from, maybe exhaustion from feeling confused by Roman’s mixed signals over the past few two months. How he'd flop back and forth between talking to her and the pretending like she didn't exist. “Why do you care?”

He was surprised by her counter. “I care, because I made it clear that none of these fuckers were to talk to you, and if Hayes is defying my orders, then that’s a problem I need to handle.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” she defended. Alamea may not have been interested in Hayes in that way, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to be subjected to Roman’s anger. No one needed that. “He’s pushy but respectful. Nothing like….like Theory.” Her voice went soft, not wanting to revisit that dark memory. She shook her head. “I appreciate your help, but you can’t dictate who I can and can’t talk to.” 

“Do you like him?” She was unsure whether it was her pushing back against him or something else, but his anger seemed to only be intensifying. It was controlled, as much as Roman Reigns could control himself. But, it was definitely there.

“No.” The answer was easy. Carmelo may have been decent, but he didn’t spark her interest, didn’t make her stomach do all sorts of flips at the sound of his voice, didn't command her attention with just his presence. No…..no, that would be someone else. “Would you care if I did?”

“You could do better than him.” Was his safe answer, though it was an answer that didn’t match his actions. Because he was moving in her direction at the same time she was moving back. “You deserve better than him.”

Alamea wasn’t sure why she was backing away when she only wanted to move closer, to have his body up against hers. “Yeah?” Her voice was light, and she gasped quietly when her ass hit the door, leaving her nowhere else to go as Roman closed in. She licked her lips when he was directly in front of her, one hand braced against the door, the other on her hip. “Like who?”

“Jesus Christ….”

Alamea couldn’t deny that she’s imagined what it would be like to kiss Roman Reigns. She wasn’t blind. No one could deny how damn attractive this man is, his aura, his demeanor, that strong body that emanated power and authority. Everything about him was so appealing to her, but it wasn't until that moment she realized how good it would be to kiss Roman.

He kissed like he did everything else in life, with intention and purpose. His mouth was hungry and ravenous for her, and when she moved her hands to his rock hard abs, it was like that ignited something in him. He groaned into their kiss and moved his hands to the back of her thighs, hiking her up on his waist. 

She gasped, not once breaking their kiss, even as he brought them to the sofa and fell back. She was straddling him, his hands moving all over her body, squeezing her ass. She moaned in his mouth as he broke their kiss and lowered his mouth to her neck.

“Roman…” She gasped as he sucked on her neck, somehow finding that spot that had her vision blurring. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he kneaded her breast with his big hands, before moving one hand under her dress to squeeze her ass, which had her moaning again but also realizing they were moving fast. Too fast.

For this setting, at least. 

She breathed, managing a pained. “W–wait.”

He acquiesced, but there was a hint of irritation in his lustful gaze. "What?"

She licked her swollen lips. This was it. This was her moment to back away, to remember all the warnings she'd been given when she first started this job. To draw the line in the sand and set boundaries. To make him explain what was with all the hot and cold days. To get some answers.

But, right there, in that moment, she didn't want any of that. Didn't really care about any of that.

She just wanted him, and judging by the growing erection she could feel pressed against her wet panties, he felt the same.

And, she wasn't about to miss out on this once in a lifetime opportunity.

“Let’s get out of here.”

—------

June, 2022

It’d become a routine really.

A few times a week, sometimes every night during particularly stressful weeks, Alamea would find Roman standing outside her hotel room. Few, if any, words were exchanged before he had her up on the bathroom counter, the table in the middle of the room, or laid out on the bed, his head buried between her legs. It seemed to be his favorite way to start.

 And, then he fucked her. Thoroughly. Like most things he did. 

Always to her pleasure though. 

Alamea would struggle to explain to anyone just how this arrangement started. How a one night stand turned into that. Partially because she herself was still struggling to understand it. It wasn’t romantic, no matter how much she may have wished it was, or tried to convince herself otherwise. It was an itch that she seemed to be able to scratch for some reason. Pleasurable for both of them with low (no) commitment. He got his. She got hers. He left.

That….that was the part she always struggled with the most. 

She knew deep down she wasn’t made for such an arrangement. She felt too deeply, cared too much, all for a man who’d only ever seemed interested in using her body to relieve some stress. But, it was that same stress she felt that made her want more. She knew he’d never admit it, but Roman always came to her with a weight he didn’t outwardly show. Not really, anyway. She’d heard him refer to the weight he carried, but no one really ever really saw that weight.

Except for her.

He had small telltale signs. Like the way he sat with his chin in his hand, focused on nothing before him, deep in thought. Or how he sometimes slapped the wall of the locker room after a match or a promo that didn’t go well. Running his hand over his face and through his beard. 

She knew it was unhealthy, knew that the longer it went on, the longer her unrequited feelings would grow. There was only one outcome, and it wasn’t in her favor. He’d be fine. He’d have lost nothing. She’d be the one left devastated and heartbroken.

And in spite of it all, she still allowed him into her room damn near every night. Inside of her. 

She tried to convince herself it was because the sex was too damn good to give up, and that wasn’t a lie. He may have been only one of six people she’d ever been with, but he easily shot to the top of that already short list. Roman was a quick learner, easily picking up on what she liked, what made her scream, the things that made her beg for him not to stop. It was an ego stroke for him, of that, she was sure. But, it was also so damn good for her, too.

It was hard to give up something that felt good in the moment. Even if the crash and burn would be one for epic proportions.

Still, Alamea did her best to fight her feelings, to minimize them from growing more than they already had. And for a minute, a very brief, short minute, she thought that she was getting better. She didn’t wake up in the middle of the night and feel a pang in her chest when seeing she was alone yet again. Didn’t feel hurt when he barely said more than a few words to her during the day. She knew that was just how it was. 

And, then it happened. 

She woke up at some ungodly hour, something she’d done since a girl. A random waking before succumbing back to slumber. Alamea made an incoherent sound and went to turn over when she felt it. 

The muscled arm wrapped securely around her, holding her still and close to the equally muscular chest. For a brief second, she panicked, because there was no way in hell Roman was sleeping beside her. She’d be more likely to have a random intruder than the Head of the Table in her bed for something other than sex.

But, in managing to angle her body so she was on her back, Alamea saw that hell hath frozen over. Roman was sleeping, a peaceful expression upon his handsome face.

What….the….fuck?

She was panicking, clearly, because why? Never, ever had this man spent the night with her. He’d stick around for a little bit, but never longer than what was necessary. And now, he was just…sleeping. 

When the surprise settled, she took in the moment, took in how relaxed he appeared, how at peace he was. No pressure from the family, from the fans, from himself. Just…peaceful. 

And with her. 

Peace with her. 

She chewed on her bottom lip and found herself reaching to push the hair from out of his face. But, she stopped, caught it, scolding herself for risking waking him up, risking ruining this moment. Because that’s all it was. A single moment. It wasn’t indicative of anything other than someone who decided to just camp out instead of going back to his own room. 

That painful but necessary reminder allowed her to turn back on her side without disturbing him, as she fell back into a sleep that allowed her to escape her disappointing reality. 

But.

But, if she’d remained awake just a few seconds longer, she’d have felt the tug of her body into his chest and lips graze her temple. 

—----------

July, 2022

“Does he eat pussy?”

“Mom!”

“What?” She sucked her teeth. “I’m making sure, because I did not raise you girls to be with selfish lovers. If he ain’t reciprocating, don’t be giving.”

“Of course, he does,” Paris handled that answer, but not without offering her own. “The better question is if he uses Viagra?”

“Don’t be silly, girl.” Alamea’s mother, Taylor, dismissed. “He’s not your daddy.”

London was the first to protest that time. “Mama!”

“Why are we even talking about this?” Alamea groaned, going to rub her temples but remembering the cucumber face mask working its magic on her skin. “I just wanted this to be a nice little moment.”

“He’s not little, is he?”

“Mama, please.” Alamea released another groan, throwing her body back against the temple.

“Ain’t he like 6 something? That would be wild if he is.” London shook her head, her image on Alamea’s iPad partially distorted from the poor signal. “But, also….”

“I am going to hang up on all of you.”

A mouth full of popcorn didn’t stop Paris from protesting. “You better not!”

She was very much tempted to, but she didn’t, because as unhinged Alamea's family could be, she loved them deeply. Missed home and being away from them as long as she had. Missed these almost traditional type of monthly meeting they would have. When she still lived back in Virginia, once a month, they’d bounce around at everyone’s place, though usually the family home for the sake of space, and gather together with food, skincare, and a show they all shared the same love for. 

Usually Martin or One Tree Hill. 

It was something they’d done for years, and Alamea being on the road all the time wasn’t enough to stop it. Hence why she had her sisters and mom on a group FaceTime while season 3, episode 1 of One Tree Hill played on her TV and the TV’s of her family. 

“We just want to know, baby,” came Taylor’s voice. Alamea sighed once more. Of course, they did.

When people referenced that famous “I’m a cool mom” line from Mean Girls, they were actually talking about Taylor Dixon. For as far back as Alamea could remember, her mom was always an open book, willing and ready to talk about anything.

She had a relaxed, non-judgmental outlook on any and all things. She was also….eccentric in her methods. Giving her girls “the talk” using Alamea’s MyScene dolls probably a bit sooner than her youngest child really needed to know such things.

The minute Alamea hit an age that ended with ‘teen,’ Taylor was stressing that as soon as Alamea started to think about sex, let her know, and they could get her started on birth control. Not to mention the bowl of condoms she kept conveniently located on the fireplace mantle.

Hell, when Alamea lost her virginity, a group call with her sisters and mom was one of the first things she did. A given considering how….anticlimactic it was.

In a lot of ways, Taylor felt more like the biggest sister of the group but still managed to fulfill all the maternal needs of a mother. 

So, when Alamea said her mom was one of her best friends, she meant that shit.

Except right now, because all of the invasive ass questions about her sex life were the last thing she expected this call to entail. 

It was also the last thing she needed, really, because lately, Alamea found herself thinking of Roman in different ways. Thinking of them in different ways. Imagining what it would be like if it was more than just sex.

If they could ever be more.

A dangerous line of thinking, for sure. 

“Alamea….” Taylor’s voice shifting to something serious captured the attention of all of her girls. There was always something important to be said when their mom slipped from her usual carefree disposition. “I just want you to be careful.”

“We are, mama,” she murmured. For the most part. 

There were definitely some moments where the pull out method was utilized, but for the most part, a condom was always used when they fucked.

Taylor shook her head as Alamea looked at her through the screen. “I don’t mean like that.” She frowned, taking a deep breath. “I mean with your heart.” Alamea stilled, moving to hit pause on the TV and judging by the silence on Paris and London’s ends, they had, too. “Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s great you’re embracing your sexuality and enjoying a good, fun sex life, but you’re also my child, and I know you. I know that you care and feel deeply, and I just….I just want to make sure you’re not catching feelings in a situation where, based upon what you’ve told us, that’s not what he’s looking for.”

Alamea remained quiet, hating how her mom always knew just what to say and when to say it. Even if she didn’t necessarily want to hear it. Even if it’s probably what she needed to hear. 

“Mama’s right,” Paris sounded, expression sympathetic. “He’s also, what? Almost 40? If he hasn’t settled down by now with anyone, it’s…it’s not likely to be you, Alamea.” Hard words to hear but presented almost gently, her oldest sister clearly trying her best to be empathetic. “It’s a fun fling. Enjoy it while you can, but protect your heart.” 

Alamea looked at the faces of her closest confidants, doing her best to let their words marinate and create a form of defense for just that. Feelings. But, it was hard to do so when she was certain that feelings had already started to grow, even if, as they all pointed out, it was stupid to do so.

Roman wasn’t that type. The type to ever date her or want anything more than just the ‘kinda friends but not really with definite benefits’ arrangement they had. She was better served, as they suggested, enjoying the time for what it was.

Not what it could never be. 

—----------

July, 2022

It happened again.

But, different this time. Whether for better or worse…that remained to be seen. 

She fell asleep with him beside her and woke up in the middle of the night with him still in bed with her. This time though, she’d found herself up against him, her arm around his body and her head on his chest. Alamea didn’t know what to make of that, especially when she realized he was still awake, his hand making soft, shapeless movements on the small of her back.

She closed her eyes to go back to sleep, refusing to ruin anything about the moment, wanting to capture it in a bottle and hold onto it forever. 

“Tell me something about you.” 

She didn’t expect him to stay, didn’t expect him to be holding her like he was, and she definitely didn’t expect this man to want to pillow talk with her. 

And yet….

“I—” She wasn’t sure what to say, not really knowing what he was specifically looking for. “I have two living siblings. They’re older than me.”

“You’re the baby….” He said it like it made everything make sense. “Are they quiet like you?”

She laughed. “Not at all.” She adjusted her body, moving closer to him. He tugged her closer, too. “My middle sister, London, she’s always been relatively carefree. Likes to joke around a lot. Imagine a much tamer version of the twins.”

He chuckled. “Definitely not like you then.” 

“And my oldest sister, Paris—”

“Your sisters' names are London and Paris?” The disbelief in his voice along with the fact that she could literally imagine the scowl on his face only made it that much better. 

“My mother always wanted to name her kids after places she’s always wanted to visit.” 

“And your dad agreed to that?” Rolling her eyes, she flicked the side of his chest.

“Shut up.” Another low chuckle, as she continued. “Anyway, Paris is the opposite. She’s….a bit of a control freak, sometimes. But, she means well.”

“Hmm.” He said nothing, and then asked, almost tentatively. “You said living….”

Alamea quieted. It’d been a while since she’d spoken about that. She didn’t really like talking about it, but something about it, about him, made her feel like she could. “Dallas,” she whispered. “He…umm…he passed away when I was in high school.”

That’s it. Nothing else. She wasn’t sure what there was to say after something like that.

“My sister passed away when I was away at college.”

She stilled against him, unsure of what to say, how to respond, what would be potentially helpful or even comforting to him in that moment. Even though, deep down, she knew firsthand there was nothing to say or do to comfort that kind of loss. It was something always just….there.

“I’m sorry,” was the response she settled on. Quiet and empathetic. Not sympathetic, not that overt contrition that people typically offered that made things somehow worse. She wouldn’t offend him with that. 

He didn’t say anything after that. 

Neither did she.

—-------

November, 2022

Oh hot damn, this is my jam

Keep me partying 'til the AM

Y'all don't understand, make me throw my hands

In the ayer, ay-ayer, ayer, ay-ayer

Eyes closed, body swaying, Alamea was in the zone. Completely wasted, only aware of the fact that she was in Roman’s nice, big ass hotel room, dancing on the table to one of her favorite party songs.

Actually, everything that played so far was her favorite song. Cyclone. Low. Birthday Song. Freak Hoe (Speaker Knockerz). Real Sisters. 

Jimmy was a good ass DJ.

It was her, Naomi, Jey, Jimmy, Sami, and, of course, Roman. Solo and Paul had dipped a while ago. When, she wasn’t sure, she just knew she hadn’t seen them for a minute. Except, the Tribal Chief remained the only sober one, clearly and visibly annoyed with the hot ass, drunken mess the majority of his Bloodline were at that moment.

He’d known the minute the twins suggested they celebrate the Bloodline’s War Games win that it was going to be some mess, and he was right.

Some mess, it certainly was. 

“Aye, aye, aye,” Jey slurred, stumbling over to the table where Alamea continued to dance despite the song fading to an end. “This the life, ain’t it? Shit, we should do this every night!”

The group cheered, as Roman sighed heavily. 

Over his dead body. 

A new song played, another one he recognized but gave no other indication as he watched their drunk asses overreact. 

“This is my song!” Naomi shouted, moving over and climbing onto the table with Alamea. 

