#bruh i'm so embarrassing

[yousaytomato]

Feeling a typa way

[6-epigraphs]

.

[xx-obliviousfantasy-xx]

We're so over.

Everyone is getting blammed for this.

We're so fucked. The retaliation is going to be so bad.

Why would you try if you weren't 100% certain you could make the shot 😭

I'M NOT SAYING I CONDONE THIS BEHAVIOR!

BUT-

If you're gonna do it do it RIGHT.

Like shit!!!

[biscuitsngravie]

Golly I wanna try writing some x reader stuff but now that people are following me again I'm feeling bashful 😅🙈

[skelemira]

Hey guys!! So I made my first foray out of undertale writing (I still will do undertale writing and commissions/requests, but I have a new current hyperfixation lol) and wrote a oneshot for Just Roll With It!!! (For anyone unfamiliar, it's a DND podcast run by Charlie Slimecicle, Grizzlyplays, Condifiction, and Bizly! It is such a good freaking podcast please go listen to it)

I got inspired by a friend to write this particular oneshot, and it's about Edyn Tidestrider flirting with Jay Ferin! It's very fluffy and very VERY gay so have fun and I hope you enjoy!

[beastblade69]

some cishet men's defence in arguments rlly get my brain melting

[archiveofourpwn]

.

[tyrannosaurus-trainwreck]

Sorry, still not over Darcy critical-failing that proposal! Not that sorry, though. I have no idea why Pride and Prejudice hits so hard when most of Austen's other novels are like "They're fine! I like them! Anyway..." for me.

But, here's the thing. Darcy is being an asshole. Darcy isn't an asshole, generally, but he's really being one about his whole Regency Era situationship with Lizzie. Like, he rolls in on day one with this giant fucking chip on his shoulder, acts like he's too good for everyone, and why? Well, he's rich, and he's got lofty connections.

Except who's he rolling with right then? His spineless dustmop of a bestie and his bestie's godawful sisters. Bingley's the sort of guy who can be peer-pressured out of being in love!

Like, you know that thing where you have a friend, and they introduce you to another friend, and that friend is such a wet sock that you find yourself reevaluating your friend because they're hanging around with this guy? Like, okay, Darcy, do you have friends, or do you have toadies? Is this your bestie, or did you find a gentleman's companion that you didn't have to pay?

Later on we meet his aunt, who's the goddamned worst.

Like, we all hate Mr. Collins, right? This woman has Mr. Collins over twice a week for a quiet evening of performative dickriding. That's the kind of taste Darcy's family has. Voluntarily spending hours with Mr. Collins on a regular basis.

There's no talking about Mrs. Bennet's lack of decorum or matrimonial grasping or entitlement without talking about Lady Catherine flying in on her broom to scream at her nephew's fiancee, right? Especially considering that her basis for doing so is a cradle engagement that she seems to have never spoken to her nephew about as an adult and a fucking rumor that she assumes pertains to Lizzie.

She doesn't even talk to her fucking nephew before spending half a day in a carriage to make a blazing spectacle of herself in front of the entire Bennet household! He finds out she did that afterwards when she tries to make him break off the nonexistent engagement that she's announced to half the fucking kingdom by that point.

I mean, unexpected point to Mrs. B, who notably did not even walk down the road to Netherfield to act disappointed at anyone.

Also hard to get on too high a horse after Georgiana's near-elopement with the country's biggest asshole! Like, oh, the Bennet sisters are embarrassing? The Bennets lack propriety?

Buddy, you hired a sex trafficker to look after your sister and then your sister almost fucked the one-man-crime-wave son of your late property-manager. And you didn't even manage to hush it all up properly! Sure, he's keeping your sister's name out of his mouth, but he's running you down like a dog in every other respect to the whole county!

Like, "Oh, look at me, I'm Fitzwilliam Darcy! I'm not going to lower myself to correcting any of The Plebes who now think I deliberately misadministered a will to fuck over The Help out of cheapness and spite, especially when all it would take is one conversation with That Fucker's commanding officer, but god forbid I ever have to go out in public with a Bennet! I might die of shame and secondhand cringe!"

So he's got all of that going on, and then he busts in on Lizzie with a proposal that's got huge "I don't consent to being attracted to you" energy and runs her entire family into the ground. This is after Lizzie's spent approximately three centuries being negged by his mannerless nightmare of an aunt, so that's at least one extra level of "Really, bruh?" in there.

And then he fucking claps back at her rejection! Instead of going "Oh. Huh. Whoops. Guess I'll just have to go marry one of the other ten thousand women lined up waiting to marry me!" he's like "What the fuuuuck did I ever do to you, you fucking menace?". At which point she checks him so hard he spends the next three months bluescreening and looking up how to be polite to people you haven't already known for five years.

So like I said, he is being an asshole here. He knows how to act right, he just hasn't bothered to do so once since posting up in Netherfield because idk, he's on vacation or some shit.

Critically! However upsetting Lizzie finds The Proposal Incident (half-hour crying jag, spends the rest of the day hiding in her room), she is at no point worried about Darcy's subsequent behavior.

This is while she still thinks he genuinely did Wickham dirty and before she's had a chance to get character references from the 500 people working at Pemberley. This is the guy about whom her dad later says "Kidding-not kidding I can hardly say no to this rich fuck, can I?" when asked for his blessing. This is after Mr. Collins literally said "I've heard no means yes these days" to her fucking face and then her mother tried to make her marry him anyway.

She preached a full on sermon about the man's shortcomings to his face immediately after saying she wouldn't bounce on his dick if it was the last one on earth and after the adrenaline crash wasn't like, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck my entire life, he's going to burn down the vicarage and frame my father for tax fraud."

Everything that she's seen with her own eyes about this snobby bastard tells her he's not going to go crying to his aunt and get her cousin's patronage revoked. He's not going to go out of his way to fuck her or her family over. He's pissed, and he was definitely playing the ass with that proposal, but he's not going to lash out over it.

So this is Lizzie seeing Darcy at Peak Asshole, with extra assholery that he didn't even do but he couldn't be bothered to tell anyone he didn't do, and Lizzie's still like "omg you're such a fucking prick, how do you even get out of bed in the morning" instead of "Well, RIP to my prospects, there's no way that man doesn't have the lot of us consigned to a convent by parliamentary decree now."

[allthebestcowgirls]

got high w my sister and i'm gonna be embarrassed for ever

[blockedbykei]

𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

🏐 — tsukishima kei x f!reader

— synopsis: tsukishima has always struggled wrapping the stupid bandages on his fingers. the new manager seemed to know how, but his pride was too stuck up for him to ask help. luckily, you knew him too well.

— warnings: swearing, blood

🏐 —

The ball slams onto the squeaky floor, the synthetic leader creasing as it meets the shined court. Tsukishima smirks at his opponents’ quick glance at the rolling ball.

“Was that your best, King?”

“Shut up,” Kageyama sneers. Hinata forbearingly chases after the ball. The blonde smirks, adjusting his glasses.

His legs ache, though he didn't have the care to complain nor request to take a break. Testing his endurance was good—he still had limits to test, he still had so much energy to drain. He wasn't going to waste his time tending for the ache.

Something that he wouldn't mind wasting his time on though, was fixing the bandages around his ring and index finger. They were loosening up, untucked from one another. So he looked at Daichi, motioned to his fingers, and his senior's approving nod permits his body to exit the court and onto the bleachers.

"When was the last time you changed those, bruh?" Tanaka blurts. He rubs his hand on his shaved head, his sweat dripping off his temples. "That shit's dirty."

"Just this morning. I'm not unhygienic." Tsukishima bluntly replies. "It got dirty from the ball. Have you seen that thing? When was the last time you changed those balls?"

Sugawara sits beside him, his towel being patted on his forehead. "Two years ago, probably."

Tsukishima fiddles with the thin straps of his bandages, tucking it underneath the wrapped gauze, but it irritates him when it refuses to stick. So he tries and he tries again; from the court to the bleachers, he thinks. A person could only do so much trying.

"Hey, (l/n)!"

His head snaps towards your direction, seeing you enter with a bag full of refilled water bottles. He'd politely take the bag off your shoulders, showing chivalry to remove the image of his isouciant demeanor. But Daichi had already beaten him, as well as carrying the other two bags brought by Yachi and Shimizu.

