#if anyone has any questions just def ask !! ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starlightazriel · 3 months ago

Text

necessities 3

series desc: modern day (fem)reader x classic prythian azriel au, series of short chapters, fluffy, smutty, cute, probably some angst and or drama cus it's me

warnings: 18+, this is silly!! hehe, reader is a little ditsy & air headed, sexual tension asf, az def has a size kink in this lol , hundreds of years age gap lol, mentions of az crush on elain (he b acting like me just b having a crush on anyone), az has so much inner monologue in this lol,

wc: 2k

other parts can be found on my az masterlist <3

three

"Hypothetically speaking," Azriel clears his throat, finally speaking up after having been sat silently in the corner. He had been battling with himself about how to bring up his question without raising suspicion. He wanted to keep you as his little secret for a just a little longer. He did like his privacy after all, though he thought it may be a bit selfish of him not to explain the full situation. He'd worry about that later.

The more details they had, the closer they could be to an answer on how to get you back to— California? Was it? What a ridiculous name.

Cass raises an eyebrow, he was sat in his usual seat in Rhys study, and the only noises are Rhys pen scratching and the sound of Feyre and Elain singing cheerfully to Nyx in another room. Normally, Elain's presence would have distracted him. He was mostly over it obviously, he had taken many lovers since their almost kiss—

And now, next to his new human pet?

Not pet, sick bastard.

Elain seemed almost plain, as lovely as she was.

Lucien can have her.

"If you fell into Prythian from another world, some kind of—" he paused as Rhys pen had stopped scritching away and his eyes were now trained on Azriel, chin slightly tilted up in piqued interest. "A portal of sorts," he continued, Cassian tilted his head to the side curiously, Azriel knew none of this sounded remotely normal coming from him. "Would there be a way back? " he finally asks, trying to be as casual as he possibly could, keeping his face a mask of cool calm.

"That's pretty specific for being hypothetical," Cassian snickers, Azriels nostrils flare slightly, but he doesn't comment, his expression doesn't falter, he only directs his attention to Rhys.

"That really depends, is there a tether? Is the portal still open after you fall out? Was it even a portal, or something else?" Rhys fires off each question thoughtfully as he leans back in his chair, crossing his fingers over his lap, Az opened and then closed his mouth again, he didn't really have an answer for any of them. "What brought this on Az?" he asks then after the short moment of silence, Azriel quickly shrugs his shoulders, he almost never said something that didn't have some purpose.

"Just been doing some light reading on infinite worlds," he responds nonchalantly, Rhys was watching him skeptically, never had Az been much of a reader. "It's nothing really, curiosity is all," he adds sensing Rhys suspicion.

Rhys shrugs and turns his attention back to whatever documents he had been reviewing. "Are you thinking of trying to travel to another world?" he asks casually, his pen scratching away.

"No," Azriel responds simply, and that was true, he wasn't trying to travel to another world.

Cassian started rambling about his ideal world and Azriel found himself distracted, he wondered if you were doing okay back at his apartment. He knew he would have to find a good excuse to get out of here soon so he could check on you.

He was trying to pay attention to the conversation at hand, as it had drifted back to the original politics. It was nearly impossible when he imagined you back at his place, all alone, probably scared, hungry... Probably freshly bathed now- waiting to be fucked and teased and tortured- not tortured- well, maybe a little bit.

He really wasn't understanding his desire and infatuation for you, humans had never piqued his interest, never. But you weren't like any other human he had seen in the mortal lands, so much softer... Sexier- More delicate. So small that he felt like he might break you if he fucked you the way he wanted to, the thought was more intriguing than it should have been. He swallowed hard, get a grip, he told himself, his ears felt hot, he had to go—

"I have to leave," he stands abruptly, interrupting whatever conversation they were having that he couldn't bare to be a part of anymore. Not that he'd really been listening anyway. He ignored the questions and suspicions from his brothers, and didn't utter another word when he made exit, shadows skittering behind him as if they were up to no good.

They liked the little human too.

How many fucking hours had it been? You had no idea. But life without internet? Miserable. Absolutely fucking miserable. There wasnt even a TV here!

The bath though, was fire. You couldn't deny that, huge enough to fit a man like that made it basically like a pool for you- okay maybe not a pool but it was huge. You ended up in an undershirt of sorts that reached your knees, Azriel had been right about there not being much for you to wear in his wardrobe. You didn't mind though, and you still had your extra panties from your bag, though you'd have to find out if silk pajamas existed.

You hoped that Azriel was trying to find answers about how to get you home, though, it felt so far away now— Felt like you had been gone for weeks already, were the days longer here?

The sun was finally beginning to set and as you lay there on the huge bed in the luxuriously silky sheets you wondered where he was and if he'd be back soon. Your stomach was aching and you hadn't taken your eyes off of the balcony entrance for hours.

It wasn't long before Azriel appeared on the balcony again, he didn't fly this time— he emerged in shadow, and you jumped, flying into a sitting position as you shot up in bed.

"You scared me!" you exclaim, Azriel smiles sheepishly as he sets down a small bag on the table along with a few wrapped plates. "Who the fuck are you, Jeepers Creepers?"

"Jeepers-? Actually, I'm just going to skip past that, I'm sorry for scaring you, how was your afternoon and evening, Bubbles?" he's standing by the table now, watching you curiously.

"Boring as fuck," you sigh, sitting up fully now, you're eyeing the plates, starving as ever now. Your stomach growled.

"Sorry about that. Are you hungry?" he follows your gaze to the wrapped plates on the table. "I didn't know what you liked so I got a few things," he placed the three plates on the bed in front of you and uncovered them all. You opted for the one that looked the healthiest.

"I usually go for a hot girl walk after dinner," you say tasting some of the vegetables first. Your eyes widened in surprise. "This is so good! Like Gordon Ramsey type shit," you hummed in delight and took another bite trying some of the meat and potatoes.

"A hot girl walk?" he asks, quirking a brow. "I'm not sure if that will be possible, humans— Well they don't really exist on this side of the wall, I don't think you'd like the humans much from my world either, though, if you ever wanted to see the mortal lands, I could take you," he says thoughtfully, skipping over the Gordon Ramsey comment, he didn't know what that meant.

"Mortal lands as in— You're immortal? Like Edward Cullen?"

"I don't know who that is, but yes I am immortal, I'm five hundred years old."

"FIVE HUNDRED?" You demand, your eyes widening as you stared back at him. "I need your skin care routine," you inspected his face then, the loose curls that dropped over his forehead, perfect cheek bones, a few light freckles dusting his perfectly angled nose, probably brought about by the sun, a strong sharp jaw line that was slightly rounded in that pretty boy way, very very kissable slightly full lips, and the most gorgeous hazel bedroom eyes that revealed absolutely nothing. He could definitely make people mags sexiest man alive and beat anyone who's ever gotten it.

"I'm not sure that has anything to do with it," he chuckles quietly. "How old are you?" It's a casual question, but he needs to know. He liked this, he liked watching you eat the food that he'd brought for you, liked seeing the way your pouty full lips wrapped around the fork the soft moans that left your lips as you enjoyed—

"Twenty one," you respond, your eyes flicking back up to his face again, you blushed as your eyes locked, he was already staring at you intensely.

"Very young," he comments after a moment of silence, he was studying your face with an intensity that no one ever had before, not even Cody. You swallowed, blinking a few times, your cheeks warm and stomach churning with nerves. He looked like he could swallow you whole. The way he looked at you ignited something deep in your belly and excitement different than one you'd ever felt before.

"So you eat regular food like me, right?" you ask carefully before taking another bite of the delicious food on your plate. Your tone was soft, under a stare like that it was hard to find your voice. He chuckles, a glimmer of mischief flashing in his eyes.

"No, I actually like to roast little human girls over my spit in the back, Im just fattening you up first, next I'll put an apple in your mouth and baste you with my special sauce," he flashed his blinding white, heart stopping smile at you and wiggled his eyebrows.

"That's not funny."

"Yes Bubbles, I eat regular food like you."

Your breath hitched as you stepped out onto the balcony with Azriel. Your belly was full and you felt quite sleepy and heavy from the delicious food. It was dark now and the stars here— It was like a galaxy right in front of your eyes.

The view of this city at night- it was beautiful.

"The city of starlight, Velaris," Azriel says softly, hes standing a few paces back, his hands shoved into his pockets, wings relaxed behind him, but hes watching you, carefully. Admiring you as you take in the view.

"It's like New York," you whisper, tears welling in your eyes as you remember you may never see it again. The people you may never see again. You used to love shopping with your friends for a weekend in NYC, and fashion week? You'd never see another fashion week again. You'd never get a blow out again or acrylics or a VIP pedicure...

Azriel didn't say anything, he stood quiet beside you, but he watched. He resisted the urge to reach out and swipe your tears. He kept the shadows at bay as they leaned in closer to your melancholy, trying to understand.

"The city that never sleeps," you added softly, feeling rather poetic as you looked out onto this new city. Would this be your new home? Would Azriel find a way to get you back?

"I got you something while I was out," he cleared his throat, he didnt know why, but he couldn't stand your tears, he wanted to fix it for you, cheer you up.

"A present? Already?" your eyes lit up a little bit at that and you turned and watched him retrieve the little bag that he had brought in with him earlier, you wondered why he waited til now to give it to you. One thing you loved was presents, specifically from devastatingly handsome men.

"Just a start, to your new wardrobe, you'll need something to wear tomorrow when I bring you to meet my family," he says quietly as he watches you open the package, as much as he'd like to keep you locked up in here as a personal little sex slave— he knew he couldn't. Though, he could tell by your scent, by the way you squeezed your legs together when your eyes met his, the way you looked at him with wonder and curiosity— the flush of your cheeks, he knew he could fuck you at any moment he liked and you wouldn't stop him.

"Oh my," you squealed softly as you held up the pretty pink fabric in the air.

"It was the smallest size they had, I hope it fits," he swallowed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched you inspect the dress.

"I love it! It's giving coquette realness, should I try it on for you?" your eyes flicked to his, and you were surprised at your boldness, he was a monster after all. Azriels eyes darkened and narrowed slightly, his jaw flexing.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea Bubbles."

reblog and i'll give you a kiss ;)

taglist <3 : @velarisdusk @scorpioriesling @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @smalljasper289 @cherryinsalemverse @cleverzonkwombatsludge @serxndipity-ipity-blog @blessthepizzaman

#acotar #azriel smut #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar smut #azriel fanfic #azriel fic #azriel spymaster #azriel fluff #azriel fan fiction #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel

204 notes · View notes

pretty-little-mind33 · 3 months ago

Text

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: Tangerine falls in love with his pretty neighbor.

Genre: Fluff 🍰

Warnings: swearing, blood, def a cliché mess but in a good way (hopefully)

~ breaking my T.S title streak for this one! inspired by the song Too Sweet by Hozier ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

It truly was some cruel sick joke that the sweetest looking girl he had ever seen had moved into the house across from his.