(Yeah) Party like a rock, party like a rockstar

(Y-y-yeah) Party like a rock, party like a rockstar

(Y-y-yeah) Party like a rock, party like a rockstar

(Y-y-yeah) Party like a rockstar, t-t-totally, dude

The women sang along as Jimmy and Jey headbanged, Naomi somehow not wasting or spilling the drinks in her hand. And, Sami….Roman had no idea what the fuck Sami was doing. Moving erratically, dancing, in his own sort of way. He looked like he was having complications from an exorcism or some shit. 

They were all a hot fucking mess.

Alamea’s eyes opened as she landed on Roman who sat quiet and partially irritated, prompting her to giggle to herself. Holding onto a dancing Naomi’s shoulder, she made her way off the table and stumbled over to him. 

She frowned, looking at her empty hand, wondering where her red solo cup had gone.

“I took it,” he answered, forcing her gaze back on him. “You’ve had enough.”

At that, she pouted, “you’re no fun.” He said nothing as she moved closer, standing in front of him, pulling down her dress that just kept sliding up, her ass too much to keep it where it needed to be.

“What are you doing?” His voice sounded strained, but she ignored it, starting to dance in front of him. But, it was short-lived, because it was like she suddenly remembered there was another attendee other than himself and his family.

“Friend!” She shouted, way too excitedly, stumbling over to Sami, starting to dance with him.

On him.

Roman’s jaw clenched.

Alamea was having the time of her drunken life, dancing with her new bestest friend in the whole world, Stan.

Wait, no. That wasn’t his name.

Fuck.

What was it?

Shmuel?

Yeah, that!

“BFF’s,” she said, attempting to imitate the handshake he did with the twins. 

“Come here.” Came the deep voice of Roman who’d stood up, marching over to grab a hold of her. Naturally, she swayed and leaned into his hard body as he escorted her right back over to where he was sitting on the sofa.

On his lap.

A drunken smile fell on her pretty face. “Right here?” He looked down at her as she grasped at his shirt. “In front of e–everyone?” She shifted atop his lap, gasping at the feel of him slightly hard underneath her. “Oops.”

His jaw clenched once more, but for a different reason.

Except, the song changing again served as a maybe necessary distraction. Not the best though.

“I love this song!” She shouted, repositioning herself so that she was sitting forward on his lap, wiggling, feeling his bulge press against her partially exposed center as her skimpy dress rose up yet again over thick thighs and ass.

You wanna see some ass?

I wanna see sum cash

Keep dem dollars comin

And das gonna make me dance

Alamea danced on top of Roman, twerking her ass all up and on him as Naomi did something similar to Jimmy who mimicked the motion of backshots. Jey and Sami stood to the side, throwing up cash bills, donning sunglasses that Roman hadn’t the slightest clue where they’d gotten them. 

But, while Alamea was having the time of her life, along with seemingly majority of the party, Roman was clearly not.

“Enough of this shit,” he hissed, reaching for the remote to turn off the music.

“Hey!” She protested, frowning, eyes blinking. “I–I–I was listening to t–that.”

“Party’s over,” he announced, uncaring. His gaze fell over to his cousins, Naomi, and Sami. “All ya’ll drunk asses need to go back to your rooms.” 

Sounds of protest from attendees, Jey hiccuping as he swayed and fell onto the sofa. “Man, I ain’t even that—that drunk, uce.”

Naomi pointed to Sami. “What h–he said!”

Sami’s eyes widened, asking no one but himself, “what did I say?” 

Roman shut his eyes, reaching for his phone and sending a text for the Wise Man to come over. Never mind it was 3am, he wasn’t about to deal with this shit. 

And, he didn’t.

Less than ten minutes later, Paul was present, escorting the inebriated parties back to their rooms, all of which were conveniently located just a few doors down from Roman. But, still, given how wasted they all were, he wouldn’t trust them to walk in a straight line, let alone to the right hotel room. 

Paul had just finished with Jey, who'd he heard saying something about getting Waffle House, when the Wise Man went for Alamea who continued to dance, listening to some song through her phone. 

But, Roman stopped him.

“I’ll take care of her,” was all he said, and it was all that was needed. 

Paul left the Tribal Chief alone.

A few minutes later, Alamea became aware that it was really just herself and Roman. “Well,” she elongated the ‘l’ and started to look around, as if searching for something. Her purse, most likely. “I–I guess I—should get g–going.” Shrugging, she attempted to walk past him, of course, stumbling seconds later.

Roman caught her, looking down at her. Naturally, his eyes set on her titties, sitting nice and perfect in that little dress of hers. “Naw.” She looked up, warm brown eyes wide and full lips formed into a pout. “You’ll stay with me tonight, baby girl.” 

Alamea blinked, hating and not understanding why her stomach fluttered at that. At the nickname. 

It’s not like it was the first time he’d called her something other than her government, so what was different?

“I—I don’t—” She stopped, falling and leaning into his chest. Her eyes shut. She was suddenly so tired, and he just felt so good.

He did nothing, just standing there holding her as the music continued to play from the phone in her hand. 

Got me lost, got me hooked, now I'm so confused

Was this a part of your plan?

I don't really understand what to do

What to do with a boy like you?

They remained that way for a few minutes before Roman finally lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. He sat her on the counter, opting to only wash her face, removing makeup for her. He’d have helped her shower, if not for the fact he was certain she’d probably pass out before he could finish.

So, he skipped that, helping her out of her dress and into one of his shirts. Alamea became slightly more cognizant when he carried her once more into the bedroom, laying her down, pulling the covers over her, making sure she was good before leaving her alone. 

She wasn’t exactly sure where he went, but her guess would be to clean up some of the mess they’d made. 

However, that was the least of her concerns, because her drunken haze wasn’t enough to stop her from thinking about his actions. How he….how took care of her. Like….like he cared.

Music no longer playing, Roman having stopped it, leaving her phone on the nightstand, the lack of Kesha’s voice didn’t stop the lyrics from playing on repeat in Alamea’s head. 

Got me lost, got me hooked, now I'm so confused

A song and lyrics she’d heard a million times over before, they’d never felt or rang more true than in that moment. 

—------

December, 2022

The last thing Alamea expected or needed was Roman Reigns waiting for her in her hotel room.

But, that was exactly what she got.

Ever since that night of their impromptu party, that something had shifted between them. She didn't know what, just that he’d reverted back to his old ways of mostly ignoring her during the days. He was still outside of her door more often than not, but he didn’t stay anymore. Sometimes leaving as soon as they were done.

It was….confusing, to say the least. Hurtful as hell, to say the most.

Blowing out a breath, she bumped the door shut with her hip and locked it. “Not tonight,” she murmured. She couldn’t tonight. 

Physically and emotionally. 

“Where the hell have you been?”

She just looked over at him. It was obvious he was pissed, and any other time, she’d be nervous by his tone and expression. But, not tonight. Just….not tonight. 

Alamea stepped out of her heels and threw her purse to the side, finally answering, “out.” 

She realized she’d yet to maintain eye contact with him, a partially intentional act on her part. But, trying to move past Roman Reigns without answering a question posed to you was never a good idea. 

He shot up off the bed and blocked her path, a solid wall of prevention. “You’re drunk,” he assessed, eyes going over her from head to toe. He looked displeased. Oh fucking well.

“I had a drink or two. I’m not drunk,” she argued, feeling a sense of defensiveness that clearly came from the alcohol in her system. “Now, can you please move? I’m tired, and I can’t do this with you tonight.” 

“Do what?” He sounded both annoyed and confused, the latter of two just pissing her off.

“Roman, please.” She ran her hand over her hair and closed her eyes. “It’s been a rough day. I just want to go to bed.”

He looked down at her, a line of fire flashing in his eyes. “Were you with someone?”

At that, her head snapped up. Irritation covered her face, moving its way up her body. The absolute audacity for him to not only ask her that but to seem annoyed?

The alcohol had her emboldened but not stupid. She murmured, “you’re impossible.” Foolishly, she tried to move past him again, only for him to lift his arm, barring her. “Ro–”

“I’m not going to ask you again, Alamea.” She closed her eyes. “Were you—”

“Fine!” She snapped. If her volume or outburst surprised him, he did an excellent job not showing it. “You want to fuck me? Fine! Fuck me!” She pushed him away and marched over to the bed, starting to remove her earrings. “How do you want me, huh? On my back? On my knees? What will it be tonight?”

Roman turned towards her, looking less angry and more confused. That only made her more upset. “What the hell are you doing?”

“This is what you wanted, right?” She continued, using the hair tie on her wrist to put her hair up. “This is all you ever want.” 

It was that statement that caused the anger to completely slide away as Roman realized what was happening. “Ally—”

“Come on!” She reached back, probably for the zipper of her dress. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To get your itch scratched, so let’s get to it.”

“Would you shut up?” His tone was softer, volume lower. He stepped toward her, reaching to lower her arms. “Stop it.”

“Why?” She snapped once more, trying to tug her arms out of his reach. “You need to get what you came here for, right? Why else would you bother with me if not to get your dick wet?” Roman didn’t show it, but it was off for him seeing and hearing that from her. Alamea was a lot of things, but drunk, angry, and incoherent would never be any terms he’d use to describe her. Maybe omit the latter of the terms, she may have been drunk and angry, but he was following her just fine. “So, do it. Fuck me. Fuck me and leave like you always do.”

It was the way her voice cracked at the word ‘always’ that did something to him, made him pissed all over again. 

He fucking hated seeing her cry. 

“What are you waiting for?” She was beating on his chest, the tears flowing freely. “Just do it.” She sobbed. “Just leave me.”

“C’mere,” he whispered, moving his hand to the back of her neck. “Look at me.” His tone was soothing, free hand moving to her waist, holding her. He waited until she settled her eyes on him. “You wanna know why I leave?” Alamea didn’t say anything, just nodded quietly, her tears still reflecting, taunting him. He shut his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. “I can’t function when I’m with you.”

Alamea wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. And she definitely didn’t expect him to continue. “All I fucking think about is you. Your smile. Your scent. Your taste. I’m with you, and all I want to do is stay because everything is simple with you. No pressure. No weight. It’s just me and you.” 

And it was true, every fucking word that he never thought he could find in him to verbalize. But, he was a selfish bastard, too selfish to realize that letting her go was exactly what he should have done. 

But, as true as all of that was, he could never and would never say that to her face. Not when she was sober. No, he could only say it then, because she was drunk, and he’d seen Alamea drunk. Knew good and well her memory of the night prior would be all but non-existent. 

It was a confession that wouldn’t hold or stand, because she wouldn’t remember it come tomorrow.

Roman wiped at her tears, and she clutched onto his shirt. She didn’t know how to even begin to process what he was saying, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol in her system. 

“I told you before, Alamea, I’m not a good man.” His voice grew soft, and she could have sworn she saw his eyes gloss over. “I can’t give you what you want. I can’t be what you deserve.”

It was when he attempted to pull away that Alamea broke from her haze of surprise. She released the knot of his shirt in her hand and slowly moved her hand up his chest, resting it over his heart. “This….” Her smile faltered, battling with the defeated frown that was impatiently waiting its turn. “This is all I want.”

He said nothing, and neither did she. Not after that. Both silent for different reasons. Alamea because she wasn’t sure how they were to move forward from this, what happened after tonight. 

And, for Roman, it was less confusion regarding what happened next and more the fact that Alamea was desiring something she already had.

—-----

2023

In 2023, Roman modified his schedule. He wasn’t part time, per se, but he certainly wasn’t full time like he used to be. He stopped attending every show, his appearances being something more of a surprise than anything.

That also meant his dynamic with Alamea changed. If he wasn’t at work, that meant that she didn’t see him as much, that their arrangement shifted from something consistent and frequent to the polar opposite. 

It was an…adjustment for her, for sure.

Beneficial in a lot of ways, as it freed up some of her time, allowing to work with and design for other superstars. But, it also left a sort of void that she couldn’t allow herself to think too much about. Too difficult. 

What she couldn’t ignore though was the slow and gradual implosion. Tension. Ego. And many other things that started to infiltrate her work family. As great as Alamea viewed Roman, she could acknowledge that he could be….a lot.

In not the best ways.

Ways that were starting to directly impact his Bloodline.

It started with Sami. His loyalty to the Bloodline waning and completely gone with a single chair to Roman’s back. An already sensitive topic and area for The Tribal Chief. That seemed to mark the beginning of the end of it all, because before she knew it, not only was Sami gone, but so was Jey.

That was especially hard for her. Over the past year plus, she’d grown so close to all the members. Especially the twins. They were like her brothers, and for someone who’d already lost her only real brother, it was like reopening a wound that never fully healed in the first place.

She knew it was hard for Roman, too. Not that he’d admit it. He’d hint at it during pillow talk, but a full, honest acknowledgement of how he’d unintentionally caused the dissolution was something she knew that she’d never hear. 

Even if it was true. 

He still had Solo. Still had Jimmy.

Still had her, and for him, that seemed to be enough.

If only she felt the same. 

But, again, Roman being gone for what felt like the majority of the time helped in other ways. She focused more on work and started thinking more about her future outside of WWE. While she loved designing gear for the superstars, she found herself thinking more and more about the long-term. If she could see her doing it for the rest of her life. If she would be satisfied. She wasn’t sure.

She did know, however, that the idea of trying to launch her own clothing brand seemed more than appealing. Maybe opening up a small boutique back home was looking more and more like a possibility and reality. Because being on the road was fun sometimes, but she often found herself missing home more and more. She missed being around her family.

So, maybe a couple more years, and she’d venture back home, establishing roots there.

Maybe start to lean into the idea of settling down. It was something she knew she always wanted. A husband and family, but it was never a big priority. She wanted to establish and be comfortable in her career first. And, she had. Being the Bloodline’s lead designer along with other close friendships with the other superstars had given her a decent sized online following.

That could definitely be helpful when it came time, maybe, for her to establish her brand. 

But, thinking of her future also meant figuring out her present. And, Alamea was starting to see that while she definitely missed Roman when he wasn’t around, it wasn’t….it wasn’t unbearable. She was happy to see him when he came around, but she was also learning how to navigate a life around him.

Without him.

And, maybe, just maybe, that could be a thing she could learn to make a reality. 

She tried, at least, downloading a few dating apps. It felt silly though. At 26, using apps to find potential romantic interests seemed like an almost embarrassing thing. It also didn’t work out very well given her insane travel schedule. Still, it was nice to have men to talk to. 

Even…even Carmleo was nice to talk to from time to time.

If only Roman could function with that last part and not act a goddamn fool afterwards.

He’d shown up one show for an unadvertised appearance, saw her talking to Melo backstage, and fucked her completely into that damn mattress later that night. 

It felt less like a care thing, and more Roman being possessive. Whatever that meant, because Alamea didn’t know a lot, but one thing she did know was that she was not his. Not in any meaningful way. They fucked, and that was it.

Right?

—----------

2024

He never said goodbye. 

Not necessarily in between his sporadic appearances. Where he would show up to work in the morning, do his thing in the evening, appear outside her door at night, and be gone the following morning. At some point, when him leaving right after the deed was done transitioned into him staying longer, holding her, pillow talk, staying the night, he’d mention it. Tell her that he’d be on the jet back home in the morning.

And, he’d do just as he stated, being gone by the time she woke up the following morning ready to travel to their next stop. 

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

So, it wasn’t that goodbye she didn’t get.

It was the one following Mania. 

His loss at Mania.

He’d only spoken to the Wise Man, given a few orders, and he’d boarded that jet with not as much as a single look at her. No text. No call.

Nothing.