His fingers absentmindedly twirl and twirl as he stares from afar. His heart pounds uncremeniously against hist chest, like the sound of continuous free spiking against the court floor. He dislikes the feeling of sudden emotions.

But when you were the end of those emotions, he'd bear his hatred.

And Tsukishima had been staring for too long that he hasn't noticed you approaching him with that kind, everloving smile. He doesn't return it.

"Kei," you softly greet. His first name, never given verbal privilege to say but somehow it just felt right for you to say it. "Struggling with that?"

"Hm? O-oh. Yes," his back straightens, forearm on his knee. You sit down beside him but not beside him. He feels like whining. "Can't get the stupid thing wrapped properly."

"I can help—" you offer.

"I got it," Tsukishima tucks his arm against his chest like it was something you'd steal from him. You laugh through your nose. "Not my first time doing it."

"Just let me help," you wrap your hand on his wrist and yank it towards you, the bandage seamlessly falling off his calloused palm onto your lap. Tsukishima feels heat rising to his ears— feels the obnoxious stares of his teammates smiling teasingly as they bounce the balls from their hands to the floor.

And so your soft fingers caress against his, your thumb in the apex of his palm as you hold his hand firmly. Tsukishima puts the weight of his hand on yours, watching your eyes meticulously follow the movement of your fingers wrapping the dirty bandage around his ring and pinkie finger.

"Your scar looks cool," you say. "Where'd you get that?"

"From, uh, Ushijima's spike during our match against Shiratorizawa." His voice falters with embarrassment. "He was strong. An idiot though," he adds the last remark to aid his ego.

"Wow, Kei complimenting Ushijima."

"Followed by an insult," he looks up at you through his eyelashes and feels like he could collapse on the spot. Suddenly the ache on his legs didn't bother him anymore, like they'd been healed by your essence.

You tuck the bandage in. "He may be strong, but he can't block like you," you take his hand in yours and lightly tap it with the other one before standing up. You pick up a waterbottle from your bag and offer it to him. "Drink up. Can't have you dehydrated."

Tsukishima takes the bottle from you. You smile at him, and the edges of his lips quirk up to give you a half-smile, like some sort of gratitude. And you walk away from him.

He could've done a lot more than just speak like he wasn't thankful for your assistance. Instead he watched you walk away, wistfully.

🏐 —

Stupid fucking fingers.

There's blood dripping on the asphalt ground. Tsukishima hisses, Hinata gasps and covers his mouth.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He had bowed so much his back could break. Tsukishima didn't care, he only wanted to shove his entire fist up Kageyama's laughing ass.

Blocking balls was one thing. Blocking Hinata's spike, however...

"Idiot," he says lowly, though loud enough to enlighten Hinata of his disdain. "Shit, could you be careful next time, Shoyo?"

"What's going on?" You exit the gym, locking it behind you. "Is that blood?"

"Yes! Because this Pipsqueak thought we were on some real match. Spiked it at me when we're only three feet apart!"

"Calm down, Kei."

And then he did. He did calm down. His chest went back to it's steady pace as he clutched his hand, the blood's flow weak. You walk towards him and take his hand in yours, then you drag him to the locker room.

"Please don't tell me your scar opened."

He could laugh at that sentence, then again not everyone knows everything. He shakes his head and rubs his nose. "Just a wound from one of my fingers."

"Okay, sit here." He sits on a chair as you reach for the first aid kit.

Tsukishima likes you.

Straight to the point, he admits it to himself that he likes you, and he's proud of that. He could never admit that to anyone else though. Maybe it's because you were nice, and he couldn't bring himself to be mean to you and if he ever was, you put him in his place. Maybe he likes you because you're beautiful. Not just pretty, but beautiful. And you were skillfull at bandaging his fingers. That hit a special spot in his heart.

You sit on the desk in front of him and he offers his hand willingly, placing it on your thigh. You dabbed the antiseptic covered cotton on his bleeding wound. Tsukishima barely hisses from the pinching pain. Instead, he looks at you from the scratched lens of his glasses.

You look at him, laugh a little, and push his glasses up his nose.

Tsukishima blushes.

"Be careful next time, Kei," you advice, placing the cotton aside and start bandaging up his wound. "You're the smart one in the group. They could all go to shit if you get injured."

"Eh, I have you to heal me," his words slip past his lips before he could think about what he would say. His eyes widen a little. And his blush, could it be from embarrassment as you noticed his reaction, or could it be from the way you smile at him and massage the lines in his palm as a retort.

"You're cute," you raise a brow, tucking the bandage in.

"You wrap my bandages all the time." He puts his hands on his lap. And you still sit there, in front of him, on the desk. "You're my little healer."

"Is "little" an insult or?"

Tsukishima laughs. He laughs. Then he takes your hand and plays with your fingers, his fingertips tracing every ridge, every bump of your hand. You watch him as he does so, feeling yourself smile bigger and bigger at every second.

So he takes that chance to lace your hands together. You both blush, looking away from one another.

"Take it as an insult," he finally says. "Healer? Don't take it as an insult. I'll be calling you that from now on, though."

You roll your eyes, jumping off the desk. "Okay, Kei."

You both leave the locker room, hands still together, and his bandage still intact.

🏐—

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[dykeadvocate]

streamer!abby x streamer!reader HCs

a/n: i enjoy writing streamer!ellie so much that i've decided i wanna try writing streamer!abby too :p

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

• she mostly plays call of duty or league of legends!! those are her favourite games ever.

• her setup is very clean, including her room. she has a white setup with pink/purple neon lights.

• her equipment is very expensive and she always has the newest things. she never wants to waste her old equipment tho. she always does giveaways to her viewers or friends.

• she KNOWS how hot she is and what type of chokehold she has on her viewers. she'll casually flex her arms. it makes her chat go crazy.

@abbysonlyone oh my GODDD thats my muscle mommy guys

@teddybear48 replied BACK TF OFF THTAS LITERALLY MY MUSCLE MOMMY

• "guys chill. you can all have a piece of me." she has this cocky grin on her face as she says that.

• she's positioned her camera so alice can be seen sleeping in her bed. everyone finds alice adorable and constantly ask for pictures of her.

• she typically streams alone. she feels more connected to her viewers that way, buttt she does occasionally make the exception and stream with you. her viewers love watching you both interact with each other.

• "abigail anderson, if you steal my kill one more fucking time, I'm going to break up with you."

• "ooh, so scary."

• she'd steal your kill again and look over at you with a grin on her face. you'd throw your pillow that rested in your lap at her, bonking her on the head.

• people made edits out of that. it was one of abby's most embarrassing moments. you thought it was hilarious.

• she posts gym pics on her instagram.

• she displays herself to be very confident at streamer events, but inside she's panicking and overthinking everything. you always notice when she's feeling anxious and you slip your hand into hers.

• you guys are very affectionate on stream!! at first, abby was nervous and didn't enjoy pda much, but overtime she's started to like it.

• you both like to share kisses when one of you are streaming. people think it's adorable and hot.

• she has auto caps turned on and uses 24 hour time.

@therealabbyanderson Hey guys, I'll be streaming at 21:00 tonight. It'll just be a cozy Minecraft stream.

@ynplayz replied bruh just say 9pm and why are you using such correct grammar ITS TWITTER!!

@therealabbyanderson replied Let me do what I want to do.

@ynplayz replied people are gonna think im a controlling partner omg TURN THAT SHIT OFF ABBY

• she still has not turned it off.

[slut4megantheestallion]

2AM

Duke dennis x black!reader

Summary: y/n being a streamer and being a part of a amp like her boyfriend duke, until in her stream she tries to do a cartwheel but her boyfriends pop up and starts laughing at her failed attempt, which became roasting to affectionate love.

You've been a part of amp for quite some time now. When you were younger, you always wanted to be a social media star, but people alas told you that your not gonna make it, but that didn't stop you from where you are today until you met kai, fanum, agent, Chris, duke, and Daviss and together you guys became one of the most popular YouTube group. And you love all of them like they were your own family.

Yeah, being the only girl in the group is kinda hard because there's niggas on the internet trolling, but you didn't give a fuck before they accepted you anyway, the more you got comfortable will all of them the more you loved all of them. You have a crush on Duke. You both were pretty close, and y'all both became best friends, and everyone in the group thought y'all was dating even if your fans thought y'all was dating, but it wasn't true.