Tangerine honestly couldn't remember the last time he let himself have anything truly good in his life, since he knows everything he touches burns right in front of him. Which meant he made the decision that he can't afford that with you—so he's stayed as far away from you as possible.

You, on the other hand, have never wanted to become friends with anyone so much as you did with your two, mostly quiet, neighbors in the house in front of yours.

You'd overheard some neighborly gossip that they weren't to be messed with—gangsters or something like that. You didn't really believe those rumors considering you'd seen one of them, the one with dark skin and platinum hair, feeding the birds that rest on their porch.

What kind of dangerous gangster would care about birds?

So, that's why, one month into having moved in, you stand in front of their door with a plate of miniature strawberry shortcakes displayed neatly in a pink tray. It feels corny and stupid when no one answers the door for a moment. You raise your hand to knock again when eventually the door opens and you look up, making eye contact with eyes that are the prettiest shade of blue you've ever seen.

The man is dressed in a white button-up, half of it unbuttoned in his trousers and his brown hair is curled naturally, the ends sticking up messily as he looks you over. He tucks something behind him, clearing his throat awkwardly as his gaze falls to the tray in your hands. "Pastries," he says, his voice velvety and his British accent thick.

You hold the tray out closer to him. "Shortcakes. I made them myself," you say with a smile and the man just looks annoyed—his lips twitching as he looks you over again, taking in your apron and the cream that's smeared on your cheeks.

"It's late," he points out calmly, "much too late for afternoon tea."

He's right. It is. It's almost seven—you'd just taken more time with the cakes than you'd wanted. You feel embarrassed now and lower the tray.

"Oh," you bite the inside of your cheek. You'd had a whole introduction plan and now you're flustered. "You could use them as a late-night snack—" you pause, trying to explain, "Most nights, I see that your lights are on when I wake up at around three or four am for water and–well if you already can't sleep, a sweet treat wouldn't do you any harm?"

You feel like the creepiest stalker as the man's eyes widen.

"Sorry, this was a stupid," you say and turn around, preparing to walk away when the man's voice interrupts your thoughts.

"I'm allergic to strawberries," he says, "but my brother isn't. He'd love them. Here, I'll take 'em." He takes the tray from you as you turn back around and he looks down at the cakes he's now holding. Tangerine can tell you clearly spent time on them and he has to fight himself not to smile.

"Thank you—"

"Y/n," you say your name much too quickly, itching for connection to this mystery man.

"Thank you, Y/n."

You don't even hesitate when you ask, "And you are?"

Tangerine hesitates. He can't tell you his real name. Speaking to you like this, out in the open, is already risky. He sniffs nonchalantly and uses an excuse, one he hopes you won't question too much. "My friends call me Tangerine."

You laugh and the sound is so beautiful it's unfair. "Tangerine? What? Is that some shitty drunken inside joke with your mates at Uni?" you guess, pushing down the curiosity to jokingly ask if you using his nickname makes you his friend. It's too soon for questions like that.

He shrugs. "Mm, something like that," he says and he doesn't elaborate further. You wonder if you'll be worthy of his real name one of these days, but for now, this feels like some progress. You smile at him, rocking on your heels for a moment and then you look back across the street at your house.

"Well, Tangerine, it was lovely meeting you but I should—" you point behind you with a smile. "I'll see you around and hopefully I can meet your brother! Enjoy the shortcakes!" you wave and skip down the steps as Tangerine watches you, his stomach filled with unfamiliar, normally dormant, butterflies.

He chuckles, biting his cheek, and then walks back inside. He untucks his gun from his trousers and slides it into the designated drawer of the entrance table, shaking his head with a small smile as he remembers your wide grin. He returns to the living room and puts the tray next to Lemon's puzzle.

"Someone important?" Lemon asks and then he looks up and sees the cakes. His smile widens and he doesn't hesitate to take one. "Ooo, pastries," he exclaims and practically stuffs one in his mouth, humming with joy.

"Nah, just our neighbor," Tangerine says and runs a hand in his hair, leaning against the table and mindlessly playing with one of the puzzle pieces as he remembers how pretty you looked.

Lemon cocks an eyebrow and speaks with his mouth full. "Which one?"

Tangerine shrugs. "Does it matter?"

Lemon rolls his eyes. "Yer bein' weird as fuck. It was that cute bird from across the street, wasn't it? The one ya keep starin' at when you can see 'er from 'er window—like some creep—"

"Oh, piss off," Tangerine grunts, lowering his head to hide how pink his cheeks have turned.

Lemon hums, continuing to eat the pastries you'd made them, and grins. He knows how his brother is; always too damn proud to admit he has any feelings other than nonchalance and disdain. But he's seen how Tangerine is smitten with you without even an interaction and he can't wait to see where this goes.

"Want one?" Lemon asks as he motions toward the tray.

"No. I'm allergic to strawberries."

Lemon laughs. "Ya aren't allergic to strawberries, you numpty."

Tangerine stands straighter, eyeing the tray of what looks like really delicious shortcakes for a moment until his jaw clenches and he turns around, his thumbs hooking in his pockets. "I am now," he says bluntly.

* * *

Lemon has gone inside first as Tangerine hangs behind, making sure the garage is fully secured. He's exhausted and there are dark bags under his eyes. Usually, he'll take the inside entrance into the house, but this morning he needs some fresh air after that mission. He walks outside and looks up at the dusty pink sky. It's 4:30 am in the morning—no sane person would be up.

"Mr. Tangerine!"

He startles at his name, holding his hands behind him—knowing they're still covered in blood. He looks up and his eyes widen when he sees you.

You're walking across the street to meet him, tightening your ponytail as your grin widens. You don't look sleepy at all. "Good morning," you say and look him over, "Weird running attire," you joke, mentioning the navy blue suit he's wearing.

"Running?" he echoes.

You drop your arms to your sides, looking him over with a small, amused, frown. "Oh– I just assumed—most people, including myself, are only up at this hour for a morning run. What are you doing?"

You ask the question so innocently that Tangerine doesn't know how to answer.

He can't exactly tell you what he's been doing. How the truth is he's been out all night killing for money. He pushes the image of your disappointed and scared look from his mind and lies. "Oh, I like seeing the sunrise," he says, sounding nonchalant, pushing his hands in his pockets quickly so you don't see the dried, crimson, mess.

Hopefully, you'll leave him alone soon.

Unluckily for him, you don't leave him alone. "Oh! I love watching the sunrise!" you say, smiling as you point behind you, adjusting your sneakers. "We should go see it someday," you offer kindly, your tone a more sincere nonchalance than he was, "no pressure or anything."

Tangerine is speechless. He blinks at you, his sharp blue eyes scanning you up and down. You must be kidding. No sensible soul would invite a stranger to do something seemingly so intimate. You shouldn't be inviting him like this, you don't know him. He's dangerous.

"You don't know me, why would you want to do that?" he asks bluntly.

You shrug, still looking as nonchalant as ever. "Can't know you if you shut me out," you say, smiling, as you return his bluntness. When he doesn't answer, you just send him a small wave, saying your goodbyes as you begin your run.

Tangerine is tempted to run with you now. To protect you. He shakes that thought.

Lemon interrogates him the moment he comes back inside. "Flirtin' with her now, Tan?"

"You're gettin' on my fuckin' tits," Tangerine grunts, your offer still swarming his mind. Lemon laughs.

Tangerine doesn't have much peace until he eventually, after you deliver more and more pastries as an excuse to talk to him, accepts.

He doesn't sleep a wink that night. He's a nervous wreck as he plays every scenario in his mind and spends hours in the kitchen just to see your smile when he walks out of his house with a covered basket as the morning sun prepares to peak from the clouds.

Your eyes widen and you rush over, your pretty sundress hugging you in ways that make him lose his mind even more.

"You made something?" you ask, grasping at his arm. Tangerine hums, guiding you to his car.

"I know a spot," he whispers, hiding his smile. The drive is silent but comfortable and when he drives you to a park, he walks with you up the hill. You watch with amusement as he fusses over the picnic cloth and then opens his basket and pulls out a bowl of strawberries drizzled with frozen chocolate and a small bowl of whipped cream. You both sit down and you look at him, slightly confused.

"As a thank you for the shortcakes."

"I thought you were allergic to strawberries."

You both say in unison and you laugh. Tangerine's cheeks turn pink and he runs a hand in his hair, answering you, "I- I lied. I just, I was nervous," he says as he picks up a strawberry and outstretches his hand. You smile and look at the cream.

"You whipped this yourself?"

He nods. "The store-bought cream is always disgustingly sweet," he shakes his head and dips the strawberry in the cream before he turns to you again, your knees almost touching as you lean in. You refuse to take the fruit and instead, you part your lips and stare at him, your heart hammering.

You wonder if this is too forward, but Tangerine brings the strawberry to your lips. It takes bittersweet, like how you assume he would taste, the dark chocolate mixes with the whipped cream, and some falls from your lips. He doesn't say anything as he catches the drip with his thumb, looking at you intensely as his heart beats loudly in his ears.

"Were my shortcakes too sweet for you?" you ask in a murmur, his hand not leaving your face.

Tangerine knows he shouldn't. He knows he'll hate himself after but nothing sounds more appealing than kissing you now—so he does.

He can taste the chocolate on your lips as his hands cup lightly around your throat, his touch light. Just enough of a warning as to who he truly is. You gasp, not minding at all, as you kiss him back.

As complicated as you know it will be, this feels so right.

Tangerine's hand finds your waist and, bunching up your dress a little in the process, he pulls you in closer. He takes a breath, looking down at you as he ignores the screaming in his head. "No," he whispers, knowing damn well he'd held himself back from tasting them, "No, they weren't too sweet for me."

It doesn't matter because, in the end, he isn't talking about the shortcakes.

tags: @kravensgirl, @brokeaesthetic, @earth-elemental18, @lqrlei, @princesssunderworld, @longlivedelusion, @thewinterv

347 notes · View notes

rantaroamamifuturegf · 3 months ago

Note

kokichi flirting with reader (who acts like kyoko) during class trials?

A/N: I'm back from my break!!. Thanks for requesting!! I hope you enjoy sorry if it’s short I ran out of ideas and of course spelling errors and yes I’m working on other request rn

Plot: Flirting with a Reader who acts like Kyoko

!!Female Reader!!

Character(s) being used: Kokichi Ouma

Help the people side eyeing him during the trial has me in tears😭😭😭

He won't constantly flirt during the trial but he'll random just something flirty to you and if anyone asks about it, he'll just brush them off or say it was a joke/lie

There’s times when you agreed to what he was saying and he’ll go like “(Name)? Are you flirting with me?”