And, it’d been that way for four long months. Four months filled with nothing but stress and anxiety. Roman’s fall at WrestleMania left the Bloodline in shambles, all but extinct. It was already on the brink of collapse, what with the turbulent exits of Sami and Jey, but it seemed Roman losing to Cody truly cemented that.

He’d failed, according to Solo, and failure, as deemed by Roman himself, was always unacceptable. 

Roman was labeled a disgrace and therefore unfit to lead the Bloodline. New leadership was needed, according to Solo, who also felt that he was the right person to do so. 

Alamea didn’t agree, but at the end of the day, her opinion didn’t matter. She was just there.

Solo ousted Jimmy, the last piece of what used to be her normal. Brought on new, distant, dangerous family members. It started with Tama, who’d never not made her feel uncomfortable. Then Tonga. He was less erratic as his brother but equally unhinged, just in a subtle way. 

And then there was Jacob.

He was just fucking terrifying. 

Everything that was happening felt frightening. Alamea partially expected Solo to also kick her out. She was hoping for that, but instead, he made her stay. Kept her close. Forced her to watch as he and the new Bloodline wreaked havoc. And, it wasn’t that the OG Bloodline wasn’t equally volatile, but there was always a method to the madness. Roman was methodical and strategic. 

Solo just felt like a little boy stomping his feet trying to prove that he was old enough and ready to sit at the big kids’ table. 

At the head of the table.

Week by week, it seemed to go from bad to worse. The only thing that helped was Paul. That he too shared her horror at what was being done. The massive undone of all of Roman’s hard work. The erasure of him. The disrespect of his legacy, but for all the poking and prodding that bear, the bear…never came.

Roman never showed up.

Never replied to any of Paul’s texts and calls, something she inquired about every damn day. 

Never replied to any of her calls and texts. 

He’d completely abandoned them. 

Abandoned her.

And, he never even said fucking goodbye. 

—-------

August, 2024

Alamea always had a bad feeling about Summer Slam. A small part of her was hoping that it would be Roman’s return, despite four months of no contact. But, that hope went right out the window when the new Bloodline finally turned on Paul and landed him in the hospital and out on indefinite leave.

Because if that couldn’t drag Roman out of hiding, what could?

And, it only worsened when she was told the day that they wanted her out, ringside. 

She’d paled. 

They’d never asked that before, and despite offering no clarification or direction, she knew exactly why. 

They wanted her to interfere and help Solo win the match. 

Win the Undisputed Title from Cody Rhodes.

Roman’s title.

And, in the strangest of ways, it was right then and there when she realized what they were asking—telling—of her, she knew what she had to do. 

There was interference. As expected. New or OG, if there was one thing the Bloodline would always do, it was make sure whatever man or men was/were in the ring would come out on top.

It was a common, shared understanding thing.

Not for Alamea. 

Four months of being and feeling helpless bled over into a newfound, insurmountable amount of indignation and defiance. Tama and Tonga were out of the picture, somewhere battling it out with Kevin Owens and Randy Orton, who’d come out to even the odds.

Jacob was down and injured, his leg fucked up, but that didn’t stop him from yelling at her.

“Distract his ass!”

He was referring to the referee, and the moment was perfect. Solo had the upper hand and was clearly wearing Rhodes down. All she had to do was capture and sustain his attention last enough for Solo to get in a cheap, illegal shot and do it. Secure the win.

Standing on the sidelines, the roar of the audience, the chill of the Cleveland air, the rapid beating of her heart, it was all so much.

“Ally!” Solo leaned over the rope, body sweaty and exerted. She winced. Only Roman had called her that. It felt wrong coming from Solo’s mouth. “Get me that damn chair!”

He was pointing to the ready, open, available chair only a couple feet away from a grounded Jacob.

She looked at the chair, looked at Jacob, looked at Solo, and with every single piece of frustration that had been building up over the four months, she said without a single stutter. 

“Go to hell, Solo.”

Those in close enough vicinity expressed sounds of shock. Jacob was spazzing, but when was he not?

Solo, however, he was enraged.

She tried to move, tried to run, but he was too fast. It seemed like it only took a matter of seconds for him to move out the ring, grabbing and dragging her by her hair into the ring. 

“No!” She’d shouted, trying to fight against him, but was no good. “Let me go!”

“You ungrateful bitch!” He’d yanked her head back, yelling and screaming in her face, spit flying. “I would have given you everything! I’m your Tribal Chief!”

The hell you are.

She would and was preparing to say as such, but the moment was taken from her the minute Cody came from behind, grabbing Solo, effectively separating them. Knocked off her feet, she stumbled into the corner, watching Rhodes do his signature Cross Rhodes move. 

To this day, she’s still uncertain if it was to save her or take advantage of a distracted opponent. 

But, it was a short-lived upper-hand, because less than a minute later, Cody was back on his ass and Solo was on his feet, moving towards her. And, once more, she was on her feet, his hand tightly gripping her hair, but this time, a different position. One arm extended and holding her out, the other also extended, thumb protruding, Alamea knew all too well what was going to happen next.

But, it didn’t. 

It didn’t because the sound of rhythmic drums and flashing blue lights broke everything. The momentum. The moment. The fucking atmosphere. 

For the first time in months, Solo and Alamea shared something. The wide eyed look of disbelief on both of their faces as the crowd all moved to their feet, screaming and shouting in anticipation for what so many—Alamea and Solo included—believed impossible.

But, then she saw it. 

She saw him, and he looked livid.

Alamea cried out in pain when Solo roughly shoved her into the post, pain shooting through her shoulder. On the mat, she held onto her arm, the burning intensifying, face scrunched up in pain. 

She wasn’t looking, too consumed in her discomfort and the shock of it all to see it was at seeing her reaction—the pain on her face—that made Roman waste no time getting into the ring.

And, at the same time he unleashed months worth of pent-up rage onto his younger cousin, the ref helped her out of the ring, another referee meeting them and escorting her to the back. 

One look over her shoulder, however, would find Roman looking directly at her. 

—---------

Alamea would love to say that that was it. That him randomly showing up after months of being MIA and straight up ignoring her was it. The straw that broke the camel’s back. That despite him showing up and essentially saving her, it didn’t make a difference. 

That she was finally done after that.

But, she can’t.

She can’t because that would be a lie. 

Did she give him an earful when he, of course, showed up later that night outside her hotel room, as always? 

Sure. 

Never mind the fact that the first thing he did was welcome himself inside of said room, immediately and gently reaching for her arm, inspecting her shoulder, asking, “you alright?”

No. No, she was not alright.

“I’m fine.” 

A lie. A fucking lie.

“What the hell, Roman?” She yelled, pacing across the hotel room as he sat silent on the edge of the bed. “Paul and I were texting and calling you for months with no response, and then you just show up tonight like everything is fine?”

His gaze remained focused on the floor, his voice even and calm. She hated it. “Nothing is fine, Ally.”

“No shit,” she scoffed, shaking her head, rubbing her temples. “Roman….you abandoned us.” 

You abandoned me.

Had she been looking at him, she’d seen his jaw tick at that. At the word abandoned. “I needed to clear my head, Alamea.”

“So, say that,” she snapped, finally stopping to look and focus on him, regardless of his lack of eye-contact. “Communicate with us, Roman. It’s been a fucking nightmare—” Alamea winced seeing his reaction to her poor choice of words, but it didn’t stop her from expressing months worth of frustration. “You lost, and I get that was hard for you, but leaving us here to deal with all this mess was not fair, and you know it.”

Leaving me here.

“I know that.” His eyes lifted to hers, finally, and she immediately regretted it, because him looking at her like that, almost….sympathetic. Apologetic. It….it didn’t help. “And, I’m sorry.” 

That definitely didn’t help. 

“Are you?” A pointed challenge but valid question, nonetheless. She crossed her arms, the pain in her shoulder almost non-existent largely due to the Tylenol she’d been given by the trainers. “Because that would mean you actually care.”

He was silent.

“You think I don’t care?”

A simple question. If only a simple answer was available. Though unnecessary, because Roman was on his feet, in front of her and on her before she could truly process what kind of answer she wanted to give him.

His lips were on her, igniting a fire she didn’t realize she’d missed so much until that moment. Roman always kissed with intent and purpose, neither of which were unclear in that moment. She grasped at his face, holding him closer, his mouth dominating her.

Her hand went to the bottom of his shirt, eager to lift it off, to feel taut muscle under her short acrylics. He obliged, removing his shirt, leaving him bare and exposed to her. Her breath caught just for a moment. His body had always been something to be exalted, but it seemed over the past year he’d progressed to whatever exists beyond the gods level.

Divine.

He was divine.

Roman worked quick to return the favor, yanking her toward him and pulling off the thin sleeved shirt she wore. No bra. Big, heavy breasts freed, she could see his eyes darken. He’d always been obsessed with her body, almost as much as she adulated his. 

He hiked her up on his waist, an unnecessary act as he simply moved to lay her down on the bed he was previously sitting in. 

Body hovering over hers, she sat on her elbows, watching and lifting up her lower half as he went to remove the matching pants to her top.

Again, that darkened look of desire that deepened as he focused on her thick thighs and the sacred, still clothed space between them. 

“Missed this,” he murmured, soft, thick lips trailing kisses down her neck while one hand played with her breast. “Missed you.”

A statement she couldn't think too much about when his mouth shifted to her nipple, sucking greedily while his other hand lowered from playing with her breast to dipping inside her underwear.

“Roman,” she moaned his name, neck craned back, one hand cradling the back of his head as his tongue circled around her chocolate areola and his fingers began collecting the wetness already forming between her thighs. 

He was too good at this.

Way too good.

Eyes barely open, focused and unfocused on the ceiling above her, dissatisfaction filled when he released her with a pop, voice haughty and something else. “You missed me?” 

Need. A sense of need unlike the carnal one blooming through the both of them. 

She said nothing, shifting and moaning as he teased a finger in her tight hole. An unacceptable non-answer.

He snaked his way down her body, Alamea partially wishing she’d removed his pants instead as she caught a brief glance of that unmistakable dent against his dark sweats. 

She watched as he easily slid her panties down her legs, bringing them to his face, eyes shutting as he sniffed and inhaled deeply, like trying to comment her scent to memory.

It made her even wetter.

She watched his head lower and lower, the tip of that pink tongue peeking out and grazing just enough for her to feel but not feel. Groaning, she reached to push his head down and help him reach his target, but he resisted, smirking up at her. 

Damn you.

“You missed me?”

Her eyes widened. This bastard. 

“Roman, please,” she groaned, again, working to help him reach his destination, and again, he decided to play more games.

Her head dropped back when he hummed and blew on her clit, fingering the wetness on her inner thigh. “That wasn’t an answer, baby girl.”

Damn him.

He always knew just what to say, when to say it, and how to say it. It always did her something different when he used nicknames like that. Even calling her Ally. But, it was when he placed a long, languid kiss up her pussy that he finally evoked the response he was clearly looking for.

“Fuck,” she cursed, ready and willing to say whatever he wanted to get exactly what she wanted. “Yes, yes, I missed you, okay? I missed you.” A desperate confession born from need and borderline pain.

It pained her to not have him.

Another haughty smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

Like most, if not all, sexual interactions, Roman ate her out until she was seeing stars, moon, skies, Jupiter, Mars, and anything else not of this world. His arrogance was astounding to many, and rightfully so, but for her, someone who’d been on the receiving end of that magical tongue of his, it simply wasn’t enough.

He was too good. 

And, he always knew just how and where to get her for when it was that time. Time for him to spread her thighs, and slide every inch of that thick, long dick of his inside of her. And, when he did, for the first time in much too long, they were both moaning together. He kept his grip on her hips, her fingers dug into his back, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

It’d been a while, so there was a bit of discomfort, maybe even pain, but that easily and quickly morphed into that pleasure only he could bring her. 

“Missed this so much,” he groaned, deep voice in her ear as he drove into her, filling her to the hilt. “Thought of this—of you—the entire fucking time.”

She moaned, seeing the hiss leave his mouth as her nails raked up and down, laying claim to him. “L–liar.”

She could have sworn the faintest hint of a smile appeared on his face before he shifted his hips and somehow found a way to dig into her even deeper. “Shit,” she cursed. “You’re so deep in me.”

“Course’ I am,” was his cocky ass reply, though again, well warranted. “No one else can fuck you like this, Ally.” 

Ally.

God, it’d been too long since she’d been called that. Called that by him. The only person she wanted to hear said name from. 

She was having a hard time keeping the noise down, keeping from screaming, the intensity of his thrusting causing the headboard to smack into the wall repeatedly. She was certain they were going to put a hole into it. 

“You think I don’t care?” He asked, having switched positions so that one of her thick legs was over his shoulder, her other leg locked around his waist. He was pounding her. “That it didn’t kill me to be away from you that long?”

It certainly didn’t feel like it. Not while he was gone, but in that moment, with him etching and memorializing his place and autonomy over her body with his dick, she could feel it. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was, was unprepared to admit that it was care. Not really.

The sex. He could have just missed the sex. Not her. 

He, unlike her, seemed to be able to separate the two.

If only she was so lucky. 

When he put her on her hands and knees, she’d braced for something else. Rougher. Less….whatever that was. It was his favorite position on especially stressful days. He’d use her body as a ragdoll of sorts, jerking her back and forth, heavy balls slapping against her bountiful ass the same way her Double D’s flopped all about. Erratic and aimless. He’d use it—and her—to decompress from the heaviest of stressors, and she took it all. 

She took everything he gave her, because it was mutually satisfying. He fucked her until she couldn’t feel anything else, couldn’t take anything else, all the while he got his own sort of fill and salacious unloading. 

It just worked.

But, this was different, there was something almost…..sensual. He fucked her hard and deep, but he also kept that big body leaned over hers, continuing to pour into her all of the right—or wrong—words.

“Mmmm. Look how good this pussy molds to my dick. Shit made for me and me only.”

“You making a fucking’ mess all over these nice as sheets. Your Tribal Chief loves how wet this pussy gets for him.”

“Fucking perfect, Ally. I can never get enough of you.”

“That’s it, baby. Take this dick.”

“Trying to act like you didn’t miss me but milking the shit out of my cock. You a terrible liar, baby girl.”

They fucked throughout the night. Various locations. Several positions. Respites never lasting longer than twenty minutes, though none of it really shocked her. Alamea learned a long time ago if she was with Roman, alone, a bed or any other type of flat surface in the vicinity, she’d always end up with her legs in the air.

That wasn’t the problem.

Afterwards was the problem.

He didn’t leave. Not after the shared shower where he ended up on his knees eating her pussy like it was his midnight snack, a necessity in order for him to slumber. Not even after they—eventually—made it out of the shower, where she’d expected him to grab his clothes and redress, preparing to leave.

No, he instead made his way over to the bed, stark naked, climbing in and clearly waiting for her.

Or, something, at least.

She climbed in shortly after him, not needing to position herself. He did that for them, pulling her atop his body. Silence fell among them. Welcomed but not helpful.

They needed to talk. 

“I care, Ally,” he spoke into the dark, voice low and what some might consider vulnerable. “Too much.”

She said nothing, unable to ignore the unspoken “I’ve always cared” that lingered in the room. 

—-----------

The appearing and disappearing act continued. A bit of a detriment, in Alamea’s eyes, given all that happened since Roman’s grand return. New title as the OTC aside, it’d been nothing but back and forth between him and the New Bloodline, because, of course, his pride and hubris remained unchanged. He believed himself able to handle them all on his own. 

She knew he couldn’t, and deep down, she knew he knew that, too. But, for as long as she’d known him, Roman’s pride was one of his biggest downfalls. He’d continue to end up in the situation he was in until he realized that he needed help.

And, to her credit, she tried to reason with him. Using their pillowtalk for those occasions where he showed up and they fell back into their old routine to talk some sense into him. But, it was always the same thing.