You hide your feelings because you thought Duke would reject you or didn't like you until he made the first move and your relationship started from there. Y'all both were lucky to have each other, y'all would both come to each other streams, pranks, and all of that other stuff.

Your love language with him is roasting. People make it seem like y'all mean, but it ain't true both you just be joking with each other.

You were streaming playing a horror game, you was tired as fuck, but you wanted to finish playing the game.

"Bruh, chat, I'm not gonna lie,I'm tired as fuck I've been playing this game for an hour, I've been trying to stay awake for y'all." Y/n said tiredly as she picked up her water drinking it as she looked at the chat.

"Bro, somebody in the chat told me to do a cartwheel to stay awake." Y/n laughed as she pushed her chair back and stood up.

"Yo chat, I ain't gonna lowkey don't know how to do a cartwheel, like I'm being so deadass, I'm not an athletic person, hold on imma try for you guys." Y/n stands up as she pushes her chair farther away so she can have some room.

"Bro, I'm scared. What if I bust my ass!!" Y/n yelled as she looked back at the chat. Y/n raised both her hands as she placed both of them on the ground, trying to kick her legs up, but ended up falling on the ground.

"Shit, hold on chat. Let me try again, damn this shit is harder than I thought." Y/n got herself up as she tried to do another cartwheel. Y/n puts both her hands on the ground. As she tried to kick her legs up, she heard her door open.

"Aye, bae do you got my charg-" Duke was about to finish his sentence as he saw you trying to cartwheel he started busting out laughing, making you laugh as you got up.

"It's not funny, nigga. I'm trying to do a cartwheel. " y/n laughed, feeling embarrassed as Duke started laughing.

"Nah, that gotta be one of the worst cartwheels I've seen bruh, you don't know how to do a cartwheel?" Duke said, still laughing, making fun of you.

"Shut the fuck up, nigga can you do a cartwheel?" Y/n said asking him as she was huffing and puffing form those failed attempt cartwheel.

"Yes, way much better than that, bro. Imagine not lifting yourself up." Duke said, laughing at you.

"Nigga, I know you talking you pushing 40 and you was in the back of the bus with rosa parks, with yo old ass." Y/n commented as she started laughing as the people in the chat start making fun of Duke going crazy.

"Oh, so that's how you gonna do me, for real." Duke said, smiling in disbelief as you roasted him.

"Yes, imma do you like, ayo chat spam 1987 in the chat, that's the year you was born at with you old ass." Y/n started laughing as everyone in the chart started spamming 1987 in the chat.

"Yeah, I got you on mute. You were serving in ww2 with yo old ass. " You still kept roasting as you both were facing each other as Duke started smiling at the smile that you melt.

Duke wasn't listening to anything you were saying while you were still roasting him. He was looking at your lips as he grabbed your waist and started kissing you. You were caught off guard by this, but you kissed him back. You broke this kiss as he looked back at you. "You so gorgeous, bae." Duke smiled at you as was still holding you close, as he was still holding your waist. "Aww, thank you, bae. I would say something nice about you, but you were making fun of me." Y/n teased.

"Damn, that's fair, I love you y/n" Duke said, genuinely looking at you with so much love in his eyes.

"I love you too," y/n responded as she kissed him on the lips. As Duke lifted your legs up, carrying you as laughed, he was yours, and you were his.

[yayawantstodraw]

This whole Sansa vs Arya shit always makes me laugh, "Sansa bullied Arya" bruh my sister used to call me a fucking whale and i used to make fun of her teeth cuz she had kind bunny like front teeth it's normal for CHILDREN who are also SIBLINGS to make fun of each other "Uuuh but Jeyne Poole also made fun of Arya" I'm a younger sibling my sister and her friend did not want me around when they were together and would usually tease me to make me leave because guess what? They were children that did not want a random ass kid in their business (and they were older than both Sansa and Jeyne). Arya teases and makes fun of Sansa too y'all i promise you that shit ain't that deep, we literally know that they love and care deeply for each so this whole rivalry y'all got going on needs to stop cuz it's getting embarrassing this girls are between the ages of like 8-11 please stop trying to make them out to be bad people, they are children and children are selfish and assholes sometimes doesn't mean they're evil

[myreigndeer]

Me with my girlfriend that I can't call my girlfriend bc she isn't my girlfriend. Even though, we both like each other. Even though, she said she was straight. Even though, she didn't say anything when I confessed. Even though I confessed in August, her birthday. Hell, I didn't even realize it was her birthday. She confessed after ignoring me for days. In December. After I spent months raving about other people. And even though I'm madly in love, even after she confessed to me in a rejection basically. Even though she said, 'she'd date me but, she feels like I'd cheat on her a billion times', I still love her. Even though I know why she would feel that. But I just don't know if it's insecurity or if she feels I'm a bad person. I know I talked about other people, but I could never date them, never love them. They're cute and schoolyard crushes are all the rage for finding something to keep ur mind off of. But one was a school friend, I jst met her and soon I'll go back to school and back to telling my girlfriend I can't call that, can't tell anyone we know, about my schoolyard friends.

I don't know if I can wait. Not if I can wait for my not-girlfriend, but if I can wait if there's nothing ever coming. If I can make changes for someone who won't tell me she loves me. For someone surrounded by lgbtq+ friends but can't say she likes me. Hell, I get it. I haven't even told my queer mother anything about me. And I get why she told our friend, but not me of all people that she wasn't straight. But I can't figure out for the life of me what she wants me to do. You don't tell your friend that told you she loves you that you'd date them. You just don't. You don't play with someone just to tell them you 'would', but won't. If there's a 'but', I don't want to hear it. But then, why'd she tell me?

Amor de Mi Vida. That's what I call her. Amor de Mi Vida. What do you say to a girl that says she would date you but won't say she won't? I've got the why. I just don't know what she expects me to do with that now.

"Break my heart. Break it a thousand times. It was only ever yours to break."

*Me at literally every ship I come across

[deadwasteland-dazaisfan]

₊˚⊹ᰔ Valentine's day! ˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

𐙚Synopsis: Valentine's day special!; 𐙚Pairing: fem!reader×dazai osamu&chuuya nakahara (separately) 𐙚Contain: headcanons, drabbles (?), sfw+nsfw, comfort, MDNI, hint of sex, rough sex, gentle sex, stimulation, oral sex, fingering, aftercare; 𐙚Author's note: (died after what is written above💀)... I tried to write this, but I don't know how well I did it. So... Once again, happy Valentine's Day to everyone! I'm a little late with this (っ- ‸ - ς)

DAZAI

•THIS MAN ADORES YOU

•Considering that in the past he had a great, great experience of various communication (and obviously not only) with girls, you are the luckiest in the world (or maybe not ...)

•Dazai is a man of different moods. You never know what will come over him at the most random moment. You even jokingly call him "Mr. Mystery," and he takes it as a compliment.

•He ALWAYS gives you gifts. Regardless of the situation. Regardless of whether it's a holiday today or not. Regardless OF WHETHER HE EVEN HAS MONEY (bruh, we all know that he has it; a former member of the Port Mafia without money? nope)

•His presents on ordinary days can be very diverse. But on holidays, he takes a particularly responsible approach to choosing gifts.

•Valentine's Day? RUN. HE WON'T LET YOU GO ALL DAY.

•He belongs to the type of men who like to do everything for show. HE BREAKS INTO THE AGENCY AND GRABS YOU, HUGGING YOU LIKE A PLUSH TOY

•You literally have to HIDE MONEY FROM HIM so that he doesn't buy up ALL THE FLOWERS IN THIS CITY.

•But it still doesn't help; HE STILL COMES WITH A HUGE BOUQUET, SMIRKING SMUGLY

•Usually he gives you white lilies, sometimes he can afford to buy roses or chrysanthemumsIn addition to flowers, you receive from him a gentle kiss on the cheek / forehead and a box of interesting sweets that you have never tasted

•Able to stay at home on holidays when you go to work. AND ALL JUST SO THAT IN A COUPLE OF HOURS HE COULD SPECTACULARLY APPEAR ON THE DOORSTEP OF THE AGENCY AND GIVE YOU A GIFT

•At such moments, he comes in a fashionable suit for a spectacular appearance

•You're always embarrassed, but he doesn't seem to care at all; JUST HAVE TIME TO ASK HIM NOT TO KISS YOU IN FRONT OF OTHERS, OH, HE'LL DO IT (just an idiot, what kind of man...)