Would get secretly annoyed if you kept ignoring him like to the point he’ll start mocking you just to get your attention

Won't let you been seen as a suspect but won't make you look either. Lowkey if people started suspecting you, he know that you'll be able to handle it on your own but still would say something that would make you either look suspicious or just make everyone confused

Def bugs you the entire time even if you ignore him, he'll continue even if people tell him to shut up. He'll brush em off

If people keep on questioning him, he'll lie and say that you're secretly asking for it but obviously knowing you they won't buy it

Would def fake cry in the trial if you don't react or not even give him a bit of attention, he’s just being annoying but needy

If you said a statement and it sounded most likely to the case he’ll agree with you and say that you always right and how everyone else is wrong (would get a little annoyed if he doesn’t get a reaction though)

If you start accusing someone, he’ll join in even if he doesn’t have any evidence and just say you’re right either way and was try to make cringe smooth ass flirty comments to you even if you don’t react to it he know other people will “Yeah that’s right baby you tell ‘em!” And he’ll say it so proudly too like 😭

The amount of side eyes are bring me to tears

Hope you enjoy - Manji

#danganronpa #drv3 #danganronpa x reader #drv3 killing harmony #danganronpa kokichi #danganronpa v3 #drv3 kokichi #kokichi ouma x reader #kokichi ouma #kokichi x reader

145 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 5 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + three

authors note: wow! omg, thank you all so much for the kind words of support for this story! it really does mean a lot to me, cause i know the content is pretty heavy.

also, if anyone has read the acotar series, i imagine the dynamic between roman and the twins to be a bit similar to the bat boys. and yes, we'll def see more of the twins moving forward.

in addition, if you want to be tagged, you have to explicitly ask as such. the last thing i want to do is tag someone i thought wanted to be tagged and didn't, and they end up triggered. :(

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

cw/tw: language, violence against women, trauma responses (nightmares/night terrors), hints at suicidal thoughts, references to traumatic past

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

words: 9k

Roman doesn’t come back until the wee hours of the morning, and he’s out the house again before the sun is even up.

Solana knows all of this because she doesn’t sleep that night.

It’s not for lack of trying. She spends nearly two hours twisting and turning before finally accepting that sleep isn’t in the cards for her. She instead finds herself sitting on the floor of her bathroom, door locked, writing away in her journal. No letter to mom this time, just pure word vomit, all of her thoughts and feelings about everything that’s transpired.

There’s as many tears as there are words, and like always post–writing, she feels a tad bit better. The best and only release she ever has is in her written word, all of the things she could never say aloud, melted from her head and sealed into paper.

When she’s done writing, Solana opts to read a book in her Kindle Library. Doing so makes her realize that she still doesn’t have her stuff from back home. It’s not that she has a lot, but the items she was told to pack just for the first few nights will only last just that—for a few days.

But, Solana doesn’t think it’s a good idea to ask Roman about that. She doesn’t think it’s a good idea to ask him for anything, not after she’s clearly and understandably upset him. She’ll just….she’ll just have to make do until it's noticed she's essentially living out of a suitcase.

And Solana has a thought, an idea, that getting up early to fix him breakfast could be a good thing, something to tame his anger toward her. It’s the least that she can do.

But one look around Roman’s massive kitchen indicates he’s every bit the stereotypical bachelor. There’s only a couple of ingredients, not enough of anything to make an actual meal. There’s also a lot of “meal prep” meals, which makes sense. She can imagine he’s insanely strict with his diet and fitness. One can’t look like Roman Reigns without an intense amount of focus and dedication.

It makes her wonder just what kind of dietary restrictions and preferences she’ll have to learn about him to make meals that he can actually consume. Another question she needs to ask but doesn’t know how or when considering he already has very little to no interest in having anything to do with her.

It’s another thing she knows she’ll have to figure out but tries her best to focus on anything else besides the fact that she’s now married to a man who can’t stand her, the same man her family wants her to somehow assassinate.

Yes…..other things is a much better seat filler.

Solana briefly wonders how she’s going to get to work considering her car is still back at her dad’s house, but just when she’s considering calling an Uber, she’s met in the living room of Roman’s massive estate by none other than his right hand man and cousin.

Solo Sikoa

All he says is, “ready?” And she realizes that this is how she’s to get to work, that he is to escort her. Him and another set of large men, guards as she realizes. A separate set of guards, not the ones who roam and patrol Roman’s mansion.

Being around so many men….it’s a different kind of experience. Leaning more on the side of uncomfortable than anything.

But, she’s at least a bit more at ease when Solo only opens the door to the back of the SUV and doesn’t join in, instead sitting in the passenger seat.

She's grateful for that.

Solo is almost the same exact person as his cousin. Large, strong, stoic and scary as hell. The only difference is that she’s not sure Solo is capable of sentences that include more than 1 to 3 words.

It’s obvious he’s not thrilled about being assigned as her personal guard, and she can’t blame him. There can’t be anything exciting about watching her boring life and making sure nothing happens to her during said boring life.

But Solana can’t deny there’s a small part of her that feels a small sense of comfort at having someone to look out for her. Even if she partially questions his loyalty to said job. Something happening to her wouldn’t do anything to anybody. At all.

She’d just….cease to exist.

And lately….that hasn’t seemed like the worst thing ever.

But, it’s when she arrives at work, goes into her office to start to prepare for the work day only to find her brother already waiting that that comfort is obliterated.

“Sis.” Wes' smile is tight and inauthentic, his eyes darting between her and Solo. “Sorry to scare you. I was just hoping we could talk.”

Talk….

Wes never wants to talk to her, not unless it’s him berating and screaming while he beats the shit out of her.

“Alone.” He gives Solo a faux sympathetic expression. “Family things….you understand, I’m sure.”

Solana doesn’t know if Solo understands or he doesn’t, but she does know that Wes' kind and friendly tone is all smoke and mirrors. She knows he’s pissed that he didn’t catch her off-guard, didn’t catch her alone, that he couldn’t corner her like he always does.

And for a second, Solana believes she’s safe, knows that Solo won’t let Wes lay a hand on her. It’s….it’s his job to keep her safe, right?

But just as that hope is present, it’s extinguished by the reality she knows is inescapable. Solo won’t be with her 24/7. She won’t be protected forever. She’ll eventually be around both Wes and her father alone. And the price she’ll have to pay for denying him in this moment….

It’s not worth it.

Roman’s words to her father about not touching her are nice in theory, but she knows better. Xavier Miller does what he wants, regardless of what’s said and by who.

“O–of course,” Solana mumbles, fingers dancing at the side of her pants. She turns to Solo. “Please….give us a few minutes.”

For the first time since she’s met him, Solo actually shows some type of emotion. It still stems from anger, maybe a branch of irritation, but it's still something different. “Tribal Chief said I’m supposed to watch you, so that’s what I do.”

She swallows. This is going to require a level of assertiveness that’s almost foreign if not non-existent. “I–I understand, but….Wes is my brother. He—” It’s almost impossible for her to even get the words out. “He would never hurt me.”

Solana almost immediately wants to vomit. That’s all this man has ever done.

At least since the murder of their mother.

Solo is struggling but wavering, she can see as much, so she continues. “It’s okay,” she assures, even mustering up a small smile. “Please….just a couple minutes. I won’t—I won’t say anything to Roman.”

Solo still looks torn but eventually agrees, leaving her alone with one of two men who hate her most on this earth.

The door is barely closed when Wes has her pinned against the wall, hand slapped over her mouth, a knife pressed to the base of her throat.

“You stupid bitch, don’t think for one second that being married to Reigns changes shit,” he snarls. “He doesn’t give a fuck about you. He just doesn’t like people messing with his possessions.”

Solana knows all of this, knows that anything Roman may do that seems to be for her benefit is just him asserting his dominance. She doesn’t need to be reminded of this.

“Wes, you’re hurting me.” She suddenly feels so stupid saying that, telling him what he already knows. Of course, he is. That’s the whole point. Still, she stupidly believes she can plead to whatever humanity is left in him. If any. “P–please.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, shoving her head against the wall. Solana winces quietly, mindful of Solo who stands outside the door because of her. Because she told him to, because she welcomed this violence onto herself.

“Reigns told dad you won’t be available for a couple weeks, so I suggest you start doing what you need to do to change that. We need to be able to communicate with you.”

This startles her. Why would Roman say that? Did Roman say that? Wes is a master manipulator, and she doesn’t put it past him to be playing mind games.

“I—I don’t know what you want me to do.” And it’s true. Solana has no idea what to do in any of this, how she’s supposed to kill a man who’s more or less impossible to kill, how she’s supposed to win his favor when it’s obvious she already annoys him. It’s all so confusing and overwhelming.

“Did you fuck him last night?”

It’s a question she hoped no one would ask, didn’t believe would be asked because there’s no one who would care enough except for Roman himself.

And while Solana knows being dishonest with her brother won’t turn out well, in this moment, she doesn’t know how he’ll respond if she tells the truth.

So, she lies. She lies to live to see another day, for what reason, she doesn't know. It’s not as if any other day will provide her some sense of solace or security. But, it’s just what she does.

“Y–yes.”

Wes looks understandably pleased. “Good.” She gaps in fear when he drags his knife against her skin, gently trailing it across, just light enough to avoid drawing blood. “That’s all you’ve ever been good for us for anyway.”

A frown falls upon her face. What….what does that mean?

“Just keep contact open, you understand?” No, she doesn’t, but she has no choice but to pretend that she does. Nodding, Wes shoves her into the wall one more time at an angle that causes her shoulder to take the impact. Wincing, she holds onto it as he releases her and walks out the door. “Don’t fuck this up, Solana.”

Easier said than done. Much easier said than done.

It’s when he leaves her alone that the tears pool in her eyes. But, it’s when Solo walks in, studying her that she sniffles and wipes at her eyes. “I–I’m fine.”

She’s not.

She’s far from fine.

————

The day ends up slightly, maybe even moderately, improving. It’s to be slightly expected though as it’s Monday, the day that Solana runs her reading club with the younger kids. It’s always a highlight to see their bright, smiling faces, answering all of their fifty million questions.

It’s a break from a very bleak reality that is her life, immersing herself in their world of pretend and minimal worries.

Sometimes, she finds herself a bit jealous. Jealous that they still have their innocence, that their view of the world hasn’t been painted in red and blood like hers.

But, it’s when Solana is in the back taking her break, journaling, that that improvement takes a deep dive. Because a single knock on the door is followed by the large intimidating frame of her husband entering her space.

Naturally, her stomach knots. She hasn’t seen Roman since last night, since he helped and scolded her in the same brief timespan. She understands it though and doesn't entirely disagree with what he said.

She’s far from the perfect picture of mental stability.

Swallowing, Solana stands up and opens her mouth to address him when his eyes go from her face to her wrist. Following his line of vision, she sees why. There’s a blueish/greenish obvious bruise starting to form, beyond that initial point of formation really. It's just a straight up, fully developed bruise.