“I’ve got this, Ally.”

He didn’t. He didn’t have it. And, she knew as much when he agreed to team with Rhodes at Bad Blood. 

Knew that if there was an opportunity, that was it, so she did what she had to do. 

Reached out to Jimmy. She’d spoken with him every so often ever since his little brother and his new Bloodline put Big Jim out of commission for six long months. Stressed with him how Roman needed him.

Roman needed help.

And like the loyal family member he was, he showed up. 

Right when Roman needed him the most. 

She’d been on the sidelines of that match, saw the shock and appreciation, subtle vulnerability in Roman’s expression as he stared up at Jimmy in that ring. Saw his lips moving, asking, “you called the play?”

The way Jimmy nodded, pointing to her, Roman’s eyes setting on hers, locking.

“For you,” she mouthed. 

Because, she had. She did it for him.

She did a lot for a man who, really, didn’t do much for her in return.

Not….not what she really wanted, at least. 

But, Jimmy’s return kickstarted something. Restarted what was starting to feel like the good ole' days. Jey was recruited, though he’d made it clear it was less about helping Roman and more about getting his receipt on Solo and his crew following them costing him his title. Sami returned simply to help Jey. No other reason.

A disastrous show at Crown Jewel, however, revealed that while they were together, they weren’t united, and that was a problem.

A big problem. 

One of many problems, as Roman still refused to humble himself, even as the group went around trying to recruit a fifth and final member for War Games. The match that was supposed to determine once and for all who the real Bloodline was.

Except, they couldn’t find a fifth member.

Until they did.

And, Roman hated it. Hated him. CM Punk. Though, she couldn’t blame him. That history ran deep, and so did the hurt.

In getting to know Roman better, learning him, she’d realized that underneath that harsh, hardened exterior was an unhealed man.

It sometimes made her wonder if…if that was why he never gave any indication of wanting more from them. Wanting more of her beyond just what she could provide him sexually.

If something held him back.

If someone.

Regardless, it didn’t matter anyway. They had more important issues, because even though they came out with the dub at War Games, Solo was still refusing to relinquish his “claim” to the title of Tribal Chief.

This meant another match was needed. 

Just the two of them.

Roman vs Solo in Tribal Combat.

Like most things, Roman didn’t outwardly admit it, but she could see it. See that he hated it came to this, hated that despite everything that happened, he still loved his cousin.

But, Roman knew what had to be done. And, he did. He came out on top, hailed as the Undisputed Tribal Chief. It seemed like things were starting to gradually fall into place.

Seemed that way, at least.

—-------

Alamea wouldn’t say that it went downhill after Tribal Combat on Netflix, but one could argue that, in some ways, it went downhill after Tribal Combat on Netflix.

Roman was so determined and focused on winning back his title, on entering and winning the Royal Rumble to secure a chance to do just that, that he’d lost focus on something else.

Something important.

Something that was currently biting him in the ass.

The favor.

Punk’s favor owed to him by Paul Heyman. She had a feeling, a big feeling, actually, that somehow, someway, that favor would end up screwing over Roman. And, sadly, she was right.

He was being screwed over.

Back to back. 

Punk eliminating him at the Rumble.

Seth injuring him at the Rumble, thus ruling him out for Elimination Chamber, his last opportunity to challenge Cody for the title. 

The constant back and forth between him, Seth, and Punk all culminating to the grand reveal of the big favor. That Punk wanted Paul with him, in his corner, at their match at Mania. 

And right then and there, Alamea knew where things were headed. What was happening.

Betrayal.

Roman was being betrayed.

Again.

And this….this, he couldn’t ignore.

Couldn’t not talk about. She couldn’t see how deeply it was impacting him without at least trying again to get him to open up.

Alamea woke up in the middle of the night, alone, but not alone. Reaching for his shirt, she slid it over her body, walking out to the balcony of her hotel room. That’s where he was, sitting and looking out over the city, alive and surprisingly bustling considering it was the middle of the night. 

Cali things, apparently.

Pushing back some of her hair, she sat down next to him, unsurprised at how he kept his gaze on the city, not even bothering to look at her.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did he. 

Not at first.

“It’s funny how much a year can change,” he spoke, deep voice low and laden with something indecipherable. “This time last year, I was untouchable.” 

She remained silent. There was nothing to say to that, because he was right. He was literally on top.

Alamea watched his face distort into something bitter and resentful. “I should’ve tightened my grip on this company’s neck.” A sudden relaxation of his hard features as he chuckled bitterly. “It was the Wise Man that taught me diplomacy.” His voice suddenly mocking as he recited something she’d also heard Paul repeat almost a dozen times. “You gotta think politically.”

She licked her lips, moving closer to him. He reached a hand to her thigh. “I tried to help everyone.” A dip in his tone. Sadness. “Most of them don’t understand what a helping hand really looks like. What that really feels like.”

She frowned. “Roman…”

“What do I get for it?” A rhetorical question, his head shaking, hand squeezing her thigh just enough. “Netflix…TKO….Billion dollar deals.” Truths that could not be denied. There was 100% no question that the company had been as successful as it’d been the past few years because of the man next to her. “And somehow, I’m out on my ass.”

“Roman.” She placed her hand on top of his, taking and squeezing it. “You’ll get past this.”

Her words, however, didn’t seem to penetrate. “I lift everybody up and somehow….no one’s got enough respect….to just be true to their Tribal Chief.” He swallowed, jaw clenched. “To be true to me.”

So what does that make me?

An almost bitter question she forced herself to keep safe within the confines of her mind. She’d never been one to kick a man when he was down. 

A quiet fell over them followed with an almost whispered, “lessons learned.” She ran her thumb over his knuckles as he turned to look at her for the first time. “We don’t lose.” She pressed her lips together. “We learn.” Unable to help herself, she reached to cup his face, his salt and pepper beard bristling against her palm. “Don’t trust anyone.” Words that didn’t seem to meet his eyes. Not as he looked at her.

“You can trust me, Roman,” she whispered. “You have to know that.” As much as she wished that gentle reminder would prompt a different expression, one of acceptance and appreciation, it didn’t. He still looked torn. Conflicted. The weight of it all fully visible for her to see. “I’m here. Right now. With you. Does….does that not mean anything?”

Do I not mean anything?

A question she’d wondered since their meeting three years prior. 

A question, one day, she knew, she’d have to ask. But, not that night.

Again, it wasn’t about her, and she wasn’t prepared to try to make it about her. 

Even if….even if there was a conversation they needed to have about her, about them. She couldn’t. Not tonight, at least. Soon. Most likely after WrestleMania, where he was likely to take another break.

“You sticking around?” His voice broke her from her thoughts. Even. An admirable attempt to remain indifferent and unbothered, but she knew better. Could see past it. Could see the hesitation and uncertainty swimming in his eyes. 

Her answer was interesting to her, because at one point, it would be different. Another response than the one she would give him. An answer that was a bit of a necessity. 

If for some reason, she didn’t want to stick around, that option seemed like no longer an option.

She didn’t have the choice to not stick around anymore. 

“Yeah,” she answered, lowering her hand and scooting closer to him. Roman moved his arm around her, kissing the top of her head. She snuggled into him, hand on his chest. “I’ll stick around..."

—----------

She needs to talk to him. 

Not a text. 

Not a phone call. 

No waiting around for him to find her after the fact, when he feels like being bothered with her. 

She needs to talk to him, in person, and now.

It’s why, despite the massive weight of nerves sitting on her chest and rumbling in her stomach—unless that’s another symptom—she finds out where his locker room will be. Because of course, title or no title, the Tribal Chief always has his own space at every show. 

Never to share with others except his Bloodline.

Whatever that means and looks like these days. 

Determined or not, it doesn't stop the fact that there are a million and one things she’d rather be doing right now. Literally anything else. Anything. But, almost two weeks of sitting on this is already too long. Every day that passes without her saying anything just delays the inevitable. 

She has to tell him at some point, and him making an unadvertised appearance at the show tonight is the perfect opportunity to do so.

Standing outside the locker room, Alamea forces herself to push back the urge to run away and hide. In every and all the ways. Makes herself knock three times, waiting, foot tapping, arms crossed outside the door. 

It doesn’t take long for the door to open, and while she’s not sure who she expected to see, it certainly isn’t him.

Paul looks nervous, but that’s to be expected. He should be.

Roman is gonna fuck him up.

He clears his throat, stepping outside, standing in the doorway. Almost intentionally. “Ms. Dixon, what a sur—”

“Cut the crap, Paul.” A terse interruption, somewhat unlike her character, but between that and the fact that this bastard clearly made his choice regarding whose team he’s on, she really doesn’t have much of anything to say to him. “Do you know when he’s set to get here?”

Normally, it would be posed as a “when” versus a “do you,” but again, Roman’s long-term Wise Man has found himself in that space below the doghouse these days, so what he knows has, she’d bet, become severely limited.

He stutters with his response. “Well, you know as well as I do, the Tribal Chief comes and goes as he ple—”

“That’s not what I asked you.” She closes her eyes, shaking her head. This is already hard enough, and the fact that she’s now, of all times, getting a sudden wave of that damn nausea is just icing on the fucking cake. “Never mind, I’ll just wait for him.”

Because he’s bound to show up sooner or later, and she’d rather the sooner so they can get this over with now, even if something tells her this discussion is better served for after the show. 

After WrestleMania, like she was initially thinking. But, there's something....something that won't let her wait any longer.

He...he deserves to know.

But, it’s when she goes to walk past Paul, into the room, he moves, shifts his big body, blocking her.

She frowns.

What the hell?

An insincere smile followed by a bullshit excuse or reason. However he sees it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her frown deepens. What? “I always used to hang out in the Bloodline locker room.”

A fact. When not working and helping the few superstars she was allowed to work with, Alamea would oftentimes spend the majority of her time in the locker room, laughing and bantering with the twins. Sometimes, it was just her and Roman. He’d kick everyone else out so he could focus before a match.

Never her though. 

And, Paul knows this, so she’s even more confused by his reluctance.

“I understand that.” More insincerity, except something else now. He’s nervous. Even more than he was when he first opened the door. “But, I just think tonight you’d be better served somewhere—”

“Who is that?”

Another voice.

Not hers. 

Definitely not Paul’s and most definitely female.

Familiar, too.

Alamea’s frown deepens once more, as she watches how Paul’s eyes go wide, his body angling towards inside the room. 

“Oh, nothing, just—”

“Who’s in there?” She asks. Nothing else. Voice still. Dangerously still.

A now frantic almost gaze switched back onto her. “Uhh—

“I said who is that, Paul?”

Again, the female voice from inside the room. More attitude. A lot more attitude. 

Something comes over Alamea as she subconsciously starts putting the pieces together. Something that makes her shove past the obese men, uncaring of how he stumbles and almost falls to the ground. She’s too busy putting a face to a voice, an act that gives her the most unexpected answer.

It’s not the fact that Jaida Parker in Roman’s locker room that bothers her.

Nor is it even the fact that the NXT star that she’d heard had been out on injury the past few months is looking her up and down with a sort of contempt. 

No, it’s the fact that Jaida Parker is standing before her, mean mugging her, with one hand on her hip and the other on her slightly swollen belly. 

Her pregnant belly.

And, it’d be maybe nothing to think about, but not for the fact that one look at a now standing Paul, the immense, sheer panic and terror on his face, that gives it away. That puts all the pieces together for one damning ass puzzle. 

Jaida’s scowl shifts into an almost knowing smirk as she rubs her stomach. Salt on an open, gushing wound. “Oh, you that lil seamstress girl that used to be with the Bloodline, huh?” She scoffs. “I didn’t even know you was still around.”

Not anymore.

Alamea says nothing. She has nothing to say, or maybe she has a lot to say but none of it nice nor appropriate, and really, her gripe is not with the haughty woman before her. Or, even the complicit accomplice. 

It’s with him, but they’re words that will never be spoken, because she’s done.

Done with it all. Done with this job. Done with WWE. Done with him.

Alamea turns on her heel, marching out past Paul, out of Roman’s locker room, and though he doesn’t know it yet, out of his life.

[adoraflush]

—— ❝𝙄 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙄 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪 외치듯 내뱉어도｡｡❞𓂃۶ৎ. field of flowers

요약 ､ ᝰ.ᐟ • Cute scenarios with our favorite rookie. ( smau )

𝜗𝜚 Isack Hadjar x f! Hamilton! reader .ᐟ.ᐟ 𝒾nfo ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა idk swearing, best friends/kinda dating, they aren’t married, the reader is younger…blue thoughts🫐 ➤ i felt bored and he’s my favorite rookie so win win.. kinda short

@.ynhadjar : working out except it’s me fooling around whilst he actually does stuff😔..

liked by Isack Hadjar, VCARB, and 1 million more tagged : @.isackhadjar

┃@.isackhadjar : I can confirm all she did was put bows on everything and then continued to "help" me😭

➜@.ynhadjar : I was a good spotter don’t even question

➜@.isackhadjar : you literally almost dropped it on me

➜@.ynhadjar : what do you want me to say?? That we should totally go for dinner and have a sleepover to make it up for that..🤨

➜@.isackhadjar : yes, no questions asked.

┃@.user382929 : it’s Isack using the VCARB acc to like twice

➜@.isackhadjar: girl be quiet 😕

┃@.VCARB : the admins are questioning our choices rn..

➜@.ynhadjar : WAIT NO PLEASE MY BF(F) WILL BE OUT OF A JOBB😭

➜@.olliewheel : did you just say boyfriend? Are you soft launching 😧??

➜@.luluhamiltion : just when he was starting to be my favorite rookie😔

➜@.ynhadjar : sorry lulu..

┃@.lilymunihe : cutest relationship on the grid i swear

➜@.ynhadjar : awww ty!! But we aren’t dating (unfortunately)

➜@.isackhadjar : unfortunately?

➜@.lilymunihe : ☕️

┃@.user48282 : I wish had this kind of friendship

➜@.user372 : we all do, it’s like they’re dating but they aren’t 😐

┃@.user944 : are they dating?

➜@.user382 : they aren’t they just keep pretending to and it’s so annoying like why can’t you date already??😕

➜@.user10233 : I could’ve sworn they were dating because of the time they kissed on the kiss camera..?

@.isackhadjar : we are now married through our plushies, she really loves sharks. It kind of hurt me when she told me to make the pizzas in a heart shape and do all the work😭

Liked by Yn, Lewis, Charles, Formula 1, and 2 million more Tagged : @.ynhadjar

┃@.ynhadjar : changing my last name fr chat‼️

➜@.user3201 : PLEASE STOP EDGING US🙁

➜@.ynhadjar : it’s too much seeing you guys question if we’re dating or not🫢

➜@.isackhadjar : finally 😟

┃@.FORMULA 1 : please soft launch properly, and please don’t skip dating.

➜@.isackhadjar : of course not we aren’t dating or married ( yet ) but being genuinely honest we are still best friends.

➜@.luluhamilton : I’m starting to question my decisions of approving you..

┃@.landonorizz : so who popped the question because it’s most definitely not Isack.

➜@.ynhadjar : it was me 😼

┃@.lilymunihe : rethink all your choices please before becoming a wag @.ynhadjar, your last name is beautiful don’t do it 🙁

➜@.ynhadjar : my last name is fire never changing it ‼️‼️

@.ynhadjar : went out on a date with my bf, first date lowkey 😼

Liked by Isack, Lewis, Ollie, VCARB, and 2 million others Tagged : @.isackhadjar

┃@.isackhadjar : C’est ma copine‼️, also she made me build all the legos 😭

➜@.ynhadjar : I feared you enjoyed it

➜@.luluhamilton : my LITTLE sister is growing up so fast.