•On February 14th, he congratulates you in the morning; if he is not a lazy ass, he can cook you a delicious breakfast, for example, toast, inside of which a heart is neatly cut out and fried eggs are filled it

•He tries to do everything for you as on ordinary days, and on this holiday (he just becomes even more clingy and cute)

•He will be too lazy to make you a valentine, but since everyone knows that you are a couple, everyone will congratulate you on the holiday, and Osamu will just (as mentioned earlier) give you a bouquet of flowers and sweets.

NSFW

•TURNS INTO A PERVERT AT 0:00 (okay, he always was and always will be)

•He will definitely go to the lingerie store, choose the most DEPRAVED UNDERWEAR (it will be open lace or something that will cover only the crotch and nipples)

•He'll give it to you in the evening

•No matter how embarrassed you are, trust me, he'll find a way to get you to wear it.

•When you find yourself in this depraved outfit, he will admire you for a long time until he finally breaks down

•There are two options for the outcome of events: HE WILL FUCK YOU OFF SO THAT YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO WALK FOR SEVERAL DAYS (not funny, it really is)

•Or it will be too, too gentle, will make everything carefully and too pleasant for you

•It all depends on his mood and the degree of excitement! Well, or for how many days have you refused his requests

•Anyway, in the end, he'll clean everything up, put you to bed, and fall asleep with you, cuddling you against him.

CHUUYA

•Loves and protects you like a diamond

•Grateful to you for everything, especially for being with him despite his dangerous work

•Does everything for you, just like for his favorite doll and princess

•He'll start congratulating you in the morning

•If it's a day off, you go to a nice restaurant where he will order you the most delicious dishes, a glass of wine and a dessert in the shape of a heart

•If it's a working day, he'll apologize for being busy and try to make you breakfast. If he doesn't make it, he'll at least order you something.

•GIVES YOU A LOT OF FLOWERS

•I SWEAR THESE ARE THE BIGGEST BOUQUETS IN ALL OF YOKOHAMA.

•These can be either burgundy, blood roses, or the most delicate and light flowers

•In addition, he will either leave you his credit card with a lot of money so that you can buy everything you want, or he will go shopping with you; If you can't go yourself, he will definitely find out what you want and buy it himself

•You like different shoes (almost all your shoes are heels)

•Therefore,he never skimp on buying you another pair (the HUNDREDTH PAIR)

•He even bought you a separate closet for your shoes.

•He's definitely not giving CHEAP shoes.

•They all cost as much as the agency's budget; on Valentine's Day he will give you something in this style; hearts and red!

•He will buy your favorite wine or open something from his collection

•At work, during a break, he will try to make you an origami heart, something like a valentine

•He'll leave work early to spend more time with you

NSFW

•GET READY.

•He'll kiss every inch of your body

•He will leave bites and hickeys on your neck, thighs, chest, even your stomach

•He'll really enjoy your moans

•He'll be very gentle, unless you ask him to be rude.

•He will do everything slowly and carefully, as if he is afraid that he might harm you.

•You're like a fragile doll in his arms.

•Passionate, sensual kisses are provided for you

•He knows how to please you, so he will use his tongue and fingers

•He will torment you slowly, pressing you against his back, while he gently massages your clit, listening to you whimper

•He enjoys the feeling of you trembling from his touch

•He will tease you and push you to the limit, and then stop abruptly; but it won't last long, and he will give you your sweet release

•Will make you cum first from his fingers and then from his tongue

•He will make sure that he has prepared you well by slowly inserting and removing two fingers from your wet hole

•He'll fuck you very gently

•If you don't ask him for anything, then yes; but if you ask him to be rougher, he will squeeze you into the mattress, face into the pillow, when he fucks you hellishly fast

•After any option, he will do everything necessary for you and him, and then you will fall asleep in an embrace

______________________________________

[msbigredmachine]

Finding Angel: 5

A/N: I'm introducing a few new faces here. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Roman’s life has returned to its usual whirlwind pace. One night in Boston, the next in San Francisco, then off to a European tour. Between grueling matches, media appearances, and endless meetings, his current itinerary leaves little room for anything else. Yet, no matter how chaotic his days become, he always carves out time for Naima. Their nightly phone calls have become a ritual, a grounding constant in his otherwise hectic life.

For Naima, those calls are slowly becoming the highlight of her nights. After long hours at the club, drained from demanding patrons, Khalil’s hostility and the relentless grind, hearing Roman’s voice feels like a reprieve. His deep baritone carries a warmth that soothes her, his words laced with genuine care. It’s been a while since a man she’s interested in has made her feel so seen, so valued.

She likes him. Maybe more than she wants to admit. And as much as she wants to play it down, it’s obvious that he feels the same.

But no matter how much she cherishes these moments, doubts continue to persist in the back of her mind. When it comes down to it, she still doesn’t know him all that well. Their worlds are so different, and their connection, though powerful, feels fragile in the face of all the complications that come with it.

She is about to find out just how complicated things can get.

The locker room is buzzing with post-show energy, but Roman’s focus is elsewhere. He sits in the corner, scrolling through his phone, a faint smirk on his lips as he shoots Naima another text.

Roman: Still at the club?

Naima: Just got home. You checking on me, big guy? 😉 

Roman: Hell yeah. You good?

Naima: Yep. Just tired. Long night. 

Naima: Wish I had you to unwind with though…

Roman: Yeah? And how exactly would we be unwinding?

Naima: Wouldn’t you like to know? 😏 

Roman: Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish, baby girl.

Naima: Who says I can’t?

Roman: Damn. Keep talkin’ like that and I might book another flight.

The locker room door swings open, and Jimmy strolls in with Jey and Sami. Paul Heyman follows behind them, his usual stoic demeanor giving way to a faint scowl.

“Yo, Uce,” Jimmy calls, pulling off his shirt. “You comin’ with us tonight or what? Few of the boys hittin’ the bar.”

“Nah,” Roman replies without looking up.

“Let me guess,” Jey says, his tone laced with sarcasm. “You got plans with your new flavor of the month?”

Roman’s eyes flick up, sharp and warning. “Say that again?”

Jey chuckles, dropping onto the bench across from him. “Just sayin’, Uce, you keepin’ her mad quiet. Almost like you embarrassed or somethin’.”

“Embarrassed?” Roman echoes, his voice low and dangerous. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

Sami raises his hands, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, hey, let’s not start something here. Jey’s just messing with you...I think.”

Jey leans back, smirking. “I’m just curious. You the Tribal Chief, man. Women throwin’ themselves at you left and right, and you settlin’ for some chick that shakes her ass for cash.”

Jimmy groans. “Bruh, chill. You don’t know shit about her.”

“I know enough,” Jey counters, shrugging. “She bad, I ain’t gon’ lie. But that’s all she is, Uce. A trick. You really gonna take that serious?”

Roman’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’ma say this one time. You talk about her like that again, we gon’ have a problem. A big one.”

Jey holds up his hands, mock innocence on his face. “Aight, aight. I’m just sayin’…she for the streets, Uce.”

Before Roman can respond, Paul steps in, his tone measured but pointed. “Gentlemen, let’s not turn this into a family feud. Roman, as your special counsel, I must echo a sentiment of caution. The optics of this…relationship might not be favorable.”

Roman’s glare darkens dangerously. “What optics, Paul?”

Heyman adjusts his tie, clearly uncomfortable under his Tribal Chief’s stare. “I merely mean that your public image is…kinda tied to your success. It’s not just about you. It’s about the family, the legacy.”

Roman rises to his feet, towering over Paul. “Don’t ever bring her up in that conversation again.” His voice is calm, but the warning is unmistakable.

Jimmy steps in again, his tone softer. “Roman, we ain’t tryna come at you. It’s just…unexpected, that’s all. A stripper, though? You know how people talk.”

“Only people I hear talkin’ are your dumb asses,” Roman snaps. “Y’all act like I’m some kid chasin’ ass. She’s more than that. But none of y’all would know, ’cause you too busy judgin’ her without even knowin’ her.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Roman’s words hanging heavy. Jimmy and Sami shift uncomfortably, while Jey smirks. Roman can feel a headache coming and he’s really not in the mood for his bullshit or anyone else’s.