Roman slowly walks over to her and reaches for her arm. Solana naturally tenses. He hesitates for a second but still takes her wrist, lifting it so that it's at her eye level but still close enough for him to assess.

She closes her eyes and acts quickly to think of an excuse. “I—umm—”

“Who?”

His voice is quieter than she anticipated and as much as she wishes she doesn't know what he means, Solana knows exactly what he’s asking. She just doesn’t answer.

“I’m only going to ask you this one time and one time only.” His brown eyes are burning into her as he perfectly enunciates each word. “Who fucking touched you?”

Solana winces at his tone but eventually answers. “Wes....”

Roman drops her hand, and Solana brings her arms to her chest, head dropped.

He’s pissed.

That seems to be the only emotion he experiences around her, because of her.

His nostrils are flared as he demands. “Where was Solo?”

Making him wait for a response is clearly something that sets him off even more, so Solana does her best to answer in a timely manner. “I—I asked him to leave. Wes….Wes didn’t want him in the room.”

“Of course, he fucking didn’t. Why would you—” Roman pinches his nose. A day. It’s been less than 48 hours, only a day in, and this marriage shit already has him fucking stressed out. Being married to this damn girl is like having a fucking child to look after. “From now on, I don’t give a fuck what your idiot brother and poor excuse of a father tell you, you’re not to be alone with them.” Roman’s command is a lot easier said than done. Denying her father or brother has never done her any favors. Solana isn’t sure how to verbalize this to the man in front of her who’s already six different shades of annoyed. “I thought I made that clear to them at the wedding, but obviously, they need a reminder.”

Solana feels every bit the scolded child, murmuring a quiet, “I’m sorry…”

Roman looks at her, and for a slither of a second, maybe even less than that, he feels bad for her. Feels bad because it’s clearly not her fault that she’s so fucked up. With a dad and brother like Xavier and Wes, what chance did she have?

He then briefly wonders about her mother, wonders what the dynamic was like there. But that’s a short lived trail because his mind then goes to his own mother.

And Roman can’t have that, can’t go down that road for a variety of reasons, reasons that may not be that different from Solana’s.

“Send me your work schedule.” Redirection is always a good strategy. That and fucking. Obviously, only one is an option for the woman in front of him.

Panic builds in Solana’s stomach. Why does he want that? Her mind starts to race, arriving at only negative conclusions. Does he want her to quit? That thought kills her.

Working at the library is the highlight, the only highlight, of her days. She doesn’t know what she would do without that outlet.

“It won’t get in the way of my duties to you.” Solana typically isn’t the one to advocate for herself. Ever. But this….she can’t lose this, and it scares her to think of what mental decline could happen if she does. Nothing good. That’s for certain. “I—I can get up early and–and make your breakfast and meal prep lunch. A–and I’ll make sure your dinner is ready too by the time you come home—”

Rubbing his temple, exasperated, Roman asks, “what are you talking about?”

She’s not above begging. In a pleading tone, she begs, “please don’t make me quit my job.”

Roman isn’t quite sure what to make of the fact that the most words he’s heard leave Solana’s mouth are practically her begging to keep her job. He can understand it though. He would bet that her only time away from her family was when she was at work. “You can work as little or as much as you want. I don’t care about that.”

His words create instant relief. “Oh–I’m sorry, I thought—”

Roman runs his hand over his face. “You don’t have to apologize for everything.”

“Sor—” Solana drops her head as he exhales. Loudly. It’s not even noon, and he’s already over and done with this damn day.

“What time do you get off today?”

Solana licks her lips, answering. “Three.”

“I’ll meet you then.”

He can see she wants to ask but has decided against it, most likely recognizing his irritation. “We need to get your stuff from that house.”

And in the midst of her anxiety in this conversation, she finds a glimmer of hope. She’s thankful that this isn’t something she had to initiate to ask him about.

Something tells her Roman doesn’t like being questioned a lot.

Or at all.

“O–okay.” Is the answer she finally settles on, not wanting to say too much, vowing, “I’ll make sure I’m done by 3pm sharp.”

On one hand, Roman enjoys and respects punctuality, but something tells him Solana’s is based more on fear than anything. “Whenever is fine.”

Nodding and pushing her hair behind her ear, Solana watches Roman walk over to the door, preparing to leave when he asks, “is your brother right handed or left handed?”

His question takes her off guard, and she doesn’t quite know why he’s asking this in the first place. “W-what?”

Roman clearly doesn’t like repeating himself, because his tone takes on an edge. “Is he right handed or left handed?”

Solana swallows. She’s made him mad. Again. “R–right.”

Without another question, he leaves. And once the door shuts, he snaps at Solo, demanding, “why the fuck did you leave her alone with him? I told you to watch her!”

Roman knows his cousin well enough to know that Solo is doing a brilliant job masking his embarrassment at his failure. “She said—”

“I don’t care what she says. You don’t answer to her. You answer to me. Understood?”

Solo keeps his head high, acknowledging, “yes, my Tribal Chief.” Roman wastes no time in exiting the library and entering the SUV waiting for him, slamming the door shut. He pulls out his phone, selecting one of his most recent contacts, hitting dial.

Jey answers on the third ring, but he’s immediately yelling to someone else, “slam my door one more fucking time, Nicki, and see what happens!” Roman’s jaw clenches, another new source of irritation being presented to him. “Ayo, Uce, now’s not a good time—”

“I don’t care.” Roman’s hot headed cousin and his equally hot headed wife arguing is nothing special. The fight. They fuck. They make up. And do it all over again. It’s not pressing news or even news at all at this point. “The Miller boy. Send him a message. A clear message.”

“I’ve got—”

“Did you hear what I just said?” There must be something in the air or the water, because Roman having to repeat himself is fucking asinine. He speaks once, and everyone should jump immediately. The fact that that isn’t happening is only pissing him off more. “And his right hand…make sure it’s broken.”

Jey sighs on the other end of the phone. “Aight. Me and Jimmy will have it done by the end of the day.”

Roman ends the phone call before his cousin can feed him any more excuses. Head tilted back against the headrest, he tries to settle himself. This day so far has been nothing but inconvenience after inconvenience.

There’s nothing that pisses him off more than having to repeat himself, having conversations extend longer than they should, and that’s all this day has been thus far. He’s had to over explain and reiterate himself more than Roman feels necessary.

And the day isn’t even halfway over.

He needs an outlet.

Roman switches apps, finding one of his more recent contacts and sending out a message.

Roman: Come over tonight.

As expected, her reply comes almost right away.

Samantha: Lol. That didn’t take long.

Samantha: See you then.

————

Solana always struggles with a level of anxiety when entering the home she grew up in. For a myriad of reasons. Most, if not all, being completely valid. Nothing good has ever happened for her in that place. And more often than not, she’d barely be in the house for more than a couple of minutes before she was either being berated or beaten.

Usually both.

But this…..this is different. A lot different, because she’s not walking into hell alone, she’s walking along (behind) Bloodline guards and the 6’3, pure muscled leader of said Bloodline.

Roman Reigns.

Who also happens to be her husband.

Playing around with the wedding ring on her finger, Solana tries again to remind herself that this is real, that she’s married, that she’s married to Roman Reigns of all people.

The reality definitely hasn’t set in.

Roman is about to knock on the door again when it swings open. Solana naturally steps back, something Roman takes notice of.

Xavier looks pissed, his fiery gaze landing on her first, but just as quickly as it was present, it's gone, settling into an almost pleasant smile. Directed at Roman, of course.

“Tribal Chief,” he greets. Solana’s gaze is on the ground now, focused on her painted toes instead of the man before her who she’s certain would be unleashing hell on her if not for the multitude of much larger, much stronger men surrounding her. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“I don’t care,” Roman interrupts, voice reeking of indifference. “She needs to go get her stuff.”

“Oh.” Solana can only imagine the difficulty her father is having in not throwing a fit. “Well, we can arrange for it to be delivered—”

“No.”

She means more to think it than to say it, but that intention falls short, because she definitely says it aloud.

And most of her regrets it, but there’s a small slither that doesn’t.

Solana knows her father. She knows him very well.

Roman has done nothing but piss him off from the very beginning of this whole ordeal, pushing and pushing him. And Solana has always been the object of her father’s anger, but Roman seems intent on making sure that doesn’t happen.

That means he’ll have to get creative with his punishments.

If he can’t hurt her, he’ll go after the things she loves.

The few items in that home that she holds near and dear, items that belonged to her mother.

She knows he would dispose of them all so that all that would be retrieved by the movers would be clothes.

And the thought of the only things she has of her mother being discarded like trash makes her sick to her stomach.

She can’t give him that opportunity.

Looking up, she’s met with two sets of eyes on her. One indicating irritation and the other, curiosity. Swallowing, she stutters, “I’m sorry. I—”

“No.” Roman’s interruption is stark and to the point. “We’re already here. She gets it now.”

“But—”

“Move.”

Xavier’s jaw ticks, but he does as such, stepping to the side. Roman looks back at Solana, motioning for her to walk in.

Instantly, she’s going to the key holder. She has to make sure she gets her mother’s stuff before anything. But, the key to the attic, the key that’s sat in the same spot since she was a girl, is suddenly missing.

Her stomach drops.

Without hesitation, she turns to her dad, asking, “wh—where’s the key to the attic?”

Solana knows before he even says anything that she’s not going to like his answer. She just doesn't realize just how much she’s not going to like his answer.

“Oh, I put it in your old room on the dresser.” Solana’s chest is immediately tight, her stomach dropping. Xavier gives that sly smile and little shrug. “Figured there’d be some things you’d want to grab as well.”

It’s hard for Solana to not start crying right then and there, standing between her father and her husband. Two men who dislike her for very different reasons.

And maybe dislike isn’t a strong enough word to describe the feeling her father has toward her. Because one has to have an inhuman level of vitriol toward another individual to put her in the situation he just did.

That room….Solana hasn’t been in that room in years and planned to never enter it again for as long as she lived. And he knows that. Knows that there’s nothing in there she wants. Knows that she’d rather walk on burning coal barefoot than enter that space of horrific memories and unspeakable horrors.

“I–I—”

“Is something wrong?”

Roman, watching this whole exchange closely, is instantly annoyed. It’s obvious something is wrong, there’s some story with this old room of hers, because she looks just as terrified as she did last night. And something about this pisses him off all over again, because this man is still trying to defy his orders, still trying to find ways to inflict his torture without lifting a finger.

“Where’s the room?”

Solana doesn't expect that question to leave Roman’s mouth, but it instantly brings on another layer of dread. He doesn’t know why she can’t go in that room, and he can never know, but that not knowing is probably going to result in him pushing her to hurry up so they can get the hell out of here.

But, that doesn’t happen. He steps towards her dad and repeats in a calm voice. “Show me.” It’s then she realizes that he’s asking so he can retrieve this key for her.