➜@.isackhadjar : @.luluhamilton I’m starting to think you hate me with a burning passion, she’s only 1 year younger than me🙁

┃@.olliewheel : I’m so glad I gave you a pep talk trying to ask him out

➜@.ynhadjar : thank youu‼️‼️

➜@.isackhadjar : @.ynhadjar don’t talk to him.

➜@.ynhadjar : yes sirrr

┃@.VCARB : congratulations 🎉

┃@.luluhamilton : like I stop using this app for 2 days and I come back and my sister is dating a rookie.

➜@.ynhadjar : mb gang😭

┃@.lilymunihe : officially the best couple on this grid🩷

➜@.ynhadjar : thank you, you are such a sweetieee😻

➜@.alexalbon2.0 : OH I thought we were the best??? Want to explain??? @.lilymunihe

[froggiewrites]

Froggie Fic Recs

Today is my birthday, and if any of you want to share in the celebrations I have one request of you: please go read one of my favorite fics!! I want to use today as an opportunity to share some of the best OP fics I've had the privilege of reading and hopefully send some love the way of my favorite authors 🥰🥰 Please note this is by no means an exhaustive list, and you should absolutely check out everything else they all have written because it really is all wonderful.

Pain Management by @thus-spoke-lo (Law x Reader)

The fic that started my Law obsession. Absolutely amazing work, beautiful beyond words. When I first started reading it I absolutely could NOT put it down, I stayed up until 4am devouring every word.

Let Me Help by @thus-spoke-lo (Sanji x Reader)

I can't get enough of Sanji and voyuerism. Hot as hell, and I absolutely love Reader being as big of a pervert as Sanji is.

Exhibitionism by @fanaticsnail (Law x Reader)

Genuinely think this fic changed my brain chemistry. I'm not normally one for exhibitionism but holy SHIT did this fic make me reconsider.

Acid, Salt, Fat and Heat by @fanaticsnail (Kid x Reader x Killer)

Oohhh my god. One of the hottest fics I've ever read, and the one that I think made me really get Kid and Killer, if that makes sense.

1-800-LONELYCHEF by @shy-writer-999 (Sanji x Reader)

One of my favorite Sanji fics of all time (which is a very high bar)! Wonderfully hot and angsty with excellent payoff, and Sanji is perfectly characterized.

Sanji w/ Mutual Masturbation, Praise, + Pillow Humping by @shy-writer-999

I need him BIBLICALLY. All of Z's Kinktober is phenomenal, but this one in particular makes me lose my goddamn mind. I wish I had better words to describe it, but it literally leaves me speechless.

The Great Pretender by @pandora-writes-one-piece (Law x Reader)

The entire Meet Cute series is amazing, but Law's really holds a special place in my heart. I'm really fond of fake dating, and Pandora is absolutely amazing at writing the tension that comes with it. It also doesn't hurt that Doflamingo is being a hot villain in the background for a lot of it.

Rulebreaker by @pandora-writes-one-piece (Law x Reader)

Another fantastic Law story, and one I'm deeply fond of. We could all use a little (or a lot) of tough love from Law.

Passing Fascination by @quinloki / @punks-never-die205 (Kid x Reader)

First off: not for the faint of heart, I am not joking, please read the tags. But for those of you down for something fucked up: please please PLEASE read this. It's wonderfully tense and thrilling and hot in all of the right ways.

Birthday Request - Caught in the Act by @quinloki (Kaku x Reader)

Once again: mind the tags. I genuinely find myself thinking about this fic on the regular. It's the perfect storm of Things Froggie's Into, I'm SUCH a sucker for yandere.

I'll Fucking Digest You One Kiss At A Time by @strawberriemarswrites (Bartolomeo x Reader)

Another one where I beg of you, please check the tags first! I'm very much a yandere fan, and a very big fan of Bartolomeo, who I would argue is CRIMINALLY underrated. This fic is an absolute masterpiece exploring him, the line between obsession and love, and the consequences when that line gets crossed.

[imhappierthanever]

Hey girly, can you make a fic about billie taking care of a sick!reader but they are like very very sick and can it be a longer fic? BTW I love your writing your so talented.💜

Hi angel! Thank you for being so sweet! I hope you like it! 💕💕💕💕

It all started with a little sniffle. Your little sign that you were getting sick. “What was that?” Billie asked you the night before. “What was what?” You asked jokingly trying to hide the fact that you had felt poorly all day.

But you couldn’t trick Billie. She knew you inside and out. She also knew that when you started to get extra cuddly that you were under the weather.

So naturally, when the next morning had come you knew there was no more holding it.

Billie woke up before you, rubbing her fingers through your hair trying to soothe you as you held on to her childhood bunny Lily.

“I’m going to go make you some soup my love. And bring you medicine and tea.” Think you’ll be okay without me for a little bit?” You nodded in response before feeling her lips on your cheek, kissing softly.

She turned on the tv as background noise, but you still heard her in the kitchen singing and cooking away. You smiled to yourself thinking how cute your girlfriend was before you drifted off to sleep again.

When you woke up again, Billie was placing your tray down beside you telling you everything was ready. You scrunched your face, hiding under the blanket, not wanting to eat a single thing whilst feeling this way.

Billie peeled back the covers, pretending she couldn’t find you before acting surprised once she has. “There’s my beautiful girl.” She said propping your pillows, helping you to sit up. “Are you going to be my good girl and eat for me?” Billie asked wiping your face down with a cool cloth before holding up a spoonful of soup.

She was being so incredibly sweet about it all, how could you resist her as you opened up your mouth, ready to get it over with. Once you were all done and you drank your tea and Billie gave you medicine you were ready to lay back down yet again. Which she knew. She herself slipped back into your shared bed, bringing you into lap. Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed, your head resting on her chest as she cradled you, trying to comfort you as much as she could.

“Don’t you have work today?” You asked her as she pulled a blanket over you. She shook her head no before responding, laying her head on top of yours. “I took the day off to take care of you, baby. We’re only in the beginning of the first few steps for the album. Besides, it can all wait. You’re what’s most important to me. Just want you better my love!

“Aww Billie.” You sighed, snuggling into her more, just wanting to be close but not wanting to get her sick. But you know it was impossible to argue. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Together, you watched tv and took naps. You played games and Billie even made you a bath. She put your hair up in a little bun for you, baiting you in lavender as she sang to you, her voice so velvety and gorgeous. You felt yourself slipping into another universe from just her voice and the sweet way she was caring for you.

Once you were all finished with your bath, Billie helped you do your skincare routine, knowing you didn’t want to miss it ever. Once you were all done, she picked out your favourite pyjamas, helping you to slide into them before carrying you back to bed.

“Thank you, Billie. For everything. You’re literally too good to be true and I can’t believe you’re all mine.” Your thumb caressed her cheek, before she lowered herself onto your lips.

“Billie!” You said onto her lips. “You’ll get sick!” You exclaimed, knowing you’d feel awful if she too had been feeling poorly because of you.

“I won’t.” She simply said before going back in, kissing your lips softly. “And besides, if I do I’ll get to spend more time with you!”

Now she was the one caressing your cheek, stroking gently with her finger before she stood, changing into something comfortable to join you.

“I hope you feel better soon, mama.” Billie said, pulling you closer to her, kissing your head. “How could I not when u have the most wonderful girlfriend in the entire world?” You said smiling against her, feeling her do the same.

And it was true. You really did find the best in each other no matter what. If you were sick or in good health- you were always there for each other and nothing felt better. Nothing was better than the love you had for each other. Maybe just the fact that that love grew everyday. But you couldn’t ask for anything more.

You slipped back into slumber, hoping you would dream of Billie even though you had the real thing with you always. And she wasn’t going anywhere as she continued to wrap you up in her arms, keeping you safe and warm and loved.

[starkeaton]

k ive got a huge list going so a reblog fits better than a reply, bear with me

OMORI

Sunny: Page of Hope, hes definitely a page considering his big adventurous dreams and fear of actually trying to live up to them. i say hope with mid confidence because he spends a lot more time thinking of how things could be perfect than he does actually enacting anything

Kel: Heir of Breath, a simple guy with a simple philosophy, believes in himself and pushes others to change and keep moving forward.

Mari: Seer of Space, the guide of calm and peaceful existence, her emotional advice helps bring Sunny back to a state of peaceful neutrality.

Hero: Knight of Life, always working hard to be what others need of him, trying to provide and make everyone else happy, keeping up the positivity no matter what.

Aubrey: Sylph of Heart? wants others to be better, but she's a bit pushy and bossy. gets really mad at others for not understanding her feelings and caring for her when she needed it. she is the emotional heart of the group at least in the dream world

Basil: Rogue of Doom, well even before The Incident he is always thinking about even the good times in terms of loss, "I always took pictures of what I was afraid to lose." he tries his hardest to make everything ok, to take suffering away for sunny

My Little Pony

Twilight Sparkle: Mage of Mind, she's obsessed with gaining knowledge for herself and navigating situations rationally and logically. the whole "Princess of Friendship" thing feels like it's pushing her into inversion (Heiress of Heart), outside her comfort zone, if you think classpects are primarily meant to challenge then you could go with that as her title

Applejack: Maid of Blood, she lives by the ideals of responsibility and family bonds, and is always working hard to uphold them.

Pinkie Pie: Sylph of Life, she's always partying and working on ways to make others happy as much as possible, increasing happiness and struggling hard when someone doesn't want her help or when she can't keep the good times rolling.

Rainbow Dash: Thief of Breath, fairly obvious in her competitive pride and lax attitude believing everythings gonna be okay, averse to responsibility despite being the actual element of loyalty. Like more often than not, RD episodes will have her struggling with loyalty instead of it being her default.

Rarity: Sylph of Space because she is literally Kanaya. No but seriously, the constant working on things for others and appreciation for aesthetics, and more broadly the vision she has for improving the world around her, is why i think this.

Fluttershy: Rogue of... Hope? She has so much focus on "kindness" which is very hard for me to actually pin to an aspect. She totally minimizes herself for others and helps get them what they want, "taking" comfort for them in a troubling world, which is why i think she's a Rogue, but... after her episode learning to be more assertive, going against her nature, she seems to invert on a dime whenever it's necessary, displaying a powerful Rage. Is that an inversion or just her hidden default? To me it reads as the former, but nothing's really made me sure of that.

Starlight Glimmer: Scribe of Heart, sorry you're gonna have to read dewdrop's classpect brochure if you wanna understand this one. But basically Heart is her tool of judging good and evil, her argumentative attitude she tries to stuff down, conquering and bending emotion/unique personality to her will

Doki Doki Literature Club

I made a post about this one

Evangelion

Shinji Ikari: Page of Rage, same desire to be strong and important and loved, same inability to get there. Rage is harsh reality which Shinji is definitely hesitant to confront, but his "righteous" anger definitely drives him at his core, particularly in a lot of his worst moments.

Asuka Langley Soryu: Thief of Time, competitive pride and stealing the spotlight, you may think Light but i don't think she has the tendency toward narrativization, connecting ideas together, fortune, all that Lighty stuff. No, i think Asuka cares more about action and conflict, the stuff that makes up Time.

Rei Ayanami: Knight of Heart? She does her job, protects others, spends a LOT of time introspecting and developing more emotion, reflecting on the soul and her own humanity, then decides to give all the power to someone else instead. Could be a Maid, considering the connotations of serving ones aspect, propagating and serving as a tool to bring it into existence. I'm not completely sure on this one

Kaworu: Seer of Space, he attaches to Shinji and tries to gently guide him to appreciating existence and the universe as it is. I'm definitely more sure of the Space part here than with Mari

Mari Makinami Illustrious: Witch of Breath, she is the chaos element, living positively and freely, unencumbered by anyone's expectations and worries, not even in combat does she ever drop the carefree attitude. Witch because she's focused on personal fun and making change as she sees fit.

Some other random characters

Kirby: Heir of Space, once i started understanding the Space aspect as existence/inaction/peace i started seeing it all over the Kirby series. Nobody ever dies, everyone just chills out and sleeps in Dreamland, Kirby is the face of this because he is the most chilled out dude ever, until some villain shows up and he has to get serious. I say Heir because, while Kirby hasn't said much, he seems to me like a simple guy who just fixes situations for others when necessary.

Prince Zuko: Prince of Blood, he's got the prince thing of strong reaction to perceived injustices, which uhh doesnt go great for him. He destroys a lot in the name of reclaiming his honor and connection to his family, his responsibility, but ultimately realizes he has to destroy that itself and find his own meaning of Blood.

Davey Stone: Bard of Hope, yeah the guy from Eight Crazy Nights, he wants to believe in hope and hanukkah holiday spirit and stuff like that but when his is ruined he turns to destruction of hope and ruining everyone elses good times, letting people think of him as a nasty bastard because he doesnt care anymore. By the way dont watch this movie it sucks ass

Some extra hunches but not stuff i have strong arguments for

Jotaro Kujoh: Knight of Time?

Josuke Higashikata: Knight of Heart

Dio Brando: Thief of Time

Johnny Joestar: Page of Light

Gyro Zeppeli: Mage of Life

Edward Elric: Mage of Rage

Benry: Bard of Rage? Void? Light?? idk i have to rewatch

Gnome Chompsky (HLVRAI): Bard of Time

Sans: Bard of Doom

Robo-Ky: Prince of Void

Ellen Ripley: Knight of Mind?

Sonic the Hedgehog: Heir of Breath

Tails the Fox: Page/Mage? of Light

Knuckles the Echidna: Knight of Blood

Shadow the Hedgehog: Prince of Time

Silver the Hedgehog: Knight of Hope

Amy Rose: Maid of Heart

Eggman: Lord of Time? Mind?

Captain Lazerhawk: Prince of Hope (i actually am absolutely certain about this one but i dont have a paragraph to type about it cause i dont remember all the story details. just believe me its obvious if youre looking)

and btw anyone reading, please feel free to argue with me on these if you disagree on any of them, i enjoy discussion and hearing others opinions

honestly anyone whos reading this just lay down some classpects you've assigned to characters in fiction that you're especially passionate/confident about! explanations are appreciated but not required 👍

[cami040405]

Okokok, can I request Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt, and Michael Myers with a s/o that’s just super stereotypically feminine? Like, she hates bugs and getting messy, loves pink and makeup, says words like ‘totes’ ‘adorbs’ and ‘obvi’, loves shopping, etc.? Sorry if it’s super vague ;-; but I’d love to see it in your writing style ♡

Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt & Michael Myers with a Super Stereotypically Feminine S/O (SEPARATE)

Summary: Imagine Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt and Michael Myers with a stereotypically overly feminine S/O who only wears pink, cute things, hates bugs and dirt and speaks in a city girl language.

A/N: I really loved writing this request, it was great to see the dynamics of these slashers with a super feminine S/O, I wrote it listening to Sabrina Carpenter and Fifty Fifty to get more into the mood. I hope you like it as much as I did.

Bo Sinclair

“If it’s pink and sparkly, it’s probably already in her purse.”

Bo Sinclair never expected a girl like you to waltz into Ambrose. Hell, he wouldn’t have believed someone like you existed, much less would stay.

You were all fluttery lashes, bubblegum lip gloss, and sparkly earrings shaped like hearts. When you first stumbled into the wax museum, looking absolutely horrified by the “rustic aesthetic,” he expected you to start screaming bloody murder. Instead, you blinked at him, tilted your head like a curious little kitten, and said: 

“You’d be super hot if you smiled more. Like, dangerous bad boy vibes. I dig it.”

Bo had no idea what to say. It might’ve been the first time he’d ever been stunned silent.