Little does he know his week is about to get worse.

Princess Rockwell.

Née Jameson. Socialite. Philanthropist. And once upon a time, almost Mrs. Reigns.

Once, she had been the woman at his side, the perfect complement to his status. Beautiful, poised, and just as power-hungry as she was well-connected. Their engagement had been a spectacle, splashed across magazines and whispered about in their elite circles. The Tribal Chief and his queen-to-be. A match made in high-society heaven.

Until it wasn’t.

Years have passed since Roman called off their engagement, but it still feels like the world refuses to let them forget. Their breakup was messy and rife with whispers of betrayal, power plays, and a relationship that had rotted from the inside out.

Princess, however, had done what she did best: landed on her feet.

Within months, she was married to another man. Hector. A much older dude with wealth so obscene that even her most vicious critics had to admit she leveled up. Now, she lived in an even bigger mansion, wore even more expensive diamonds, and played the devoted wife to Miami’s real estate kingpin. She even had a son to solidify her position, her little insurance policy to keep herself firmly tethered to her husband’s empire.

But for all the security she gained, Princess never really let go of Roman.

The charities and foundations they ran together kept her tied to him, a connection she refused to sever, even when he tried. It gave her the perfect excuse to linger in his orbit, to show up uninvited, to call at all hours with ’urgent’ business matters that somehow always veered into something else. Lately, her calls have become more frequent. More demanding.

And tonight, she’s calling again.

Roman sits on the weight bench in his home gym, beads of sweat rolling down his bare chest as he checks his phone. His heart sinks at the name flashing across the screen.

Princess Jameson

He’s never made the effort to change her last name on his phone. Not when it should have been his, once upon a time.

Roman exhales sharply, rolling out the tension in his shoulders. He could ignore it, let it go to voicemail—but he knows better. She’d just keep calling. Or worse, she’d show up unannounced, drama trailing behind her like one of her overpriced fur coats. Jaw tightening, he finally swipes to answer, more for his own sanity than anything else.

“What?”

“Excuse me?” Princess snaps, instantly on the offense. “That’s how you answer my call now?”

Roman sighs, wiping his face with a towel. “Princess—”

“No, don’t ‘Princess’ me,” she cuts him off, her voice already edged with irritation. “Where the hell were you last week?”

He clenches his jaw. “I’ve been busy.” The truth. Part of it, at least.

She hums like she’s considering her words, but he knows better. Everything she does is calculated. “Let me guess. With work?” she challenges, skepticism laced in every syllable.

“Yeah.”

A knowing laugh spills through the receiver. “Oh, Ro. You may be a good liar, but that shit ain’t never worked with me.”

Roman sighs tiredly. Unfortunately, she’s right. 

For years, Princess had a way of bending him, making him cave even when he swore he wouldn’t. He always gave in. She was persistent, manipulative, and worst of all, she knew exactly how to push him until he folded.

“Okay then, I’ll humor you,” Princess croons, her voice dripping in honeyed amusement. “So, when are you coming over to make it up to me?”

He rubs a hand over his beard, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know when I’ll be free.”

Silence stretches between them, but he can feel the weight of her displeasure through the phone. “You’re lying again, sweetheart…” Her voice drops, slinking into that familiar, intimate purr that always spelled trouble. “You think I don’t know what’s going on with you?”

Roman exhales slowly, jaw flexing. “Princess, I don’t have time for this.”

“Oh, but you have time for her.”

The words slip out casually, but the weight behind them is anything but.

Roman stills. His fingers flex around the phone, muscles tensing beneath his skin. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb, you know it fucking pisses me off,” she snaps, smug as ever. “I know all about that stripper in Atlanta, Roman. I know that’s where all your attention has been lately.”

Roman rises from the bench, pacing the gym now, shoulders tense. “How the fuck do you-”

“You forget who I am?” she interrupts smoothly. “I always know what my men are up to.”

His blood simmers, irritation creeping into his tone. “I’m not your man, Princess.”

She hums, feigning amusement. “Mmm. Funny. That’s not what you were saying last time you were in my bed.”

Roman grits his teeth. “That was weeks ago.”

“Exactly.” She sighs dramatically, like this is all so exhausting for her. “Come on, baby, we both know what this is.”

“Do we?” he challenges, eyes narrowing.

“Damn right,” she presses, her voice dipping sharply. “You’re slummin’ it, Ro. That’s what men like you do when they need a distraction. A little fun before they come back to what they know. And you always come back, no matter how many times you try to run.”

Roman bites his bottom lip hard, rubbing a hand over his face. This is exactly why he’s been pulling away. He’s been trying to shake her, to put distance between them, but Princess knows exactly how to keep him tangled up in her web. He tries to stand his ground, but he knows how this goes. He always knows how this goes.

Roman pushes to his feet, chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths. “You don’t know a damn thing about her,” he tries to counter.

She scoffs. “I don’t have to. I know her type. Easy little tramp, desperate for a come-up, the kind who thinks they’ve won some prize by crawling into your bed. Trust me, baby, whatever this is? It’s temporary.”

Something inside Roman frays, making his entire body go rigid. “Shut your mouth,” he warns.

“Ohhh, I hit a nerve,” she coos, delighted. “You and I both know exactly what she is. You really think she gives a fuck about you? About anything other than your wallet? Are you so desperate for attention that you’re now fucking the help?”

His free hand balls into a fist. His pulse pounds in his ears. He knows what she’s doing, how she’s poking at him, looking for a weak spot. He shouldn’t let her get under his skin, but she is.

His voice is low, steady, and laced with defiance. “I’m not coming back to you,” he informs her.

Silence again. But this time, it’s different.

Then, Princess laughs.

Not light. Not amused. Dark. Mocking.

“Oh, Ro,” she sighs, her tone dripping with condescension. “You always say that.” Then, with a cold little laugh, she adds, “Fine. Go have your fun. But when you finally come to your senses…and you will…Make sure you bring me your test results for every STD under the sun. I’m not about to catch whatever that bitch might’ve given you.”

And then, the line goes dead.

She’s hung up on him.

Roman stares at his phone for a long moment, tension still coiled tight in his chest. Then, finally, he releases a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

No fury. No lingering fire in his veins. Just…relief.

Princess is harmless. Just throwing a tantrum, pissed off that her usual tricks aren’t working.

For now.

He tosses his phone onto the nearby bench and rolls his shoulders, shaking off the last remnants of her bullshit. The air is quiet except for the steady hum of the AC, the faint clang of weights from his earlier session. He eyes the heavy bag in the corner, his fingers flexing. Maybe another round would help him shake off the residue of her voice, of the frustration she always manages to stir up.

But really? Just knowing he doesn’t have to suffer through another second of that call is enough to ease the tightness in his chest.

Back at Exotica, Naima is dealing with a different kind of stress. Khalil.

He’s always been too interested in her. The way his eyes linger when she walks by, the way his conversations stretch too long, laced with subtle threats and slimy suggestions. He doesn’t just run the club; he acts like he owns the women in it. And with Naima, it’s different.

Because he was the one who gave her this job when she needed it most. He remembers exactly what she had to do to get it. And so does she. But that was years ago, and Naima made it clear that it would never happen again.

Khalil, however, doesn’t like rejection.

And now that Roman’s in the picture, his whole attitude has curdled into something darker.

She feels it in the way he watches her now. Not just with lust, but something uglier. Like resentment. He lurks in the shadows of the club, pretending to manage shit, but she knows better. This is about control. About power. Roman’s presence threatens that, and Khalil doesn’t take kindly to feeling threatened.

Tonight, Naima finishes her set, sweat glistening on her skin as she moves through the club. The bass still vibrates through the floor, the air thick with the scent of perfume, money, and bad decisions. But she’s ready to disappear into her dressing room, away from the chaos.

She turns the corner…

And there he is.

Khalil blocks the hallway, broad frame planted firm, a lazy smirk curling his lips.

“So, Angel,” he drawls, voice sticky like syrup left out too long. “Word is you fuckin’ that big-shot wrestler now. That true?”

Naima’s heart kicks up, but her face stays smooth. She’s known Khalil for too fucking long—five years to be exact—to give him the satisfaction of seeing her rattled.

“It’s none of your business, Khalil.”