And that confuses the mess out of her because why? He doesn't have to, doesn’t need to. It doesn’t benefit him in the slightest.

So why?

But for Roman, it’s simple. He’ll take any opportunity presented to piss off this son of a bitch, and undermining every attempt Miller takes to mess with Solana presents an opportunity for Roman to assert his dominance.

And it’s obvious by the pure terror that crosses Solana’s face that, for whatever reason, she has zero desire or even ability to enter this room. It does cross him a bit strange that she would have such a reaction to her childhood bedroom, something that typically holds special memories for people.

Until he enters said room.

Immediately, there’s a darkness about the aura, something heavy and unsettling that he can’t necessarily describe but most definitely feels. It’s a stark contrast to the design and decoration, lots of pink and girly shit, a couple of stuffed animals sitting on the top of the dresser. It’s on the dresser he notices a shattered picture frame that in picking up he sees a photo of a young woman, dark curly hair, beautiful, light eyes and a breathtaking smile. There’s something about her that reminds him of Solana. Her mother. This has to be her mother.

For reasons Roman doesn’t quite understand, there’s something suddenly uncomfortable by looking at this photo, a ghost, someone from the past. A person cruelly and violently ripped away from her family.

It….it hits too close to him.

Laying the broken photo frame down, Roman continues to assess the room and suddenly notices scratches on the door and the wall that holds the door. But, they’re not scratches that come from furniture being moved or kids being rough, they’re clearly nail marks. As if someone was dragged and the scratches a testament of their fight against whatever attack they were facing.

Snatching the key off the dresser, he then redirects his attention to the poorly cleaned splashes of dried blood on the carpet near the bed. He’s suddenly frowning of sorts.

There’s a story here. A story that paints a dark, grim picture. One that makes Roman slightly curious about just what the hell this girl has really been through in this hellhole?

Not wanting to stay in that creepy ass room any longer than necessary, he walks back out into the living room and ignores Miller’s obvious irritation to reach Solana the key.

Accepting it, she offers the first smile he’s probably seen on her since their first meeting. “Thank you.” Her voice is the usual mixture of soft and quiet but also….grateful. She’s probably the only person in history to ever be so happy at being given something as simple as a key. But Roman isn’t stupid. He recognizes the deeper meaning.

Nodding, he motions for a few of his men to follow her as she heads for wherever the attic door is located.

That leaves Roman alone with his least favorite person in the world.

“She can’t take everything, you know.” Xavier shares. He reminds, “she has a brother. My son and I deserve to have something of my late wife to—”

“I don’t care.” And he doesn’t. He honestly, truly doesn’t. “She can take whatever she wants.”

“I understand that she’s your wife, but she was my daughter long before she became your wife. And you’re standing in my house.” Xavier doesn’t skip a beat to contend. “I think you should also remember that, Tribal Chief.”

To be fair, Roman would like to think he’s done a half decent job all day managing his temper. He’s yet to maim or kill anyone which is commendable for him, in and of itself. But something about Xavier pisses him the fuck off to the point where he doesn’t give a damn about controlling his temper.

And that’s exactly what happens.

In a matter of seconds, Roman has Xavier by the throat, pinned against the wall, squeezing so tightly he can practically feel the man's bones pressing against his fingertips. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Xavier’s eyes are nearly bugging out of his head as he helplessly grasps at Roman's grip, which only makes the Tribal Chief squeeze harder. “Don’t ever fucking forget who runs this. I run it all!” As much as Roman enjoys playing the long game with this bastard, there’s only so much he can put up with. Miller needs to know Roman is not his daughter, but he damn sure will dictate that any interactions with said daughter go through him. “You see Solana when I say you can see her. You talk to her when I say you can talk to her.” Intensifying his grip, Roman notices the color draining from Xavier’s face. And it’s probably the best thing he’s seen all day. “You live because I allow it. You’re still fucking breathing because I will it.” Recognizing Miller is at the door of unconsciousness, he finally lets the man go, enjoying the sight of him coughing violently, nearly laying on the floor. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that shit.”

Xavier, wisely, doesn't say much after that. And neither does Roman, who simply makes sure his men help Solana gather all she needs, which isn’t that much outside of clothes. He starts to ask her about her car, but something tells him it’s under Xavier’s name, which is why he decides against it.

He’ll just get her another one.

Roman doesn’t want her to have shit to do with this family, largely because he doesn’t want shit to do with this family.

And he knows what the first step toward initiating that separation will be.

—--------

The Warehouse has always been Roman’s escape.

17,000 square feet of escape, completely revamped and redone by him in his early twenties. It’s a massive compound that serves as both a place to train and compete. The former of which being why he’s present and needing to speak to the one person who he has in charge of all the day to day workings of the Warehouse.

But, that’s all she’s interested in outside of competing herself and only training those with some fire to them.

It’s why he’s not surprised when Nia takes one look at him, then Solana, and with a snort and roll of her eyes, simply says, “no.”

Roman isn’t an idiot. He knew his cousin would immediately decline, would know what he wanted to ask before it could even leave his mouth.

If only he cared about her objection.

“Wait here,” he mutters to Solana who only nods, hugging the jacket around her body. Solo remains nearly inches away from her. She looks so out of place, a small part of him can’t blame Nia for declining.

Nia continues to walk the balcony, eyes clearly checking in on the various sets of people training. Roman does as well, just not nearly with the same amount of focus and attention. That’s what he has Nia for.

His blood cousin and close friend since they were kids, there’s few people in this world that Roman trusts, and Nia is grouped in that category. She’s a worthy member of the bloodline and a hell of a person to have alongside you in a fight.

It’s why she's the perfect person for this task.

“Nia.”

“I said no, Roman.” She turns to him, smirking, taunting him in a way only she and his close family can. "You know, that word that you hate?”

It actually makes him chuckle, a speckle of amusement in a day full of anything but. “If you know I hate it, why are you saying it?”

“Because unlike the rest of the world, I’m not your bitch.”

It’s partially true. Nia has never been one to shy away from being completely and, often, ruthlessly honest with her cousin. It’s something Roman sometimes appreciates, enjoying the occasional challenge and differing perspective.

This isn’t one of those times though.

He again reiterates. “She needs to be trained.”

It’s abundantly clear that Solana has no backbone, and he can’t entirely fault her for that because it’s also clear that she’s never really had the chance to develop one. But, that’s no longer the case, because while he can deal with the stammering and quietness, her fragility has to go.

She has to learn to stand up for herself.

She needs to learn how to fight back.

Nia turns around with a sarcastic chuckle. “You really think that girl can be trained? I saw her at the wedding. She looked terrified the entire time. You breathe too hard in her direction, and she’ll probably have a fucking panic attack.” Roman is briefly taken back to last night. Nia hasn’t the slightest clue how true her words are. “She’s not built for this life.”

Roman doesn’t entirely disagree. If there was ever a person who’d do well and significantly better in something cookie cutter, white picket fence type shit, it’s Solana. But she’s here now, this is her life, so they need to make the best of it. She needs to learn how to survive in this life. and he expresses as such. “Regardless, she needs to learn to defend herself to some extent.”

Nia shrugs, leaning back against the railing and crossing her arms. “So teach her.”

“I don’t have the time. Or the patience.” It’s almost entirely true. There are already so many hats that Roman has to wear. Adding on another one that includes teaching a traumatized young woman how to fight is not an option. Even more, something tells him that Solana would do better training with a woman. She seems most skittish around men.

Nia scoffs, pointing to herself. “And you think I do?”

“Nia….” As much as he enjoys sparring with his cousin from time to time, his patience has grown thin. His tone darkens. “I’m not asking you.”

While tempted to continue to push back, Nia isn’t a stupid woman. She can recognize when Roman is about to lose his cool. “Fucking hell….” With a heavy sigh and shrug of defeat, she accepts. “Fine. I’ll do it, but don’t expect me to like her.”

“I never expect you to like anyone.” He chuckles, adding. “And Nia…..take it easy on her at first.”

Nia curses, instantly accusing, “You think coddling her will help?”

“I know being too rough with her won’t.”

A hard exterior is built from experience and tolerance. Roman fully believes that. However, something tells him his new wife has had enough experiences that anything more could push her closer to breaking point. So approaching it almost gingerly would probably wield the best outcome.

Nia is, justifiably, vexed. “Whatever. I don’t have time for your weak ass wife. I’ll have Naomi teach her the basics, and once she learns how to actually throw a punch without crying, I’ll take over her training.”

Roman has no issue with this. Solana seemed to be fine around Naomi at the wedding, so it might actually be a good match. “Fine. Just keep me updated with her progress.” Roman adds, starting to walk away.

“Do I have a choice?”

Instantly, he answers. “Nope.”

Nia’s laughter behind him brings a small smile to his face.

Rejoining the group, he finds Solana looking just as nervous as he left her. “Let’s go.”

He turns and so does Solo, Roman deciding he’ll talk with Solana about starting training back at the house. But, her small voice calling his name, the first time he’s heard her say as such draws his attention.

Turning around, he asks, “yeah?”

She swallows and starts that damn stammering. It’s hard for him to not snap at her to just get it out. He hates that beating around the bush bullshit. “Umm, can we—uhh, stop somewhere?” Roman does his best to hide his irritation. Where the fuck does she need to go? “I just—-I noticed you don’t have a lot of ingredients at the house, and—and I need some things so I can cook.”

Initially, Roman’s first reaction is to tell her no, that she doesn’t need to cook. He doesn’t need her to cook for him. He does just fine on his own, but that’s the thing that makes him pause. He’s not on his own anymore. She needs to eat too.

So, he agrees, “fine.”

“Ayo, uce!”

Jesus Christ.

Roman needs a vacation. A week long vacation, because the way the past 24hrs has drained him more than anything he’s experienced in the past year is criminal.

The twins jog over, exchanging what is an undeniably awkward acknowledgement to Solana. And he doesn't blame them. She’s so damn docile that they probably don't know how to interact with her.

“Let us catch that ride with you.”

Roman shuts his eyes. “Why?”

Jimmy is the one to answer. “You wanted us to debrief you on that thing from earlier, remember?”

Roman realizes they’re referring to the message he had them send Solana’s brother, which he does want to hear about but not necessarily now.

“She needs to stop at the store before we head back to the house,” Roman informs, hoping the twins will just take a car back to the house to meet him their to debrief.

But that’s too much like right, because they end up in the same SUV as him and Solana, seated in the back, while he sits in the middle with her. And it’s not missed upon him how she’s practically tucked in the corner of the SUV, notebook out as she writes away while his idiotic cousins go on and on in the back about whatever.

The old lady from the library wasn’t kidding. This damn girl is always writing.

When they arrive at the grocery store, Roman reaches for his wallet, sliding out his black card and handing it to her. “Here. Use this.”

Roman hadn’t thought about this until just now, thought about the need to make his money available to her. He makes a mental note to have his accountant add Solana to all of his accounts and have cards mailed out with her name. In the meantime, she’ll have to deal with using his.