You hated dirt, bugs, blood—literally everything Ambrose was soaked in. You gasped when your heel broke on the cracked sidewalk and clutched him dramatically like they were in a soap opera. “Bo, I’m limping. You’re gonna have to carry me. This is a whole crisis!”

At first, he rolled his eyes. A lot. Teased you constantly. Called you "Barbie" and "Princess" with a smug little grin.

But over time, something changed.

He started noticing how you lit up talking about stuff he’d never cared about before—nail polish shades, the drama of lipstick undertones, reality TV betrayals. You’d sit cross-legged on his dusty bed, wearing fuzzy socks and ranting about your favorite fashion influencers while applying glitter highlighter in a cracked mirror. Bo would sit there, arms crossed, pretending not to listen... even though he always was.

You'd make him stand still so you could “fix his eyebrows” or “just a little bronzer, babe, for definition!” and Bo would grumble but let you do it. The way your eyes sparkled when you were focused on something—especially him—made it real damn hard to say no.

And as much as he tried to play it cool, Bo adored the way you clung to him when a beetle skittered across the floor, squealing and climbing half up his torso like he was your knight in dirty denim armor.

"You're lucky you're cute," he'd mutter, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Obvi," you’d giggle, pressing a glossy kiss to his cheek and leaving a shiny mark he never wiped off until you weren't looking.

You gave Ambrose something it hadn’t had in years—life, noise, glitter in every corner of the wax museum (much to Vincent’s quiet suffering). Your pink hairbrush sat next to his tools. Your perfume mixed with motor oil. There were rhinestones on the old radio dials in his car.

And when some poor bastard stumbled into town and made a snide comment about “that bimbo clinging to Bo like a chihuahua,” Bo didn’t even give a warning. He just grabbed the guy by the collar, smiled wide, and said, “Say one more word. Go on. I dare you.”

He’d never say it out loud, but Bo loved you fiercely. Loved your dramatics, your soft hands, the way you made him feel like a movie star instead of a wax museum reject.

And if anyone touched you? God help them.

Even if you’d never lift a finger yourself (“I don’t do violence—it’s so bad for the nails, babe”), Bo was more than willing to handle it for you.

Because at the end of the day, you were his ridiculous, high-maintenance, adorable nightmare—and he wouldn't change a single thing about you.

Bonus: The Shopping Trip (Against Bo’s Will)

Bo Sinclair in a mall was the equivalent of dropping a pitbull into a ballet studio.

He was stiff, annoyed, and visibly scowling, while you pranced from one boutique to the next, holding up clothes and saying things like “This screams me, doesn’t it?” and “Bo, look at this! It’s like a skirt, but with fur!”

Every time he tried to retreat to a bench, you’d call him over with a squeal: “Babe! You have to hold my purse, I’m going to try this on!”

Bo, standing in a women’s boutique holding a pink bedazzled purse with a small chihuahua keychain on it, was a sight to behold. Some teenage girls giggled as they passed by. He gave them a slow death-glare that shut them up instantly.

And then you stepped out of the fitting room wearing something way too short, way too sparkly, and totally you.

Bo’s jaw tightened. “You’re not wearin’ that in public.”

“Why not?” You asked, twirling. “Too hot for you?”

Bo reached for his wallet. “…We’re buyin’ it. But you only wear it in the damn house.”

You grinned like you won a war. “So possessive. Kinda hot.”

.

Thomas Hewitt + Family

“Tommyyyy! There's a bug in the kitchen and it’s HUGE—oh my god, baby, I need you to handle it like, right now!”

Thomas had never met anyone like you.

You waltzed—actually waltzed—into the Hewitt family's dusty, decrepit home like a princess misplaced in a horror movie. Pink suitcase, heart-shaped sunglasses, fluffy keychains, lip gloss glinting like wet sugar on her pout. Your clothes were always perfectly matched, your hair always done, and you wore perfume that made you smell like cotton candy and cherry soda.

To the rest of the world, you were obnoxiously girly, with your dramatic hand gestures, and constant stream of Valley Girl slang. But to Tommy? You were pure, sweet light.

You squealed at bugs and cobwebs, refused to step into the kitchen barefoot, and definitely did not want to see “where the meat was made.” But instead of being cruel or judgmental, you’d wrinkle your nose and go:

"Ew, okay, I’m like, gonna pretend that doesn’t exist—but you’re still the cutest murder bear I’ve ever seen."

And Thomas, who had always been seen as a monster, didn’t know how to process someone calling him cute. His usual instinct was to back away, but you wouldn’t let him. You’d follow him around the house in your slippers with fuzzy pom-poms on top, chattering about skincare and outfit inspo and "how maybe this place could really pop if we added just a little pastel wallpaper."

When you first tried to hug him, Thomas froze—like a deer caught in headlights. No one touched him like that. No one wanted to. But you buried your head against his chest and mumbled, “You’re like a big warm teddy bear... with a chainsaw. So weird, but I love it.”

From then on, he melted every time you got close.

He’d do anything to protect you. You never had to lift a finger. If there was something gross in your path? Thomas took care of it. Bugs, messes, even replacing broken heels when you cried over snapping one on the old farmhouse stairs.

You made him feel seen—not as Leatherface, but as Thomas, the quiet man who liked to sew, who carefully cut fabric, who noticed colors and stitches. 

One time, you saw the damaged lace curtain he’d repaired in the living room and gasped, "Wait—did YOU do this? Tommy, that’s, like, totally impressive! You’re, like, an artsy murder man!"

It made his ears go pink. He didn’t understand half of what you said, but he loved listening to you talk. Your voice was high and musical and full of love for every silly thing—nail polish, boy bands, weird drinks from the gas station.

And when you grabbed his hand and painted his massive fingernails soft pastel pink? He let you. Quiet. Blushing. Heart pounding behind the mask.

You brought chaos into his life, but it was the kind he never knew he needed. You made the horror of his world feel like background noise, just scenery for you to twirl and sparkle through.

You were scared of messes, yes. But never of him. And that was enough to make him fall harder every day.

Reaction of the Hewitt Family when they met you:

Luda Mae:

At first, Luda wasn’t sure what to make of you.

You were like a living Barbie doll—heels clacking across the floorboards, constantly asking if they had “like, anything organic” in the fridge, and wrinkling your nose at the dust like it personally offended her.

But then she saw the way Thomas looked at you. That softness. That stillness in his shoulders. Like he was finally… breathing easy.

And when Luda saw you gingerly wiping dust off the kitchen table with a pink handkerchief—still gagging, but trying—she raised a brow and muttered to herself:

"Well, I’ll be damned. That boy finally found someone who ain’t runnin’."

Within a week, Luda Mae was fussing over you like you were one of her own:

"Now sweetheart, don’t you go starvin’ yourself just ‘cause our food’s not from some big city spa store. You need meat on them little bones."

She even started defending your quirks: "If she wants pink lemonade in a wine glass, let her have it. She’s happy, and Tommy’s happy. That’s all I care about."

Luda eventually took great pride in teaching you “real homemaking,” even if your girlie girl instincts clashed hard with rural chores. You made a hilarious duo— “You expect me to churn WHAT?”— but there was affection in every sigh and scold.

Sheriff Hoyt (Charlie):

Ohhh, he HATED you at first.

All that chirping, that perfume, that attitude. He couldn’t stand it.

"You sure that’s not some kinda undercover spy, huh, Tommy? They sendin’ in Disney princesses now to take us out?"

He was always grumbling when you were around. Mocking your slang, your style, everything.

"‘Totes adorbs’? What in the HELL does that mean? Speak English, girlie."

But here’s the thing about Charlie—he might be a nasty piece of shit, but he’s loyal to blood. And when he saw how Thomas, his quiet, broken nephew, lit up around you… it gnawed at something deep in him.

One day he caught sight of you brushing Thomas’s hair behind his ears, gently humming while he sat still as a statue. Charlie stood there silently, watching the scene for longer than he’d admit.

Did he stop teasing you after that? No. Of course not.

But he started bringing you back things from town.

“Here. Some stupid lipgloss I saw. Said ‘cotton candy’ or some girly crap. Don’t get used to it.” (Spoiler: he bought you five more.)

He’d still act like he couldn’t stand you, but the minute someone outside the family made fun of you, he got real mean real fast.

"You talkin’ to our girl like that? ‘Cause I will rearrange your teeth, sweetheart."

Monty Hewitt:

Monty, bless his grumpy little heart, didn’t know what to make of you. You talk a mile a minute, wear hot pink everything, and once screamed bloody murder when you saw a spider crawling near his wheelchair.

But once he got over the initial shock, he actually found you entertaining.

He’d sit on the porch in his chair, sipping something strong, while you chattered about celebrity gossip or fashion trends, gesturing dramatically with a bedazzled water bottle in one hand.

"Now THIS is entertainment," he’d mutter, smirking.

You’d paint his nails once, calling it a “bonding moment.” He grumbled the entire time, but he didn’t stop you—and he definitely didn’t remove the pastel blue polish afterward.

Eventually, Monty became one of your unexpected protectors. If anyone said you wasn’t “tough enough” for the family, he’d raise a brow and say: 

"She’s still here, ain’t she? You try living in this hellhole in heels. That girl’s tougher than she looks."

And he’d throw in a wink for good measure.

.

Despite the glitter and giggles, your place in the Hewitt family became solid. You weren't just Thomas’s quirky girlfriend anymore — You were family.

Your laughter echoed through the halls, and your energy brought life to the broken-down house.

You painted little hearts on the kitchen cabinets (Hoyt grumbled, but didn’t stop you). You decorated Thomas’s sewing corner with pink fairy lights ("Ambience, babe!"). You even taught Luda Mae how to contour her cheekbones one lazy afternoon, both of you giggling like teenagers.

You were chaos, glitter, pink fury—and somehow, you were perfect for the family. Because despite the perfume, the squealing, and the sparkles…

You loved Thomas. Truly.And they?They loved you for it.

.

Michael Myers

Most people wouldn't dare step within fifty feet of Michael Myers, let alone live with him. But you? You marched right into his life with a pink suitcase, a Chanel knockoff purse, and a lip gloss wand in hand.

You were the complete antithesis of him—bright, bubbly, and loud in all the ways he was cold and silent. The first time you laid eyes on him, you gasped. Not in horror. Not even in fear.

"Oh my god. You’re, like, soooo tall. And spooky. I love it."

He said nothing. Of course.

Just stared down at you, that pale mask blank and unreadable. You, on the other hand, looked up at him like he was some gothic god.

"You must be, like, a Scorpio or something. So mysterious."

Then you winked.

Michael wasn’t sure if you were insane, brave, or just so utterly oblivious that it baffled even him. But he didn’t kill you. Didn’t chase you. Just stood there while you babbled about your pink UGG boots getting dirty and how Haddonfield needed way more aesthetic lighting.

You moved in shortly after that. Not that he invited you… You just kinda never left. And strangely, he didn’t seem to mind. You filled his dark, grimy house with scented candles and plush throws. You left Hello Kitty slippers by the front door. You replaced the broken mirror with one that had LED lights and glitter decals spelling “You Look Fab.”

The house smelled like vanilla and strawberry body spray. The silence was filled with your upbeat pop playlists, makeup tutorials, and the occasional shriek when you saw a spider: 

"Michael! Get it! Oh my god, it’s going to attack me! Babe, pleeease!"

He’d appear out of nowhere, squash the spider with a boot, and disappear again.

You’d clutch your chest, dramatically:

"Ugh, my hero. You’re literally giving Jason Voorhees nothing right now."

He never answered your questions. Never spoke. Never changed facial expressions. But you always knew what he was thinking.

When you forced a pink hoodie over his head one day that said “Killer BF Energy,” he just stood there for a solid minute, breathing through the mask. You thought for sure he was going to snap your neck.

Instead, he wore it the whole day.

You started taking selfies with him. You’d pose like an influencer, flashing peace signs with glittery nails while he loomed silently behind you, bloodstained knife in hand.

"This is my spooky little murder muffin. Isn't he adorbs?"

The internet thought it was cosplay. You never corrected them.

Despite the complete lack of words, Michael showed his affection in other ways. You noticed it.

He’d always show up behind you if someone was bothering you in town; He'd carry your shopping bags in one hand like they weighed nothing, while you skipped beside him in heels; He started leaving strange, oddly thoughtful gifts: a pretty rock, a heart-shaped hairpin, a necklace you’d once pointed at in a shop window.

And one night, after you'd curled up on the couch in a pile of blankets, face mask on and chick flick playing, he sat beside you. Slowly. Stiffly.

You leaned against his shoulder without hesitation. "You're like... the murder version of a golden retriever, honestly."No reply.

But he didn’t move away.

Sometimes you swore you saw his head tilt just slightly when you were doing your makeup. One day, as a joke, you painted his mask with sparkly pink eyeshadow.

He didn’t wipe it off.

No one got it. No one understood why you of all people were still alive. Why Michael Myers let you prance around in stilettos, spraying air freshener and calling him “boo.” But the truth was simple:

You weren’t afraid of the dark.You made it glitter.

And somewhere in the silence, behind the mask, he found a reason not to kill.

He found you.

.

[liviqc]

accidental love letter - jj maybank

summary - you write a letter to jj maybank, never expecting him to find it.

You and JJ Maybank had been best friends since third grade.

From building sandcastles on the Outer Banks shoreline to getting into trouble with teachers for passing too many notes, the two of you were inseparable. You shared scraped knees, inside jokes, and way too many secrets that lived in the space between late-night calls and whispered conversations under the stars.

And somewhere around seventh grade, your heart caught up with your head.

You wrote him a letter.

Not to give to him, just to get it out. It was middle school, and your feelings felt so much bigger than you were. So you scribbled them onto notebook paper in messy, crooked lines. You even signed it.

Then you folded it and tucked it deep into an old shoebox with movie tickets, polaroids, and friendship bracelets that still smelled like salt water.

That letter stayed hidden for years.

Until today.

JJ was digging through your closet looking for an old hoodie he’d left at your place—probably a hundred years ago—while you were in the kitchen grabbing snacks.

“Dude,” he called out, laughing. “You’re literally a hoarder.”

“Sentimental,” you corrected from down the hall. “There’s a difference!”

He chuckled, rifling through a half-open box when a folded piece of paper slipped out. It was crinkled and aged, like it had been read over and over—though this one hadn’t. Not yet.

Curious, he opened it.

Your handwriting hit him in the chest like a punch.

"Dear JJ,

This is stupid. I know it is. But sometimes I look at you and it feels like my ribs aren’t big enough to hold everything I feel.

You’re my best friend. But I think I’m in love with you. Not in the weird, fake movie way. In the real way. In the ‘I notice how your laugh changes when you’re really happy’ way.

I don’t think you’ll ever feel the same. And that’s okay. I just needed to say it somewhere. Even if no one ever reads this.

I love you. I probably always will.

– Me (but you’ll probably guess anyway)."

JJ didn’t realize he was holding his breath until you walked back in.

“You find the hoodie?” you asked casually, holding up a bag of chips.

He looked up slowly, eyes soft. “No. But I found something else.”

Your heart stopped when you saw what was in his hands.

“JJ—oh my God. That was from, like—middle school.”

“So you did write it.”

You opened your mouth to backtrack, to laugh it off, to say something like ‘I was thirteen, I didn’t even know what love meant,’ but he cut you off.

“I kept everything you ever gave me, you know?” he said quietly. “Every dumb note, every drawing, even that ugly friendship bracelet that fell apart after two days.”

“JJ…”

“I wish I’d seen this back then,” he admitted, holding up the letter. “I would’ve told you I felt the same.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re just saying that.”

He stepped closer. “I’m not. I’ve been in love with you since before I knew what it was. And yeah, I didn’t find the letter until now, but—” He smiled, a little helplessly. “Better late than never, right?”