He chuckles, low and humorless. “See, that’s where you wrong. It is my business. You work here. For me. And I don’t need some pretty-boy meathead actin’ like he run shit.” His smirk widens, beady eyes narrowing. “Unless he breakin’ you off nice. And if he is, where my cut?”

Naima glares, her stomach twisting. “You not my pimp, Khalil. And I ain’t ‘yours’. Stop sayin’ that shit.”

His smirk vanishes. For a second, his jaw clenches like he wants to press the issue, push a little harder. But before he can open his mouth—

“Khalil! You greasy, knock-kneed son of a bitch, I know you ain’t back here harassin’ my girls.”

The voice slices through the air, sharp as a whip. Naima turns just as she steps into the hallway.

Marigold ‘Goldie’ Devereaux.

Exotica’s house mom.

Tall, statuesque, and fly as fuck, rocking a skintight gold jumpsuit that clings to every curve, a wild curly wig bouncing as she moves. Face beat flawlessly, nails ridiculously long and jeweled, heels sharp enough to pierce a man’s ego.

She struts up, arms folded, eyes burning holes into Khalil’s skull. “Ain’t you got some real business to handle? Payroll? Inventory? Oh, wait, my bad. You too busy chasin’ after women who damn sure don’t want your goofy ass.” She tilts her head, voice thick with a hypnotizing Creole drawl. “You still mad your dick ain’t the center of nobody’s universe? Bless your lil’ heart.”

Khalil’s face darkens. “How ‘bout you mind your fuckin’ business? You forget who owns this place, you old hag?”

Goldie throws her head back and laughs…deep, throaty, and dripping in pure disrespect. Then, she steps up so close he can smell the expensive fragrance on her skin. “Baby, you own the lease. But I own the respect in this bitch,” she taunts. “You think these girls stay here for you? I’m the only reason half of ‘em ain’t set this whole damn club on fire.” She steps closer, her stilettos pressing right up to his scuffed sneakers. “Now, get the fuck out my hallway before I remind you why your third baby mama don’t let you see your kid.”

Naima damn near chokes, and presses her lips together to hold back what she’s sure is a disrespectful noise.

Khalil’s entire face tightens, nostrils flaring, hands balling into fists at his sides. But Goldie? She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch.

And after a long, tense moment, Khalil scoffs, shaking his head. “Whatever.” He throws one last glare at Naima before turning on his heel and stalking off, disappearing into the club.

Goldie sucks her teeth, rolling her eyes. “Big, greasy, cornball-ass. I swear, if I had a dollar for every time I tell him to stop actin’ like a bitch, I’d own this damn place.” She turns to Naima, eyes softening just slightly. “You good, baby?”

Naima exhales, tension still coiled in her shoulders. “Yeah. Appreciate you.”

Goldie waves a dismissive hand, her scarily long acrylic claws glinting in the air. “Ain’t shit. You know I gotta keep my girls straight.” She levels her with a serious look. “But, baby…watch him. He gettin’ bolder.”

Naima already knows. But hearing it from Goldie? It just makes the weight in her chest even heavier.

The next day, Naima sits in the workspace of her apartment, legs crossed beneath her as she leans over her laptop. The sleek surface of her desk is cluttered with notebooks, a half-empty coffee cup, and her phone buzzing intermittently with notifications. Soft beats from her latest routine play through the speakers, but her attention stays on the screen, uploading clips, drafting captions, analyzing engagement. Every move matters, every interaction feeds into something bigger.

Elysian Moves has been picking up traction lately, which has brought more eyes on Elysian Motion Company, the business she and Phoenix built from the ground up. It started as just a passion project, a way to merge their love for dance with professional opportunities, but now it’s something real. Something sustainable. If things keep going well, she might not even need Exotica soon.

She takes a sip of her coffee, scanning the notifications when her phone buzzes against the table. The number is unfamiliar, but a mix of curiosity and hope that it’s a potential business opportunity makes her answer.

“Hello?”

“Is this Naima Murphy?”

The voice is smooth, polished, carrying a quiet authority that instantly puts Naima on edge.

“Who’s this?” she answers cautiously.

“My name is Princess Rockwell.” A pause. Then, with unsettling smugness, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Naima frowns. This does not sound like a business opportunity. At all. “Sorry, but you must have the wrong number.”

“Oh, but I don’t,” Princess says, her voice sharpening. “I’m pretty sure I caught the right one, Angel.”

Naima’s stomach tightens. “Excuse me?”

“I’m aware you’ve been seeing my ex, Roman,” Princess continues, her voice drenched in condescension. “He and I go way back. I know he’s…entertaining you now, but let me make one thing clear. He always comes back to me.”

Naima’s pulse spikes, but she keeps her voice even. “If that’s true, then why you callin’ me?”

Princess giggles. “To warn you.” There’s faux sweetness in her tone, but the venom underneath is unmistakable. “Roman gets bored easily. Especially with desperate little 304’s like you. You’re just a phase, sweetheart. A plaything. And if you’ve fooled yourself into thinking you’re anything more, then I feel so bad for you.”

Naima grips the phone tighter, anger, doubt and a myriad of other emotions. flaring in her chest. But she refuses to let this woman even sense a hint of it in her voice.

“Bitch,” she says coldly, “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but call my phone again, and you’ll regret it.”

She hangs up, tossing the phone onto the table with a sharp exhale. Her heart pounds as she stares at the screen, her mind racing.

Who the fuck does this woman think she is?

And why hasn’t Roman mentioned her?

That evening, when Roman calls, his deep, familiar voice wraps around her like warmth.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets, all easy affection. “How’s my girl?”

Naima takes a deep breath, trying to keep her irritation in check. “Can I ask you something?”

There’s a slight pause, his tone shifting. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

“Who’s Princess?”

Silence.

Then, his voice dips low, threaded with immediate tension. “Wait…How do you…What did she do?”

“The bitch called my phone,” Naima snaps. “Said she’s your ex. How did she get my number, Roman? Why are your hoes callin’ me?”

Roman exhales, long and tired. “I was gonna tell you about her,” he says carefully. “Yes, she is my ex, and she hates not being the center of attention. She’s just trying to stir up trouble, baby. I don’t know what she said, but don’t let her get in your head. She don’t matter.”

Now where has she heard that before? Naima kisses her teeth. “I don’t give a fuck about her,” she lies, her voice sharper than she intends. “But she got me fucked up if she think she gon’ disturb my peace. You need to handle that shit, Roman.”

“I will,” he promises, his tone steady, reassuring. “I’m sorry, beautiful. I’ll make it up to you, for real.”

“I’m sure you will,” she mutters, still annoyed but softening just a fraction.

Roman chuckles. “Damn, you always this mean to your man?”

Naima freezes for half a second, caught off guard. Your man. My girl. He says it so casually, so confidently, like it’s already a fact. She doesn’t know why it throws her, but it does. She recovers quickly, masking the flicker of unease with a smirk. “Only when a man got bitches callin’ my phone,” she retorts.

She doesn’t call him hers. It’s way too soon.

They go back and forth a little longer, the tension easing, but even after they hang up, Naima isn’t fully settled.

Later on, she lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, Princess’s words gnawing at the edges of her mind.

You’re just a phase, sweetheart. A plaything.

She knows better than to let a bitter ex get under her skin, knows she shouldn’t even entertain the bullshit. But before she can stop herself, she picks up her phone, types “princess roman reigns” into the search bar…

And immediately regrets it.

Headlines. Photos.

Roman and Princess, side by side, looking like they belong together. Looking like money, power, legacy.

They fit. Even better than the old man she's apparently married to, their images together a pale comparison.

The thought tightens in her chest, unwelcome and uninvited. She’s never had to analyze shit like this before, never had to worry about catching feelings for a man. Her world has always been hers alone, no space for doubts, no room for insecurity.

And yet, here she is. Staring at glossy images of a past she wasn’t part of, feeling something she doesn’t want to name.

She inhales sharply, locking her phone and tossing it aside like it burned her.

Get it together, Naima.

This isn’t supposed to be a romance. This isn’t supposed to be complicated.

But with Roman Reigns? It’s starting to feel like both.

Naima’s shift at Exotica the next night drags on like a bad dream. The pounding bass of the music rattles through her chest, but her mind is elsewhere, replaying Princess’s smug voice over the phone and the photos of her and Roman plastered online. Her body moves on autopilot, graceful, seductive, but the rhythm isn’t there. The weight of doubt drags her down.