“Thank you.” She accepts the card, quickly asking, “what’s my limit?”

“What limit?”

Her cheeks redden as she explains. “Like….like how much I can spend?"

“There is none,” he answers with a shrug. “Just get what you need.”

Jey suddenly leans forward, tapping Roman on the shoulder. “Ayo, Big Dog, lemme run this by you.”

“No.”

Of course, the word goes in one ear and out the other. “So, I’m trying to explain to her that it’s not what she thinks. I don’t even care about that bitch, but she’s not trying to hear me. Going on and go about how I ain’t shit, I don’t treat her right—you know, the usual—-and so finally, I just snap on her ass cause who the fuck you think you talking to—”

Jimmy agrees. “She acting like you ain’t got no options.”

Jey sucks his teeth, “man, that’s what I’m saying. Like, I ain’t gotta put up with that shit!”

“Hell naw!”

The idea of grocery shopping doesn’t appeal to Roman in the slightest, but neither does listening to his dumbass cousin complain about his marriage problems to his equally dumbass brother. So, it’s the lesser of two evils, really.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, unbuckling his seatbelt, and opening the door. Solo and Solana’s eyes fall on him as they’d yet to enter the store. “I’ll go with her.”

Solana looks expectedly surprised as Solo simply nods and gets back in the passenger seat.

“I’ll make it quick.”

Roman says nothing, walking alongside her, still providing enough distance to not make her uncomfortable.

As long as the twins are harping on and on about stupid shit, she can take as long as she wants.

Once in the store, Solana pushing the cart, Roman realizes she was writing down a grocery list that she uses to track the needed items as they peruse what feels like endless aisles. Granted, he hasn’t been inside an actual grocery store in probably close to two decades, if not longer, so maybe this is normal for a grocery store.

It’s when they reach the produce section that she seems a bit stumped, chewing on her bottom lip, clearly perplexed.

He starts to ask her what’s wrong, but she walks over to one of the workers and takes him slightly by surprise when she starts speaking in a different language. Spanish, he eventually settles on. It’s also the first time he thinks he’s ever seen her smile. Outside of when he gave her the key And laugh. That one is definitely a first. Both small and quiet, but still, a first. She seems to know or at least be familiar with the worker who digs around the produce and reaches over a packaged bag of whatever produce it is.

It’s when she returns to place the produce in the basket, continuing to walk, that he asks, “you speak Spanish?”

She looks up at him, but not for too long, as if doing so is forbidden, explaining. “My—my mom taught me. She was originally from Mexico.”

Roman figured as such from the picture he saw in her room that Solana’s mom was Hispanic or had some type of Central American ancestry. He’s also surprised by her answering with more than just 3 to 5 words, providing more information than he asked.

It’s not something he necessarily cares about, but it doesn’t annoy him like it typically does when people give him a longer answer than what’s necessary.

“Are—are your cousins always like….like that?” Again, she takes him by surprise, up until the point where she immediately goes into apologizing. “I–I don’t mean it in a bad way. I would never—”

“Yes,” he cuts off her rambling. It’s unnecessary because the answer is simple. “They are.” With a mutter, he adds, “they never shut the fuck up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. That smile smile, this time conjoined with a small laugh that she does a decent job trying to suppress. And it’s like she catches herself, changing the subject as she asks, “umm, are you��like—allergic to anything? Or is there something you don’t like? I can learn—”

“I can eat anything.” It’s a simple, truthful answer. It also seems like something she’d been wanting to ask but only built the courage to do so at the end of their current conversation, even if brief as hell.

Solana doesn’t say much after that, and it confuses Roman when she tries to grab items on shelves much higher than what exceeds her reach. It confuses him because it would be significantly easier for her to just ask him to reach it. Granted, something tells him just her asking to be taken to the grocery store seems to be her daily quota for requests.

So he takes it upon himself, hand on the small of her back, ignoring how she tenses at his touch, to tell her to step aside as he easily retrieves the item. With a tuck of her hair behind her ear and a small “thank you,” she continue shopping but this time actually, still with that same irksome gentleness, asks him to reach items that she cannot. It’s not a lot, just a couple.

And it’s not long before she’s done, checking out with his card that she makes sure to give back to him immediately. He gets the sense that that’s something she thinks is important to him.

It’s not.

The worst he can see her doing is going crazy at fucking Barnes and Nobles.

Roman has his men load the trunk for her, something that also seems to take her off guard. Like she’s not used to the assistance.

And she probably isn’t.

————

Samantha Irvin has been on Roman’s revolving roster of women since he was in his teens. The longevity being that It’s always been the easiest with her. Sexually, at least. Their compatibility in that one area, the only one he really (only) cares about, is astronomical. But lately, more in the past few months than anything, she’s dropped a comment here and there about wanting more.

He’s ignored them everytime.

Roman has never promised Samantha anything more than what they currently are: fuck buddies. She knows this, just like she knows she’s not the only woman he’s fucking. Nothing about that should indicate him wanting more with anyone, including her.

Well, other than the wedding band now on his finger.

Samantha’s gaze falls on that wedding band, a bitter chuckle leaving her mouth. “I still can’t believe you actually did it.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. Discussing his shitshow of a marriage is the last thing he wants to do and far from the reason he left Solana in the middle of the night to come see her, to come work off his frustrations.

The same reason he invited her over tonight.

Last night was a dumpster fuck, without a doubt. But today with Solana was….decent. Not amazing. Not awful. Just some strange space in between. Even as they arrived back at the estate and she went straight into cooking, creating something he can’t pronounce but can honestly say was delicious, a meal she delivered to him in his office. There was something manageable about that, this level of she does her thing, he does his, and if their paths cross in the process, he can deal with that.

The intimacy though….that’s something he’ll have to figure out, have to navigate, just not now. Not tonight.

Right now, he just needs Samantha’s talented mouth on him.

She moves her hands up his chest, biting on her bottom lip. “She’s just a little girl, baby. You need a woman who knows how to please you.” Roman knows the other side of what she’s saying or rather what she’s not saying. Another subtle, or not so subtle depending on how you look at it, hint that she’s the one he should settle down with.

In all honesty, he has, or had, zero desire to settle down with anyone.

Especially not with Sam. She’s the kind of woman that’s good for fucking and nothing else. As much as Solana’s extreme passivity annoys the shit out of him, he’d pick that over the bitching Sam would do. He just knows she’d be on his ass about stupid shit like fucking other woman and not paying her enough attention. Like she’d think she’s somehow above him doing who and what the fuck he wants just cause he put a ring on her finger.

Way too needy.

But at least he can actually fucking touch Sam.

Kinda hard to make a baby with someone who has literal fucking panic attacks just from being touched.

It builds up his frustration again, hence Roman grabbing Samantha by the back of her head, forcing it back. She hisses, both from pain and pleasure. It’s another thing he does actually enjoy about her. She lets him be as rough as he wants and needs.

“Why are you still talking?” There may be a slight dim in her eyes at his question, but she hides it well. “I don’t give a fuck what you think.” He releases his grip and shoves her to her knees. “Put that mouth to actual good use.”

If she’s hurt by his brusque tone, she doesn’t show it, simply bringing her hands to unbuckle his pants. “I got you, daddy…”

She gets his zipper down when a scream sounds throughout the house, causing her to freeze in her motions as she shoots Roman a confused look.

“What the hell?” Samantha’s obvious irritation is the last thing he hears before adjusting himself as he heads out the room and down the hall.

For some reason, Roman already knows what to expect before he even reaches Solana’s room. Opting against knocking, he opens the door and finds her twisting and turning in the bed, eyes shut, chest moving up and down, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Yeah….just as he expected.

Sighing, he walks over to the bed, sitting on the side. “Solana.”

“No.....” she’s crying in her sleep, clearly in the midst of a nightmare. Or night terror. “Mom, please…don’t leave me.”

Roman tenses. Immediately, he knows exactly what her nightmare is. He brings hands to her shoulder, shaking her. “Solana, wake up.”

“No…..”

He says her name again, a bit louder, firmer, “Solana, wake up.”

“No!” She screams again, shooting up from the bed, immediately fighting and pushing against his body. “Leave me alone!” She’s crying, clearly fighting against the demons one faces once in life but forever battles, even when they’re gone.

It’s a permanent scar on the soul.

“Solana,” he says again, still stern, but somehow gentle. “You’re fine. You’re safe.” It’s the ‘safe’ word that seems to trigger something for her, mouth still ajar, painting heavily but no longer struggling against him. “It was just a bad dream.”

There’s a fleeting thought he has about pushing some of the flyaway hairs out of her face, but it’s gone before he can really process let alone act on said thought.

Solana looks at his hands on her forearm and immediately tugs them back to her body, hugging herself. She drops her head, eyes closing, “I’m—I’m sorry.”

His eyes take her in, studying her, “it’s fine.”

“I—I need some air.” She kicks the blankets off her body and swings her legs over the bed, hurriedly grabbing a notebook off the dresser and rushing out of the room past a smirking Samantha.

Roman shuts his eyes and runs his hand over his face, ignoring the strange array of emotions, or something like that, he’s experiencing.

He hasn’t been this exposed to this kind of behavior in years.

This may be more complicated than he realized.

And it’s as he stands up from the bed, walking near the door that Samantha smirks. “Did she seriously say mom?” His eyes snap to her as she runs her hands up and down his chest. “What a fucking child.”

Her words take him back, reframe things so that it’s not Solana the child crying for her mother not to be taken from her. It’s a young boy. Burned, bloody, and beat, fading in and out consciousness, the gaze of fiery flames in his peripheral vision, the smell of burning flesh invading his nostrils, the sound of wails and sirens all mingling together from the shock of it all.

Roman catches himself, forcing those buried memories back where they belong in the very back of his mind. He then looks at Sam for a good five seconds before demanding, “get the fuck out.”

She pauses and then asks with an uncomfortable laugh, “what?”

“Get the fuck out of my house,” he repeats, shoving her hands off him.

“What did I sa—”

“Get out!” Roman snaps, volume and tone making her jump. He probably scared her. He also doesn’t care. He just wants her gone. And she does as such, walking away without another word of protest.

Left alone, he tries to gather himself, moving back to his room.

So much for a fucking distraction.

—-----

Roman finds her out back on the patio.

He needed to clear his head, get back into his tunnel vision focus, and the gym he had included when he built the house is the perfect place to do that. Two hours later, recentered and showered, he readies to call it a night. But, he realizes he probably shouldn’t do as such until he makes sure Solana is at least partially stable enough to be left alone.

And she is.

She’s laid out, sleeping on the rattan lounge chair, a closed notebook tucked into her side. Roman recognizes it as the same one she was writing in that day at the library as well as the one she used for her grocery list just earlier in the day.