You blinked back the stinging in your eyes. “You mean it?”

“I do,” he said, voice low. “I love you.”

So you did the only thing that made sense.

You kissed him.

And just like that, all the years between seventh grade and now melted away.

Maybe some love letters were meant to be read—eventually.

[sak-supernatural]

My Ghost Ritual notes from Skeletour Glasgow (16/4/25)

This was my first Ritual and the best night of my life. All the nerves, and traveling, and queuing (what a shambles at the OVO hydro) was 100% worth it. Seriously I don't think it's possible to top what I experienced seeing Ghost live. And being the second stop on the tour just made it even more special to me, I was part of the second lot of people to ever see Papa V Perpetua ❤️, and hear the new songs live, and to hear some songs at all!!!!!!!!

(This is not really super spoilery but I will put it under the cut in case people want to avoid ANY information about the Rituals, and also because it is super long.)

This is not in any particular order, just a bunch of things I remembered and wanted to write down and thought, why not share for those who couldn't be there?...

Sodo was bleeding on his guitar again (he didn't seem bothered by it even making a show of wiping blood everywhere) and he even wiped the blood on Rains bass when he interrupted the guitar fills.

Sodo went over to Swiss's platform and Swiss was on his knees for him while he played before getting up and basically grinding against his back. I didn't see much of Swiss because he I was on the opposite side of the stage and he stayed on his platform, but I'm so verry glad I looked over when I did.

Apparently Rain and Sodo kissed, now I didn't actually see this there was just always so much going on (I recon I was looking at Papa?) But I did catch them pulling away from being really really close after a massive cheer so I absolutely believe it (sucks that I missed THAT though).

Sodo did his jerk off to Mummy Dust right in front of me. He also did the v licking through his fingers.

Phantom did his little wiggly dance. Sooo much dancing, it was amazing. And he lifted his guitar above his head a few different times, and did his back bend thing right up on the platform in front of me.

Sodo, Rain, and Phantom kept climbing on the speakers to look down at us. And Papa did this too, also proving the leg up as he sang , so hot! Sodo, Rain, and Phantom also all played together facing my side of the stage, it was magical!

All the ghouls and Papa definitely saw me. I was on Sodos side of the stage but Rain and Phantom were always coming over and Papa too. I was second from the barricade and definitely stood out in the lights and had a little purple light up arm band. They all looked right at me I am so glad I went with the outfit I did.

Oh and as I predicted I was standing amongst groups of other autistic people. Everyone was so nice, I didn't get to talk to many people (on account of being socially terrible). I was never touched or pushed or shuved in any way, I was allowed to stand with a random group of other fans.

The no phones was honestly the best thing ever. Everyone was there in the moment. Not worried about taking pictures or videos, it was amazing to have not a single phone screen in sight. I wasn't worried about my phone while it was safe inside its pouch (which are huge btw, do make sure your bag/pocket is big enough).

And a shout out to the Secondo in standing near the barricade at Glasgow, you were great (if you maybe by chance see this). The crowd was kept entertained while we waited by Secondo and Plushia. A funny part was when the curtain to cover the advertising screen was coming round and everyone started cheering.

The ghoulettes were amazing with their wings and everything. Papa Perpetuas outfits were on point too, so amazing, and the purple encore jacket oh my god I love it!!! Sodo and Phantom and Mountain wore top hats, and Rain and Swiss had the headdress thingy (still don't know what to call it sorry). I wonder if this will change up throught the tour?

Sodo flashed his 'You Suck' multiple times I love it! Also so many people were yelling "Sodo" and he would sometimes look and cock his head or give a little wave.

I almost caught Phantoms guitar pic (my brother almost caught Rains), it literally brushed my fingers as it fell to the floor, and I didn't get it 💔. But I caught so much Mummy Bucks I have some crumpled from being shuved in my pocket and some pristine. All my cash I had going in to the venue is now Mummy Bucks, merch is soooooo expensive (but what can you expect?) and I got a t-shirt, the light one with Perpetua on it because I think I'd wear that the most and I have enough black t-shirts already, the magazine, the light up wrist band, and I got a drawstring bag to carry all that and the free VIP exclusive item! Cost me a fuck tone, but I couldn't be happier (well maybe if I caught the pic).

All the songs I'd hoped for were on the setlist. I screamed and sang myself hoarse the whole time. I was so pleased with myself that I knew every word (bar the new stuff, which we were the second lot of people to ever hear!) Lachryma was AMAZING live, everyone knew all the words and sang their hearts out alongside Papa!

Papa smiled a lot, like all the time, it was so cute and amazing to see. The half mask was the best decision ever, I love it. You can tell that Perpetua is Copias twin but he is also entirely unique. A little more shy, very gentle with his thrusting and stuff, but gave a great performance (oh what the showman you are Tobias). The ghouls were great too, no area of the stage was left unattended by at least one band member for any length of time. They hyped up the crowd the whole time, I was so close to them. Sodo was so good getting different sections to cheer and then stop, praising those who did as did as he directed and getting annoyed at those who didn't, it was amazing.

There was actual fire shooting out from the stage and I was close enough to feel the heat from it (so close, it was so hot, I am glad they made changes to the outfits for this tour, because if I was sweltering it must have been worse on stage). And fireworks, there was fireworks, it was amazing, the boom 💥. And sparks from the ceiling!!!! The screens were amazing as well (I didn't spend much time looking at them cos I could SEE everyone with my own two eyes) backdrop was great (aside from the inflatable set piece that fell down). The lights were all purple, like V!!!! It was amazing, I am so glad I designed my outfit to stand out under the lights, and my nails, I was practically glowing in the purple lighting!!! The hydro was lit up purple as well for Papa Perpetua 💜, so cool.

Please feel free to ask me any questions you have about the Ritual, or the phone pouches, or the VIP experience in the comments and I will do my best to answer. Or if you just want to gush about your Ritual experience please do, I need people to talk to about this 🫶🤘

[everythingisamazing]

In defense of Jayces words & the true intention behind them

There is valid criticism of Jayces Quote in the astral plane:

“You’ve always wanted to cure what you thought were weaknesses. Your leg. Your disease. But you were never broken, Viktor. There is beauty in imperfections. They made you who you are. An inseparable piece of everything I admired about you.”

I didn't like it at first. But I have since found an interpretation that I believe honors the positive intention behind it. Let me explain:

1. Jayce, for a long time, doesn't understand Viktor: Especially in S1, he fails to truly empathize with him. He cares for and obviously WANTS to do right by him but remains egotistical (as V points out), while deluding himself into thinking he isn't. The ultimate example: Breaking his promise about the hexcore, not because of what Viktor wants, but because Jayce can't stand losing him. 

2. Viktor lacks empathy for himself: Arcane writing is not black and white, but shades of grey. Viktors goal of helping is not purely good, cause it contains the seed of what turns it destructive, via his disregard for his own imperfections: He constantly overworks, denies himself the spotlight, pushes away Sky, downplays his achievements, hurts himself and, most importantly, never openly asks for help. So if Jayce needs to be less egotistical, I’d argue that it would have served Viktor if he had been more so. 

3. Falling down the ravine is the turning point for Jayce - he recognizes his failings (depending on interpretation alongside the true nature of his feelings) and regrets them deeply. He wishes to fix everything and that's when he meets the Mage:

4. I am going to have to fill in some gaps here. As we know Mage Viktor succeeded in the glorious evolution, only to find out perfection is not all it's cut out to be, then travelled to other timelines, looking for a way to a) stop his alternate selves from dooming the world and b) finding out that Jayce is the key to this. But how could he tell Jayce is the component that changes everything? My assumption: There must be "good" time lines, where Jayce treated Viktor right earlier. This is why the emphasis of the scene is on "Only you can show me this." and not "Go kill me in the commune" - because the latter is not the final step. Mage Viktor saw how everything would turn out, up to the point where Jayce gets pulled into the hive mind - hence the calm resolution on his face when it happens.

So we get to the quote. Considering everything mentioned, I’d argue it’s actually deeply empathetic: Jayce voices and tries to take away Viktors unspoken insecurity which the hexcore preyed upon. 

“You were never broken” is essentially saying: I understand why you did this - but you never needed to in order to have my love/admiration. It’s not implying "you should not want to cure your disease" but that Viktor is beautiful to him, all flaws included. It’s “I dont admire you in spite of but BECAUSE of them.”  Because Jayce did not fail Viktor by not helping him enough - he tried to, saved his life and even brought him back from the dead. Where he failed was not showing Viktor, that wether he was cured or not, did not change how he felt about him. And thats what the quote is trying to convey.

At least that's how I see it. Maybe if the writers had dared to use the word "love" or if Jayce verbally acknowledged his shortcomings, it would have been less easy to misinterpret. Maybe they felt it wasn't necessary because of the voice overs in the ravine or they wanted to avoid making it seem like he is choosing to die with Viktor out of guilt, which brings me to my last point:

5. The beauty of Jayvik (and why it’s a love story at its core) is that their separate journeys reach the same conclusion: That the other one is the answer to what they have unconsciously been looking for. What Viktor needed was to let Jayce in - to stop trying to carry everything alone, but let another person share the burden (As it is literally shown by them holding the rune together, with Jayce putting his hand over Viktors). And what Jayce needed was to (re)discover that magic was never about feeding his ego, but about who first made him experience the beauty of it - Viktor himself. 

And if that isn’t a thematically satisfying climax, then I don’t know what is.

[h1biscusgal]

what do you think of awake methods for shifting to realities + do you have an awake method to supply us with 🙏🙂‍↕️

DAYUM I LOVE THEM WHEN IM FEELING PUMPED.

Usually I'm the laziest hoe here no fr, but honestly I loved awake methods sm, and let's go back to old school for it, first, obv the void, secondly here are some that literally were the BEST for awake shifting, I kinda love being there when everything changes and going with it yk? Flashing white lights, sounds, tapping, ugh love em.

Julia method, basically the void fr but I swear by it this shit is so powerful ugh.

Estelle method??? LIKE HELLO??? WHY ARE Y'ALL SLEEPING ON IT? I mini shifted with it the first time I used it.

CINN METHOD, I REPEAT, CINN METHOD.

Those are just recommend ones by me, but anyways, one personal one I have is something I made and here ya go: (my method?)

Lay back in any position you like, preferably the position you think you're gonna find yourself in when you shift in your DR

Now look straight into the blackness behind you, and begin to list everything you're supposed to feel in your DR reality, for example, I feel my silk pillowcase, I feel my cat brushing against me, oh I hear birds! I see a faint ray of sunlight against me, y'know? Say things and point them out as though you are already in your DR.

Genuine feel good about it, maybe go and rant in your head how your first day at your DR went, like "man, I'm soooo tired, I literally shopped so much my hands hurt fr... Although that donut I ate was so good." In short relive the moment of your first day in DR.

Now you'll have the symptoms, what will we do? Nothin, push through and keep saying things about yourself WITHOUT CARING FOR TJE FUCKING SYMPTOMS.

You'll shift in a millisecond I'm serious, shifting happens so suddenly it's weird, when you feel everything you pointed out just open your eyes and badaboom there ya go.

Half a mind to call this method "myself method".

[momo-minomo]

Fic Fairy Friday: Cryptid Batfam

Sorry for missing the last few Fridays, friends. I'm struggling with some health problems lately so I might not be as consistent with this as I'd like to be.

BTW, if anyone wants to help me make #ficfairyfriday an actual thing and use the hashtag to recommend fics based on a theme that would be really cool. Doesn't matter what the fandom, rating, or potential pairing may be if you have a specific trope or pairing that you really love think about making a rec list for it some random friday?

This week is for fics with the Batfamily either as actual cryptids, pretending to be cryptids, or just freaking out the rest of the JL by being cryptid-ish. Enjoy!

The Fic Fairy Friday Masterpost

Code Cryptid by SummerKnight717

Summary:

In which Dick Grayson and Tim Drake tag team to make both Bruce and some very unfortunate kidnappers regret all their life decisions. Jason Todd is definitely not the only theatre kid in the family... Dick really doesn't like putting on the Batsuit, thank you very much. So when he has to, he is at least owed some fun in it...

Momo's Notes: Let's start out with a bit of humor, shall we? Tim and Dick team up to be unhinged as always and convince a bunch of Gotham goons that the Batclan are inhuman monsters. Bruce regrets everything that led to this moment lol.

when in gotham: don't drink the water by wesslan

Summary:

In Tim’s defense, there had never been anyone around to tell him not to drink the water. All in all, Tim thinks he turned out quite alright. All things considered. - or: Tim grew up drinking Gotham's tap water. He developed some weird abilities as a result. Bruce, Dick, and Jason react.

Baby Birds and Bat Caves by IzzyMRDB

Summary:

Gotham was built on a cave system. Batman has referenced a Bat Cave before. Tim is currently in the cave system. He is in the cave system that he entered from Drake Manor. Drake Manor is right next door to where Batman- The Bruce Wayne- lives. Holy Cavern, Batman! Tim had just accidentally wandered into the Bat Cave’s cave system. OR Tim, having found a weird hole after a storm, decides to go exploring ignoring the fact that This Is Gotham and They Probably Have Cursed Stuff Down There. Luckily, it was just a cave system that spans the entire Gotham underground. Unluckily, Tim is a very curious child.

Momo's Notes: Both of these have a similar premise so I'm including them together. Tim's neglectful upbringing basically raising himself causes him to make some... questionable decisions that horrify the Batfam because every average Gothamite knows you NEVER drink the water/enter the caves beneath Gotham because that shit CHANGES people. Cue oblivious cryptid Tim!

The Rest of Forever by raven_of_hydecastle

Summary:

Everyone knows the Bats are talented. Despite not having powers, they're the best of the best. But the Bats will tell everyone that's just because they've been doing this a very long time. It isn't until Kon wonders how long Tim has been seventeen that he realizes how literal that is.

Momo's Notes: This is short and sweet but I just love the idea that the entire Batfamily views the JL's aging as a skill issue.

shadows, shortbread, siblings & other stolen things by RoyalRampionEngineer

Summary:

Tim turned around. Robin's shadow was still anchored to his feet, giving him finger-guns. Tim slumped down, and the shadow made to pat him on the back. "You're going to get me thrown in Batman's secret prison," Tim muttered to it. The shadow, of course, did not reply. It did pick up the street cat shadow, cradling it in its arms. "Fine!" Tim threw his hands up. "But you're at least going to help me study vocab if you're sticking around." ... Or, Tim accidentally steals Robin's shadow. (I think you know where this leads)

Momo's Notes: Tim accidentally steals Robin!Jason's shadow and can't give it back because shadow Jason takes one look at this insane eldritch child with no supervision and adopts him.

More Precious Than Gold by Drag0nst0rm

Summary:

Most dragons sleep on their hoards. Bruce's hoard sleeps on him. Or: Bruce is a dragon. Predictably, he hoards orphans.

Momo's Notes: This is a fantasy AU but Bruce is an actual dragon who hoards children so I'm counting it lol. The unique dragon lore in this is really fun with the effect being hoarded has on living humans.

robin reptile by awonderofworms

Summary:

Superman streaks up into the air, singular and alone, a whole group of alien beasts already making a beeline for him - and Cassie can’t help but tighten her knuckles. Big Blue is floating calmly, almost at odds with the foreign shrieking and howling around him, all aiming to rip him into shreds. But he’s not planning to fight, Cassie realizes. Which means… he’s bait. But for who? Who’s stronger than him, strong enough to have Superman trust them like this, in the fight? As she’s thinking, trying to fit the puzzle that seems unsolvable - Superman tilts his head, minutely, something like a smile on his face, and disappears into the sky. A roar splits the heavens. OR Robin - and his family - have this secret that they don’t reveal to anyone, until the very (nearly) end of the world.