And to make matters worse, Khalil won’t stop hovering.

That sleazy, no-boundaries-having motherfucker is always watching, always lurking, but tonight? He’s on her like a shadow. Every time she glances up, his eyes are on her, tracking her every move like he’s waiting for the right moment to strike. But he knows full well that he can’t. Not with Goldie on his ass.

Exhaustion presses heavy against her limbs as she makes her way toward her dressing room. Inside, Brandy lounges on the couch, scrolling through her phone, a lit cigarette dangling between her fingers. She looks up as Naima enters, tilting her head.

"Hey, girl," she greets, voice thick with amusement. "How’d it go out there?"

"Same old." Naima hesitates for a second before dropping down beside her, burying her face in her hands. "B...I need your opinion on something."

Brandy arches an eyebrow. "Spill. You know I love me some tea."

Naima takes a deep breath and lays it all out; Princess’s call, the online search on her, the way she made it sound like Roman still belongs to her. By the time she’s done, Brandy’s face has shifted from mild interest to outright fury.

"Hold up," Brandy snaps, sitting up straighter as she googles Princess for herself. "That jealous-ass bitch called you? How she married and still pressed over another man?" She lets out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. "The audacity of some hoes."

Naima can’t help but crack a small smile at her indignation. "She said I was just a phase. Like I didn’t even matter."

Brandy rolls her eyes. "Fuck that. Roman’s with you, right? Not her. She just mad ‘cause her old-ass husband probably ain’t givin’ her no action. Pathetic."

Naima’s heart warms at Brandy’s unwavering loyalty, but the doubts still persist. "I don’t know. She sounded so sure…like she still has a hold on him."

Brandy scoffs, placing a reassuring hand on Naima’s shoulder. "Girl. Listen. Men like Roman? Yeah, they might’ve had their messy pasts, but if he’s stickin’ around, it’s ‘cause he wants to. Don’t let no ratchet-ass Barbie doll mess with your head."

Before Naima can respond, there’s a knock on the dressing room door. “Come in!” she calls out.

The door creaks open, and Eric, Exotica’s new head of security, pokes his head inside.

"Hey, Angel," he greets, then looks over at Brandy. "Lollipop, got a sec?"

Naima takes in Eric’s towering frame and chiseled features. With blond hair and piercing blue eyes, he looks like he stepped straight out of a damn action movie. 

But the way those same eyes softened when they landed on Brandy? Interesting.

Brandy smirks, taking a long drag of her cigarette. “Wassup, G.I. Joe? You need me to save the day again?”

Naima bursts out laughing. “Not G.I. Joe!”

Eric flushes slightly but holds Brandy’s gaze. "Just wanted to check if you’re good. Looked like that one guy was hassling you earlier."

Naima watches as something shifts in Brandy’s expression. Usually, Brandy’s all confidence and sharp edges, but now? She looks…almost flustered.

"Hasslin’?" Brandy scoffs, waving her cigarette. "Please. Ain’t nobody got the balls to hassle me. I’m motherfuckin’ Lollipop."

Eric doesn’t budge. Doesn’t smile. Just stone serious. “Still. If anyone’s giving you trouble, let me know. I’ll handle it.”

Naima’s eyebrows lift, catching the protective tone in his voice…the way he lingers a second too long. Oh yeah; this man got it bad for her girl.

Brandy smirks, her voice light with sarcasm. “Thanks, hero.” But there’s a flicker in her eyes, a softness she doesn’t bother to hide.

Eric nods, sparing a polite glance at Naima before stepping out. Once the door closes, Naima turns to Brandy, grinning.

"Eric’s got a little crush, huh?"

Brandy rolls her eyes, but a smirk tugs at her lips. "Please. That boy’s all muscle, no game."

"Didn’t look that way to me," Naima teases. "He’s practically ready to fight for your honor."

Brandy snorts, flicking ash into the tray. "Ain’t nobody fightin’ for me but me, honey." She shrugs, her lips twitching as she adds, "He is kinda cute, though."

Naima laughs, the tension in her chest loosening just enough to breathe easier. She leans back on the couch, eyes on the ceiling, voice low. “Men stay doin’ the most,” she laments.

Brandy sighs dramatically. “And we stay survivin’ it.”

They sit in that quiet, hard-earned peace; no promises, no fantasies. Just the truth between two women who know better.

The Atlanta skyline burns in shades of gold and amber, casting long streaks of light through the towering windows of Roman’s hotel suite. The space, all sleek lines and muted opulence, is bold yet refined, every detail curated to perfection. It’s the kind of place that commands attention without needing to demand it.

Like him.

Naima leans against the kitchen counter, the stem of a wine glass between her fingers. The cool liquid slides down her throat, but her mind is elsewhere, circling back to him. The way he’s slipping into her life, threading himself into the quiet spaces she thought were hers alone. She doesn’t know how to feel about it, only that the pull is undeniable.

And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, Roman steps into view. Fresh from the shower, his long hair tied back, a black tank clinging to his broad chest, accompanied by black board shorts. He moves with that effortless confidence, the kind that makes space for itself rather than asking for permission.

He smiles when he sees the wine glass in her grasp. "Wine before dinner, huh?"

She rolls her eyes but can’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips. "It’s called unwinding, Tribal Chief. You should try it sometime."

He scoffs, stepping closer, his scent, clean, warm, unmistakably him, filling the space between them. "When do I even have time to unwind?" He sounds amused, but there’s a truth in it, an exhaustion she knows he rarely lets show.

His gaze flicks to her glass, then back to her face. The air thickens between them, heavy with words unsaid. She swallows, her pulse quickening under the weight of it.

“I don’t know how much you’re spending flying across the country just to see me,” she says softly, “but it can’t be cheap.”

Roman leans against the counter beside her, towering, solid, making her feel small in a way that somehow makes her feel safe. “Money ain’t an issue,” he says casually, but there’s nothing casual about the way he looks at her. “Especially when it comes to you.”

Her breath hitches. She sets the glass down, fingers tracing the counter’s smooth surface. “Roman…”

“I know,” he cuts in gently, “I can see it all over your face. You’re overthinking stuff.”

He takes her hand and guides her to the couch by the TV, his touch warm and sure. When they sink onto the cushions, he turns to face her fully, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "What’s wrong, baby?"

Her fingers toy with the hem of the OTC shirt she’s wearing—his shirt. He’d tossed it to her with a smirk when she’d joked about never owning any “Roman Reigns merch.” Now, it smells like him, feels like a shield against the storm brewing inside her.

“It’s stupid,” she murmurs, avoiding his gaze.

"Naima." His voice is firm but gentle, his fingers tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Talk to me."

She exhales shakily. “I can’t stop thinking about what Princess said.”

Roman’s jaw tenses, the easy warmth in his eyes darkening. “I figured.” His voice is low, measured. “What part of her bullshit is stuck in your head?”

“It’s not what she said, but how she said it,” Naima says quietly. “You say she’s married, but it’s obvious she’s not over you.”

Roman exhales hard, scrubbing a hand down his face. For half a second, something flashes across his features; a tightness in his jaw, a flicker in his eyes...but he blinks it away fast.

“We’ve known each other a long time,” Roman says, keeping his voice even, casual. “She’s used to certain things going her way, used to me being part of that. Now the dynamic’s different. Her ego is bruised. Simple.”

The way he says it—cool, confident, firm—eases the edge of Naima’s suspicion before it can settle. Almost.

She watches him a second longer, then sighs. “This…whatever this is…it’s new for me, Ro.” Her words tremble at the edges. “It’s been so long since someone gave me this kind of attention without it being a transaction.” She gestures between them, searching his face. “I don��t even know what to call this.”

Roman’s hand finds hers again, fingers twining together like a promise. “This is us,” he says simply. “Getting to know each other. Liking each other. Don’t let her get in your head. She don’t know you. And she sure as hell don’t know us.”

Us. Such a small word, yet it expands between them, too big to ignore. She swallows hard, pushing down the warmth that blooms in her chest. “She knows you, though,” she says, voice quiet. “And she knows your world. What if she’s just telling me a truth I don’t want to hear? That I don’t belong in it. That this won’t work because I don’t fit.”

Roman’s grip tightens, his thumbs tracing slow circles over her knuckles. “Baby,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, steadier. “She doesn’t know shit. And calling you? That was just her way of trying to fuck with you.”