He settles down on the chair next to her, studying her. Even in her sleep, she looks….sad. And for the first time in the midst of all these strange experiences with her, Roman understands. He understands her sadness, understands her difficulty, understands the memories that clearly haunt her.

The same way they used to haunt him.

His hand goes to his tatted arm, intricate tribal tattoo hiding permanent remnants of that night of hell. The night that he once had the same kind of night terrors about.

Noticing the breeze, he walks back into the house, grabbing one of the throw blankets on the sofa. Roman is careful to not directly touch her as he lays it over her body. A part of him is tempted to carry her back to her room, but he remembers these kinds of nights. The kind where it’s a challenge to escape the memories, let alone find a place and mental space to turn your brain off enough to just sleep.

So he leaves her alone, allowing her to enjoy the only escape she clearly has in this life.

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

187 notes · View notes

rewritingcanon · 8 months ago

Note

What would you say are your more controversial opinions about the hp characters?

ohhhh okayyy. i feel like my opinions on a lot of the characters aren’t controversial because i dont feel super strongly towards anyone in any negative light but here are some i could think of at the top of my head:

i’m glad the malfoys faced more extreme backlash after the second wizarding war. a lot of people in the fandom seem to be very sympathetic towards draco and scorpius for getting dogpiled with the brunt of it (which yeah, it sucks, especially for scorpius) but the prejudice makes complete make sense to me. if i was someone who didn’t know scorpius’ character, and had someone from my family get killed in the second war due to death eaters or something— seeing the malfoys still be wealthy and walk around freely without any jailtime, i would be bitter too. they’re hated on but they’re still one of the richest families ever, so they’ll live LOL

another anon has asked about this and i haven’t responded to them yet but when i do i will link it here for my reasons. basically: the best character in the cursed child is harry potter. i think the way they wrote his character and ptsd carried the play. it was def his story, not albus’.

i do think dumbledore has some aspects of him that may be considered morally gray, but mostly i dont think he is. he does everything for the good of the world, and his complete selflessness leads him to sacrifice anything for it— even himself and the people he loves, when necessary. i completely understand why people wouldn’t agree with his methods though.

james potter isn’t a sunshine character he’s a dickhead. fans of him made him a golden retriever character to be more palatable for modern times. i like him the way he is: an asshole and then less of an asshole 👍 this is what true stanning looks like

pansy parkinson is racist and out of all the female side characters, developing HER is so questionable from fandom

harry had questionable descriptions about a lot of male characters to make people think he could be a little 🏳️‍🌈 there was bill, there was sirius, there was cedric. but draco is not a part of that list. harry was not feeling draco whatsoever throughout the series but drarry shippers cling to that one ‘obsessed’ line

furthermore, harry rejecting draco’s offer of friendship wasn’t a sad or a ‘what if’ scene. draco was being a classist piece of shit and harry didnt want to fuck with that, there isnt any way in any timeline he wouldve accepted draco’s friendship.

slytherin sucks just generally lol. people want so bad to pluck anti-heroes out of a series that was written specifically with the mind to make all the characters suck.

hermione and ron’s drama isn’t as toxic as people make it out to be. yes, this includes the time hermione sent birds after him. people act like its the end of the world but she was tackling puberty and the end of society soooo i give her a pass to tweak out.

mostly every harry potter character has horrific names. like literally mostly everyone. even the name harry potter 🙁

movie romione wasn’t that bad LOL

severus snape’s ‘redemption’ or whatever was so ass. he bullies kids for five years and then everything is chill because… true love? on harry’s mum? are you kidding me 💀

weasley family angst goes hard but people (especially percy stans and some ron&ginny stans) acting like they’re the most toxic family to walk the earth make me want to rip my hair out and eat it. molly loves her kids guys shes not evil. jesus.

genuinely trying to think of more but i can’t right now…. maybe i will reblog and add to it. i feel like most of my opinions aren’t that controversial though 😭

285 notes · View notes

simpforrooster · 1 year ago

Text

falling for a girl in purple & gold.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader

summary: your brother convinces you to join him at his tailgate. you meet a gorgeous blonde, who happens to root for the opposing football team.

t/w: lots of mention of alcohol. she/her pronouns. cursing. instalovey.

a/n: i’ve been dying to write something like this. this fic is def based off megan maroney’s ‘tennessee orange’ and conner smith’s ‘orange & white.’ i left readers school pretty ambiguous until the verrrrrry end. i’m an lsu girlie 💜💛 so i needed a little self-service.

Stepping into the tailgate tent, nostalgia fills your body. You are transported immediately back to your time in college. Cheering on your alma mater with your sorority sisters. Hooking up with those random frat guys who definitely showed you a good time. You’d have to remember to thank your brother for making you come.

“Sis!” Speak of the devil. Your brother envelops you into a huge bear hug, as if he didn’t see you one week prior at your family’s standing dinner date. You return his hug.

“I am so glad you made it!”

Your brother began introducing you to several of his friends who were taking up space in the tailgate tent. If he doesn’t know them from his fraternity days, then he knows them from the Navy.

“Two more guys are planning to show,” your brother says. “Guys from my time in Miramar.” You understand this to mean from his time at TOPGUN.

Lucky for you, you’ve been schooled in all things naval aviation thanks to the burly guy you call a brother. There was no way he was going to have a sister have zero knowledge about the Navy.

His words, not yours.

Leaving you to ponder, your brother begins mixing drinks. He hands you his “special” after a few minutes. His special being vodka, with a tiny splash of sprite and cranberry juice.

You take the drink from him, raising your brows.

“It’s the first tailgate of the year, sis. Go big or go home.”

You’d much rather go home than consume a ton of alcohol in this heat.

“Well if it ain’t Bozo!” you hear a deep voice call, with a sliiiiight country accent.

“Hey guys!” your brother calls with the enthusiasm of a kid who just unwrapped a PS5 from under the tree. “I’m glad y’all made it.”

You turn and take in the source of that accent, and almost spill your drink. Your brother never told you he was friends with Adonis.

His blonde hair fans out at his neck, beneath a nice Stetson, like he’s skipped a few haircuts. A pair of jeans hug his hips, and across his chest, the school colors of the enemy.

University of Texas. You were sure that burnt orange wouldn’t look good on anyone, but this man is proving that notion wrong. Your eyes lock with his, and he makes sure you see his eyes trail down your body.

When those green eyes meet yours, he drops his right eye in a slow wink.

“Bozo, I didn’t know you colluded with the enemy,” you say to your brother, nodding toward the handsome blonde.

“Ah, well,” Bozo starts, rubbing his hand behind his neck, “not everyone is perfect.”

“What do they call you?” you ask the blonde, not being able to take not knowing his name any longer.

“Hangman.” He fixes you with a gorgeous smirk, and tips that cowboy hat.

“Hangman?” you question, cocking an eye brow.

Those eyes peer into yours. “Yes ma’am.” The way he says those two words has you thinking of all the instances he could say them in.

“What do they call you when you’re not flying a plane?”

“Jake. And your name, pretty lady?”

“Y/n.” You stick a hand out toward him. Jake reaches forward, taking your hand lightly into yours. The two of you stand there, shaking hands for what feels like an eternity. Neither one of you wanting to break the contact.

“Fuck, Bozo. You never mentioned how beautiful your sister is,” Jake says to your brother, but never taking his eyes off you.

“Because you’re a fucking playboy, Bagman,” he says.

“Funny,” Jake comments.

And you’d gladly let him.

“A playboy, huh?” You quip.

Jake shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right lady yet.”

The way he peers into your eyes has you sipping your mixed drink in order to hold some of your sanity. This man has the potential to ruin you.

And you’d gladly welcome it.

Grabbing his hand, you pull him toward the beer pong table. “Be my partner.” You fix him with one of your award winning smiles.

“Anything for you, darlin’,” he drawls. Gah, that accent is gonna be the death of you. The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, beating your brother and another aviator, Rooster, effortlessly.

Jake holds up his hand for a high five. When your hand meets his, his fingers lace between yours. He pulls you into him. You can’t be sure if the vodka is making you lightheaded, or the way your body feels pressed against his.

“I’m having the time of my life with you, sweet thing,” he says into your ear. You giggle into his chest. You actually giggle. You’ve never giggled in your life.

“What would you say if I needed to kiss you?” Jake asks against your temple. Spying your brother working the makeshift bar, you grab Jake’s hand. You lead Jake down an alley situated between two class buildings.

“I’d say, kiss me, Hangman,” you say, grabbing his ugly, orange jersey to pull him toward you. One of his hands braces his weight against the wall, just outside your shoulder. He has you completely caged in, that strong body hovering over yours. Jake reaches up to pull his hat from his head. He casually holds the hat up, blocking anyone from seeing the two of you.

Between Jake’s kisses and your brother’s mixed drink, you’re feeling all kinds of good. Not wanting any of it to stop, you grip his jersey tighter, pulling him as close as you can get him.

A low groan escapes his mouth, and the fact that he’s seemingly affected by you the same way you are by him has you reeling.

“A gentleman would at least take you out first before kissing you like this,” he murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” you question, not really letting his words soak in.

“Mhmm. Too bad I am not feeling too gentlemanly, right now.” Jake deepens the kiss, and your hands leave his jersey and thread through his hair.

“Good,” you breathe.

Your watch buzzes, pulling you from Jake’s tantalizing kisses. Taking a peek, your brother’s name appears across it.

Where the fuck are you? We have to go into the stadium.

Jake pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Bozo,” he murmurs.

“Where are your seats?” You ask, still breathless from his kissing.

“Next to you,” he says, placing once more kiss to your lips. Pulling you from the wall, he plops his hat onto your head.

“Fuck, my dads going to be so pissed I’m falling for a girl in purple & gold,” Jake says shaking his head. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

masterlist.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #hangman top gun #hangman x you #hangman oneshot #hangman x oc #hangman x reader #hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin

957 notes · View notes

arandomnerd810 · 6 months ago

Text

personal TADC character analysis

uh warning this is long lol

autism time let’s go (/not in a negative way i have autism) stretches hands * I’ll go in order of the character episodes cause why not we have it (see below) i’ll put periods but it will just be to make it more readable not to be intimidating lolll

btw im completely open to interpretations of characters changing throughout the series this is just for fun

Gooseworx has said this series is mostly focused on characters rather than lore, and from what we know, i truly believe it. I don’t think any of the current characters will abstract because of this.

(I put a version of this in the glitch inn discord theory thing so if you recognize it that’s why)

Pomni: we already know her deal pretty well, as we’ve already had her episode. uuuh if anyone’s going to do something important lore wise it will probably be her as she’s the main character but can’t rlly tell what that may be. to review ep 2 though she’s an outcast who has felt like she was nothing and is a logical thinker.