Momo's Notes: Let's keep with the dragon theme for a couple fics, yeah? This one is from Wondergirl's point of view of the Batfam letting go of secrecy to save the world. I love the Core Four friendship on display, here.

My Teeth Are Like Swords by Titans_R_Us

Summary:

Tim waits under the huge clock at City Hall for midnight. He doesn’t know why all city halls like to sport a giant clock like it’s all the rage, but whatever. It seems like the best place for a bit of melodrama. (Besides, he’s taken tips from the best drama queen cough starts with a ‘B’ and rhymes with juice cough). The hand strikes the top and the clock booms, each gong vibrating his body underneath the clock face and finally—finally—Tim turns eighteen. And Tim Drake Wayne gets what he’s been waiting for.

Momo's Notes: Okay, technically this fic is listed as unfinished but I think that's an accident because while there's other places the author could take it if they ever come back to it, the story as it is FEELS complete to me and has a fully finished story arc of Tim hiding what he is, inheriting his power, and the family learning about it and accepting him so I'm going to include it. Bonus points for the Tim vs Ra's bits in this. I can never get enough of these two trying to outwit each other.

What's worse than a bat? A CHILD. by Beryllium_4

Summary:

The Justice League being convinced the whole of them are demons for a fic. Batman not doing anything to clear the misunderstanding.

Momo's Notes: The JL are under the impression that the entire Batfamily are literal demons but it's the kids that are the most terrifying.

You, Me, and the Humanity in Between by JUBE514

Summary:

Bruce doesn’t know what’s wrong with his child, but he’s pretty sure kids aren’t meant to work like this. From the day he had looked up into the tops of the circus tent and saw a frightened mirror image of a boy who had just experienced the worst day of his life, Bruce had instantly gone into emergency mode. The Gotham PD had wanted to pass the boy off into the care of the circus. The circus had mumbled underneath their breaths about superstitions, about not having a boy like that with them, about not being able to handle something like Dick. So GCPD, not knowing what to do, had started talking about one of the handful of overburdened boy homes that handles a majority of Gotham’s unlucky orphans. All the while, the camera lights flash bright and loud, wanting to know everything. Bruce couldn’t let that happen. Not then, not ever again. -- Bruce is trying his best to protect the city that he loves. He doesn't know how exactly his Robins came to be- they're not fully human, not even at all. All he knows is that he wants to keep them safe.

Momo's Notes: This fic and the next one you may recognize from other Fridays but you may have noticed that I don't mind including fics on multiple lists if they apply to the theme since not everyone will want to check out every list. This remains one of the most unique magical creatures I've ever seen in a fic. All three eldest Robins are magical beings that eat emotions stored in sentimental objects. Isn't that so cool?

Loading and Aspect Ratio by JUBE514

Summary:

So, it didn’t start out like this. Alfred would scoff at the statement, about how Bruce was trying to justify the whole situation to himself. It had started out as a simple design, black everything with black outlines and black hood. It got a little more intense as the world went on, got wind of his ghost on the streets, and became scared of The Bat . So Bruce got a little more creative with it, Alfred and him had a good laugh over the name, the scare, and Alfred had a vicious streak of humor that he had passed onto his ward- So now the suit had a visible bat-theme, an insignia to drape in the shadows and to paint across the streets of Gotham. It only took a year into the whole charade of heroism for Bruce to overhear a conversation between some goons- some low level thug hired by the Riddler this week- about nothing at all pertaining to what the hell the Riddler was doing in the sewers but instead: “ The Batman can fly, you know, I’ve seen his wings.” -- A world where nobody has wings, but people think they do, and that changes everything.

Momo's Notes: Another fic where the Batfam aren't actually cryptids but everyone believes they are (or to be more accurate for this one, believes they're metas). Bonus points for really adorable SuperBat and the brotherhood between Tim, Dick, and Jason.

Bat Out Of Hell by arguablysomaya

Summary:

Five times the Bats are weird, and one time that weirdness saves the world Or, the Bats are weird, everyone that’s even remotely aware of the superhero game knows this. But, odd as they are, they’re still humans. Which is why it should probably be impossible that they’re such forces of chaos. And when they’re all together? Well, most people are just glad they’re on the good side. And they are. Mostly.

Momo's Notes: Okay so hear me out on this one. The Batfam aren't cryptids and no one mistakes them for being one but they're all so damned WEIRD and abnormal from an outside perspective that they might as well be. Bonus points for entire chapters in both Cass and Duke's povs!

[th3d0nutl0rd]

FINAL THOUGHTS ON GHOST 2025 BELOW THE CUT:

GHOULS + GHOULLETTES

He got handed a cowbell mid-song which reminded me of cowbell ghoul from meliora (my beloved </3)

Swiss army ghoul was feral.

He went absolutely bananas in the corner, especially whenever he was in the spotlight.

No Swissaurora moments, but he was still unhinged. As is tradition.

Aurora (my queen):

Danced with the new ghoulette- they had chemistry that was so nice since the new ghoulette seemed a bit shy.

No freaky Swiss antics this time :'( but still she was great and I loved watching her dance

New Ghoulette (aka Haze/Tempest maybe?):

I love her so much... She didn't dance much but when me and some other people stood up on the balcony and went for it so did she (and she maybe looked at us? I couldn't tell?)

Cirrus- She got her keytar mummy dust solo and was just oozing with confidence which was 🤤 she was doing little dances and interacting with the crowd quite a bit

Phantom WAS SO CUTE he's definitely gained a lot of confidence since last tour and did the whole holding the guitar over his head thing which was super cool. I loved his goofy tophat,, what a refined gentleman

Rain & Sodo were the same as always no changes and there WAS in fact a guitar battle leading into cirice

PAPA V !!!!

He ascended on a throne?? During ritual and wore his pretty princess dress. He looked absolutely majestic ‼️He might’ve done it during Ritual or Year Zero??? I was too busy ascending emotionally to be 1000% sure walking out of there😭

“Will you be gentle with me?”

Said this to the crowd during his FIRST EVER LIVE SHOW. The entire arena screamed “NOOOOOOO” without hesitation.

He had a few costume changes!!! He wore a cassock with a sort of waistcoat with a skeletal scorpion tail??? Which was cool!! And there was also I think a leather jacket with a black shirt and tight black jeans that had a big silver buckle on them,, he changed into a tailored suit with bat wings where the seams were all silver and glittery. His pretty princess robe was worn (of course) and then he also got a shiny silver suit jacket and a HOT PINK SPARKLY AFTER SHOW JACKET.

A lot of people are on the fence about if he's more like Copia or Terzo and I'm saying Terzo because he literally said "conclusively, I give you... Monsterance clock." The same way Terzo used to which made me tweak because I never thought I'd hear those words live again

STAGE DESIGN / VISUALS:

Opening Backdrop:

Looked like torn/shredded black curtains with white light either on it or coming from behind????

Then revealed a gothic crushed velvet backdrop with ghoul stands that had arches and skulls. Also giant floating grucifix.

Stage Platforms:

No longer standard black ones like impera now featured neo gothic arches and skulls which could've been sculptures or actual props between the arches on them???

Velvet set dropped, revealing the classic stained-glass church from previous eras. It depicted satan in the middle and figures on the side of naked men and women???

Stage Transformations:

BUT: The stained glass was on a digital screen, and the “stone arches” were inflatable!!! And later collapsed.

Iconography:

During Pinnacle to the Pit, the arches DEFLATED MID-SONG and were replaced with DIGITAL HELLFIRE.

At one point the stained-glass icons included Jesus and other figures I literally couldn't make out. Then Jesus flew away with fire shooting out of him like a rocket,,, I'm not even joking

Grucifix Prop:

Giant. Suspended. Moved up/down with lighting cues and song tone???

Lighting Highlights:

Spirit = glowing green

Mummy Dust = EVERYTHING WAS JUST GOLD. AND THE CANONS WENT OFF.

There was fire during year zero too.

Trippy kaleidoscope of teeth, skulls, bones, and Papa V.

Kiss the Go-Goat Visuals:

Monstrance Clock Visuals:

I think either the future is a foreign land or a different song (dance macabre?) had the seven inches colours dancing around on the grucifix like a psychedelic disco-y thing?!

FULL-ON VICTORIAN PORNOGRAPHIC ILLUSTRATIONS,,, Hidden inside each lyric letter projected onscreen. Depicted naked couples, group sex and all that jazz.

SETLIST (As Confirmed by a stranger with better memory than me)

1. Peacefield

2. Lachryma

3. Spirit

4. From the Pinnacle to the Pit

5. Majesty

6. The Future is a Foreign Land

7. Devil Church

8. Cirice

9. Darkness at the Heart of My Love

10. Satanized

11. Ritual

12. Umbra

13. Year Zero

14. He Is

15. Rats

16. Kiss the Go-Goat

17. Mummy Dust

18. Monstrance Clock

Encore:

Mary on a Cross

Dance Macabre

Square Hammer

[lilixana05]

pairing: idol!jungkook x reader

word count: 4.1k

tropes: childhood best friends to strangers, idol!au, emotional reunion, one night only, hurt/comfort, unresolved tension, “i never forgot you”, hometown vibes

rating: teen+

warnings: emotional hurt/comfort, crying, mentions of stress & anxiety, soft confrontation, bittersweet tension, implied past abandonment, vulnerable moments

summary:

he said goodbye without saying anything.

now, years later, he’s standing in front of you again—famous, tired, and soaked from the rain.

but even with all the silence between you, part of you still wants to ask:

“did you ever think of me?”

a/n: idk what’s wrong with me but this literally fell out of my chest at 2:43am and I haven’t known peace since. Like why do they always come back when you’ve almost moved on?? anyway. If this hurts, good. That’s the point. drink water or cry more idk <33

title: “don’t say you missed me now.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The rain had been falling for hours.

Not hard—just steady enough to blur the edges of everything.

You were the only one in the diner.

Same booth. Same cheap coffee. Same half-lit neon sign buzzing by the window. It was like nothing had changed in this town.

Until the bell above the door rang.

You didn’t look up right away. But something in your chest pulled tight.

And then you heard it—

A breath. Familiar, shaky.

“Hey,” a voice said.

Your stomach dropped.

You knew that voice.

Of course you did.

You looked up.

He was standing there in a black hoodie, soaked to the skin, curls wet and sticking to his forehead. His eyes were the same—dark, soft, tired.

Jungkook.

You didn’t say anything. Just stared.

He took a step closer.

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” he said, voice low.

You blinked. “You really think I’d be anywhere else?”

He looked down, like he didn’t know what to say to that.

You went back to staring at your coffee. “Why are you here, Jungkook?”

“I needed to get away,” he said. “I thought about this place. Thought about you.”

That made you laugh—just once, dry. “Now you remember.”

“I always remembered.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t know how to come back.”

“Funny,” you said, “you didn’t struggle when you left.”

That shut him up.

He slid into the booth across from you. Hesitant. Careful.

You didn’t stop him.

“You cut your hair,” he said.

“You got tattoos.”

You both went quiet again.

He glanced out the window. “I drove past your house earlier. Your mom still has those wind chimes on the porch.”

“She likes the sound,” you muttered.

“I used to hate them,” he said, smiling a little. “They were always so loud when we were trying to sneak out.”

You didn’t smile back.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

You studied his face. He looked older. Thinner. Sadder, maybe. Not like the boy who used to throw rocks at your window or sneak you snacks during study sessions.

“I watched every video,” you said quietly. “Every concert. Every interview. Just to see if you’d mention this place. Me.”

He looked up.

“But you never did,” you finished.

His voice cracked. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I missed it too much. I missed you too much. And if I said your name out loud, it would’ve made it real.”

You swallowed hard. Looked away.

The silence stretched.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You shook your head. “No, you’re not. You’re just guilty.”

“That too,” he admitted.

You leaned back. Crossed your arms. “You know I used to wait for you?”

He nodded slowly.

“Every time I heard a car, I thought—maybe it’s him,” you whispered. “Maybe he came back.”

“I wanted to,” he said, barely audible. “But the longer I stayed away, the harder it got. I didn’t know how to face you.”

“You don’t get to disappear and then act like the victim.”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. “I just—I missed my best friend.”

“You left your best friend.”

He went quiet.

And then he whispered, “I know.”

You looked at him again.

Really looked.

He was shivering a little. His hoodie clung to his skin. His hands were red from the cold.

“Do you want to dry off?” you asked, before you could stop yourself.

His eyes widened a bit, surprised. “Are you serious?”

You sighed. “You’ll get sick.”

So you stood up. Tossed a few bills on the table.

He followed without a word.

⸻

The walk to your house was quiet.

When you reached the porch, he paused.

“You sure?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. Just opened the door.

He stepped inside like he’d done a hundred times before.

It felt wrong how natural it was.

You handed him a towel. He dried his hair, rubbing at it like a kid again.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

You sat on the couch. Pulled your knees up. Watched him.

He looked around the room. Eyes landing on the old framed photo near the TV. It was the two of you at the lake—sunburnt, smiling, barefoot.

“I forgot we even had that picture,” he said.

“I didn’t.”

He sat down a few feet away from you.

Neither of you said anything for a long time.

Then, softly:

“Did you ever hate me?”

You glanced over. “Sometimes.”

He nodded. Like he deserved it.

“But I also kept wishing you’d walk through that door again.”

You didn’t know why you said it. But you did.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I never stopped caring about you,” he said finally. “Not for a second.”

You stared at him. At the way his hands clenched in his lap. At the way his eyes shimmered.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you admitted.

“Nothing,” he whispered. “I just wanted to see you. One more time.”

You hesitated. Then asked:

“Is this a one-night thing? A stop before the next city?”

He didn’t lie.

“Yeah.”

You nodded.

Then, quietly: “Can you stay until the rain stops?”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him something sacred.

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft. “I can do that.”

And maybe that’s all you needed.

Not forever.

Just one more night.

With the boy who once knew every version of you.

Even if tomorrow, he’d be gone again.

⸻

a/n: i’m still really new to writing on here, so if you’ve read all the way to the end—thank you.

this means a lot to me, and even though english isn’t my first language, i’m trying my best to let the feelings come through anyway.

i know it’s not perfect—i’m not a professional author, just a girl with too many thoughts and a heart that holds on too tightly sometimes.

i’m still learning, and i’m always open to kind & respectful feedback if there’s something i can do better.

i just hope… something in this made you feel something. even for a second. even quietly.

thank you for being here. for real.

with love,

Liliana. 𓂃۶ৎ

[crossovers-nobody-asked-for]

Ive been thinking about Nurse Karma and baby torbek for about two weeks at this point and god it makes me actually sad and tear up.

This small child who’s had literally nothing to his name, is taken in, has a bath, given clothes, a friend and the best meal of his life and nothing could possibly go wrong, right? On Karma’s side of this interaction she sees a small child and knows of all the hardships he’ll have to battle as an adult. She genuinely and platonically cares for Torbek but everything she gives him is with the bittersweet knowledge of “he’ll have to go back eventually. I can’t change his story. I just want him to have one good day”and it’s tragic!She plays with him, cares for him, just overall is being a guardian like figure to him. Then it gets late and her time in his world slowly closes. Karma not having a choice to bring this small orphaned bugbear back to his dumpster in an alley, knowing exactly what his future holds and most importantly not knowing when she’ll be able to come back to see him again. But she assures him that she will come back to help again it just might take a long time. She stays with him until he falls asleep.

Gods! Karma I’m so sorry I made the world this way!

But also curse Andy for making Torbek’s life so bad!(this part is a joke)