Naima turns her body toward him, crossing her arms as if that could shield her from the weight of this conversation. She wants to believe him. A part of her does believe him. But the doubts linger, curling at the edges of her thoughts like smoke.

"This is feeling way too good to be real," she confesses. "You’re in my space, in my life, and it feels right, but…" She exhales, shaking her head. "I’m nervous, Ro. You make me nervous.” Her voice drops. “You scare me a little. And I just feel like something’s gonna ruin this before it even starts."

Roman watches her closely, heart thudding. There's something behind her words, more than nerves. Fear. Like she’s been shattered before and is bracing for it to happen again. And he knows that feeling. He’s lived it.

He shifts closer, hand lifting to cradle her jaw with a tenderness he rarely lets show. But it’s her. She brings it out of him. "You think I’m not scared too?" His voice is rough, raw. "I don’t do this, Naima. I don’t let people in, either. But you?" His thumb grazes her cheek, soft, gentle, like he’s been since this whole thing started. "You’re the only one who’s been getting this side of me. You think I’d risk that if I wasn’t all in?"

Her heart stutters. She wants to be practical about this. This should not be a boyfriend-girlfriend thing. But it’s starting to feel that way. Being with him, around him…it feels good. Really good.

"You say that now," she whispers, "but what happens when the novelty wears off? When you get tired of…" She hesitates, dropping her gaze. "Me."

A sharp exhale leaves Roman’s lips before he cups the back of her neck, pulling her closer until their foreheads nearly touch.

"You think I’d waste my time flying back and forth if this didn’t mean something to me?" His voice is a low rumble, steady, unwavering.

Her chest tightens, her eyes glistening. "But why me?"

Roman’s eyes soften, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet, certain. “Because you make me feel like I can breathe,” he says. “I’ve got a million people pulling me in a million directions, but when I’m with you? None of that shit matters, okay?”

The sincerity in his words makes something break loose inside her, and she barely manages to whisper, "I really like this. And I don’t wanna lose it."

“You won’t,” Roman promises, gaze steady. “I don’t play about what’s mine. And you’re mine, Naima. Period.”

She bites her lip, warmth curling in her chest despite herself. “You are so possessive, Mr. Tribal Chief.”

He chuckles, unapologetic, as he pulls her closer, his lips brushing her temple. “You like it, though.”

“Shut up,” she mutters, but she’s smiling as she buries her face in his chest, inhaling the comfort of him.

His fingers tilt her chin up again, and this time, when he kisses her, it’s slow, unhurried, leaving her breathless and laughing against his lips. He’s all-consuming, intoxicating. She wants to be logical, wants to keep her guard up. But then he’s looking at her like this, touching her like this, kissing her like this, and logic is the last thing on her mind.

“I’m here,” she whispers, barely audible. “And I’m trying.”

Roman presses his forehead against hers, breathing her in. “That’s all I need, baby.”

The next morning, Roman dials Princess’s number with a steady hand, but the fire in his blood is anything but calm. As his chauffeured Escalade cuts through the streets of Atlanta, bound for Hartsfield-Jackson, his jaw clenches, his fingers tightening into a fist against his thigh. When she answers, her voice oozing with the same fake sweetness he’s grown to despise, he doesn’t waste time.

“Roman,” Princess purrs, her words a slow, deliberate taunt. “Took you long enough to hit me up-”

“You fucking bitch,” he cuts her off, his tone as jagged as broken glass. “I know you called Naima. What the fuck is your malfunction?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then a soft, insincere chuckle. “I was only looking out for you,” she says smoothly, feigning innocence, but it only stokes the fire burning in his chest. “You deserve someone who matches your level, Roman. Not some low-class-”

“Shut the fuck up.” The snarl rips from his throat, low and dangerous, laced with a promise she doesn’t want fulfilled. “Don’t you ever talk about her like that again. I don’t know how you got her number, but if this is what you’re wasting your Atlanta connections on? Stalking her? Then you’re more pathetic than I thought.”

For the first time, her mask cracks. The usual polish in her voice turns brittle, her pride flaking at the edges. But Princess is nothing if not venomous, and she recovers fast.

“Awww, how cute!” she mocks, voice dipped in ice. “I would like to know though…Have you told her everything?” 

She smirks…he can hear it in the curl of her words. “I bet you haven’t. You scared, baby? Scared she’ll get rid of you once she finds out?”

Roman lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t flatter yourself, Princess. You were a habit I should’ve kicked a long time ago. And now that I’m about to, you’re acting out like a spoiled child. For what? Jealousy? Ego? Grow the fuck up.”

“Give me one reason why I should be jealous of a low-rent stripper.” Her voice is laced with bitterness. “I’ve been part of your life for years, Roman. Do you really think she’s gonna last? She can’t keep up with you the way I do.”

Roman leans back in his seat, rolling his tongue over his teeth, his anger shifting into something colder, sharper. She’s pushing buttons, trying to find a weak spot, but she’s got it all wrong. Because this—Naima—is exactly what he needs. She’s been the one thing that doesn’t feel like another goddamn game.

When he speaks again, his voice is lethal, cruel. “Let me tell you what’s gonna happen next, Mrs. Rockwell.” He spits the name out like poison. “You’re gonna back the fuck off. You’re not gonna call her, text her, or even think about her. You don’t wanna know what I’ll do if you don’t, but maybe I should make it real clear for you.” 

His voice drops lower, turning razor-sharp. “I will burn your world down, brick by brick, and I’ll do it with a fucking smile. I don’t give a damn how many zeroes are in your bank account or your old-ass husband’s checks. Do not test me, Princess.”

The line is dead silent. Roman can practically feel her seething, her rage simmering on the other end.

Finally, she breathes out a low, mocking giggle. “We’ll see about that,” she bites out.

The call ends with a click, the silence that follows feeling like a threat.

Roman grunts angrily, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger. He steps out of the Escalade, his fists still clenched, adrenaline still roaring through his veins. But even as the fury lingers, something akin to fear creeps in.

What if she does tell Naima everything?

Princess is desperate, vindictive, the type to twist the truth just enough to poison it. And the truth? The truth isn’t clean.

Roman drags a hand through his hair, the weight of it all pressing heavy on his shoulders. He could shut Princess down, make her regret ever coming for Naima, but the damage might already be done.

And right now, losing Naima is not an option.

Roman swears under his breath, his steps heavy as he walks into the airport. He’ll figure it out.

He has to.

The alternative is too risky. 

He doesn’t know what this thing with Naima is yet—not fully—but it feels real. And the last thing he’s about to do is let Princess ruin it before it even has a chance to blossom.

So yeah. He’s gonna figure it out. For himself.

For her.

Thoughts on the new introductions?

🏷️: @harmshake @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @vebner37 @thewarlordsworld @trippinsorrows 

@herwickedlittlesins @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80

@dreamsinfocus @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 

@jeyusos-girl @romansthrone @wwecrazed2010 @sayyestoheav3nn @trentybenty

@purplehairgawdess @mohawkmama @po3ticb3auty @alyyaanna @murrylove @tribalhoochie @xbriexx @rollinssection @lovestoreadfiction

@papireigns-05 @vintage-pvssy @bebesobrielo @urasunflower @unfriendly–blvck–hottie @romanreignsbae

@theninthwonder @tabletheofhead @venusesworld @ariieeesworld @sassginaswanmills @prettyfilmz

@theglamclosetsl @empressdede @woahdude9481 @browngalmal @crxssjae @octaviastargirl @ashykneee @heartz4chucky

@twocentuar @surdelcielo @althegreat33 @alichesmi @eclectic-tee

@joannasteez @whatdoeseverybodywant @puppetmastermya @caramelcleopatraa @femdisa 

@zillasvilla @katrinnnn @callmekayd @msbluehaz3

@megamindsecretlair @headoftheetable @brwnsugababe @heauxvibez @christinabae @potatosackk 

@usoholic @4milly @luvrsluxe @juicypinksblog @raya-hunter01 @lilucey @aisharmi @neverlookatthisblog 

@dayaimonee @nayys-world @kianaleani @shes2real @disc0fairy @paigereeder

@fearlesschimera @tshepisho @partypoison00 @originalgeezyy @muzaqueendom @naturally-nikkilynn