(Kinger and Zooble will there their focus episode but i put it in order of who was revealed to be the ep 3 focus first)

Zooble: From their design (the entire motif is it can be changed at any time) and the fact she doesn’t know his gender, we’re dealing with some pretty clear identity issues. Friends with Gangle seems cool excited for next episode to learn more about them!

Kinger: One of the most interesting characters so far. I feel like we will get to learn more about abstraction though Queenie, the X-ed out door that looks like a female version of him. If i had to guess, since Gooseworx said they were not siblings, they were a couple. (Also judging by his age and the fact he could have been married, he may have been a father yeowch imagine that) I can see the common theory of the insect collection implying he was a coder before getting trapped, but i could also see him being some random guy who just likes bugs lol. He seems like really sweet guy behind his constant anxiety and disassociating.

Gangle: (My faveorite human rn) Her mask design can be interpreted in a lot of ways but it’s clear that the happy mask isn’t her real personality. My take on it rn is she doesn’t wana bother people with her stuff so she pretends she’s happy? She seems easily embarrassed and def has self esteem lower than the last circle of hell. What’s interesting though is she’s willing to stand up for herself from time to time, even though she’s easily shot down after.

Ragatha: Waaaay too nice for her own good. Also probably has self esteem lower than the last circle of hell and bases her self worth of others approval. Though she’s been here the second longest, she seems a lot more normal than Kinger. Makes me question how long apart their introductions have been. Probably copes via escapism.

Jax: I can see why everyone is very interested in him cause me too. He seems like the only fourth wall breaky guy (unless you count Caine cause of his intro at the pilot)which is rlly interesting how did he figure out more than everyone else? what’s with the keys? i have no clue lmao. He’s an asshole who makes the best of his situation by torturing everyone else. At the end of the day though, he’s a human and was sad at kaufmo’s abstraction but he probably isolates himself so it would probably be the same for anyone

but waAitTt a moment

that’s 6 humans but Gooseworx said we would look into 7 (cause of the “other” part) in her twitter post talking about the character focus timeline so we know our fav character won’t be left behind ⁉️⁉️⁉️ I hear you not asking well my dear hypothetical person, who better to fill the 7th character than Caine?

Why you did not ask? Too bad i’m info dumping. First, he’s the main antagonist and alongside Pomni, the commercial face (or lack their of haha teeth and eye joke) of the series. he’s an important character and loved by many. (and hated equally if not more aside the point lmaooo)

Yes, gooseworx can lie about stuff but I think she’s smarter than to lead this heavy into Caine depth/ angst territory if there wasn’t going to be anything On top of that, the entire purpose of the timeline post was so we know our faveorite characters weren’t getting treated poorly. It’s unlike for a character based show to suddenly drop such a major character for some random other guy were introduced to later or smth. i mean cmon there’s three episodes after all the humans at least one of them has to be focused on my boy.

Caine: I believe he really does have good intentions and wants to help but just does not understand people at all. This means he’s like an anxiety disorder; it wants to help, solves some issues but creates 500 more. Judging by the Tumblr post, loneliness may play a big part in what’s to come? I’ve always had a feeling his front was extremely fake and his VA saying “breaks keyfable” (an act that pretends it’s true) supports that theory. Episode two gives some insecurity vibes when Zooble didn’t want to go on the adventure. I find that pretty interesting cause he didn’t care at all if people went on the gloink adventure or not. Maybe he puts some adventures over others and he could have been proud of the candy adventure cause more time and care was put into it and he made a new AI. Why did he blue screen? i feel like he could have some blockages on what he can say built in though im not sure why he was blocked then if he even was. one of the biggest questions i have ab him currently tbh. what’s with him grabbing his cane like that in ep 2? if i had to guess simply be nervous = that? His VA also knows some depth to him even though his focus episode is likely going to be at least one of the last 3 episodes, which they have not gotten to recording yet. You know what this means Caine angst solidarity club? Sad Caine so more fan angst appetizers before the main cannon feast let’s friccin go‼️‼️⁉️⁉️

(try to guess my fav impossible /j)

#glitch productions #tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc caine #tadc pomni #tadc gangle #tadc zooble #tadc kinger #tadc ragatha #tadc jax

110 notes · View notes

ladytauria · 4 months ago

Note

and lets do a "Tim got turned into a cat" au

your pick who picks him up and takes care of him

didn’t expect this to be the one i finished first but i’m not complaining. anyway you get a small snippet plus uh. more than 5 points xD

yknow for as much as i enjoy reading them i don’t think i’ve ever written OR plotted one out before!

hmmm… 🤔

very tempted to go damian for this one bc i love the whole. ‘see a different side of someone’ trope with animal transformation & when it comes to tim i find that trope yummiest w jason & dami lmao

hmmm, am thinking…

Tim gets turned either on patrol or while researching an object. I lean more toward the latter bc I like the idea of them finding him at his apartment or in his nest, and while that’s possible with the first option it’s easier/more likely with the second. And I like the idea of him having been stuck there for a short time lmao.

Could also be fun if maybe he was on research duty bc he had a broken/twisted/sprained arm or leg, so little cat Tim also has an injured limb… Teeny Tim cat with a li’l cast on…

Anyway! Damian and Dick are on patrol together when Babs asks them to check on Tim bc he hasn’t reported in over 24 hours and she just wants to make sure he’s good. Dami is aggravated to be interrupted but also he IS a little concerned bc Tim is generally prompt about his check-ins. And ofc when they get there there’s no sign of Tim, just a little black cat holding one of its paws kind of weird.

They look the place over, collect any evidence, etc. Damian makes some disparaging comments both to hide his own worry but ALSO to distract Dick from his. Def takes charge of the cat, bringing him back to the Cave/Manor to get him some food and medical attention. Maybe says something about Tim’s carelessness, which bothers Tim, making him growl/hiss/scratch at Damian.

Obviously how he acts with everyone around vs just with the cat is different; he’s less prickly when it’s just him & Timcat. The main inspo for me picking Damian and writing all of this was a couple of lines of dialogue that popped in my head when I read this. Something like—

“Just between you and me,” Damian says, his voice low and almost conspiratorial, “I find myself worried for Timothy as well.”

Tim’s ears prick slightly, his head raising ever so slightly off of his paw. His body has turned liquid under the touch of Damian’s hand; gentle yet firm as it runs over the length of his spine.

“For all of his faults, he would not have left you alone. Especially not if you were injured.” Damian’s hand stills, settling just under Tim’s shoulder blades. It’s a warm, comforting weight there—almost as comforting as the words themselves. A soft rumble starts in his torso.

As much as he tries not to care what Damian—what *anyone*—thinks, it… bothered Tim, that Damian believed he could be so callous. To know that it was an act is a relief.

Though it begs the question of *why*.

Damian scratches lightly behind one of Tim’s ears, and his eyes close without his meaning to. He tilts into it, sighing; the soft rumble in his ribs turning louder.

His questions will keep.

Not sure how they ultimately figure out that Tim is the cat, only that I do want Damian to be the one to figure it out. I also want Damian to end up doing a majority of sifting through Tim’s files—lol, maybe taking over for Bruce or Dick bc he didn’t like how they were doing it, and Tim being surprised at how well Damian knows him/his system. (Bc Damian has been studying him.)

Oh OH, also want Tim to decide to take advantage of being a cat to learn more about Damian since Damian talks to him a lot? So he learns more about how Damian feels about him but also more about Damian in general. But then maybe it gets awkward bc Damian maybe starts talking about Tim being pretty and how that just makes his feelings (jealousy, admiration, guilt) even MORE complicated.

Final thought: I kind of want this to be pre-Alfred the Cat? So Damian doesn’t have a cat at all, and Tim gets him one after bc “he knows Damian will take good care of it” and “he always wanted a cat growing up so maybe he could visit it sometimes…”. Cat could maybe be an apology for Tim letting the ruse go on, though I am thinking he DID try to signal early on, they just missed it? But anyway.

[ send me an au and i’ll tell you (at least) 5 things i would have happen in it ]

#no links for now bc i’m on mobile #thank u for this <3333 #damitim #timdami #tauriawritesfanfic #sort of #deepwithintheabyss #asks and answers #dcu

77 notes · View notes

bsdawgz · 10 months ago

Text

「 ✦ Cruel ✦ 」 Bungo Stray Dogs, Port Mafia: Dazai Osamu

a/n: follow-up from this fic, i hope i did ok! i really like writing pm dazai... also i wanna thank everyone who has followed me/liked/reblogged my posts. i really didn't expect to get any attention at all, so it means so much to me T_T and i will def get to writing ab the other characters soon~

genre: angst. so much of it. and the nasty.

content warning: f!reader. unrequited(-ish) feelings (but not rly). toxic ass relationship (like, RLY unhealthy), dependent relationship... i hope you don't find MC deplorable because personally i find her real af

MDNI! rough sex, choking, fingering, degradation both from dazai and self (bitch, slut), humiliation, trauma, bj (facefucking). dazai is rly rough with main character and not very communicative beforehand, but he checks up on character during. sex is consensual, but main character continues to force herself to do things she doesn't want to for the sake of wanting to please dazai (there is no pressure or coercion involved on dazai's part, to clear that up). if there's anything else you think i should add, please let me know.

summary: after failing to stop sleeping with the port mafia executive, dazai osamu, despite your unrequited feelings, you've come to terms with the fact that you can't bring yourself to leave him behind. but dazai's determined to show you there's nothing in him worth fighting for.

this place is all too familiar to you.

you’re bent over dazai’s desk and he’s towering over you from behind, pressed up against your body. there’s a haughty grin on his lips as he’s rucking up your skirt, grabbing your ass roughly and making you wonder when you began wearing short skirts all the time, if you’ve started doing it for the sake of easy access. after all, how many times in the past year that you’ve known this man has dazai actually taken the time to properly get you out of your clothes before fucking you, let alone gotten completely undressed for you himself? you could probably count it on one hand.

the thought makes you feel somewhat ashamed, knowing that you’re having routine sex with someone who won’t often do something as simple as strip naked for you. somehow the simple act of undressing feels all the more intimate, which makes you feel all the more distant from dazai, making him feel that much more removed in these fleeting moments you share. but of course, you don’t dare to mention it to him – not now, not ever. just let dazai’s hands roam where they wish, because more than anything, you want to please him. more than anything, you just want him to want you – whatever that might mean.

the last time you saw dazai, you had resolved to leave him for good, determining that your relationship was going nowhere. you were well-aware that dazai was only using you for sex, and that you were in the throes of an unrequited love with one of the most dangerous men in yokohama. but staving yourself off of a man like dazai, who could bring you in and out of heaven, was like trying to quit an addiction. you’ve never found yourself more attached to anyone in your life. it wasn’t long until you found yourself sleeping in his bed again. it was futile trying to fight it now.

“i said to look me in the eyes.” vicious words interrupt your thoughts, followed by an exasperated mutter of, “stupid bitch,” as you feel a few light slaps on your cheek. hands that once traveled up your skin so gently, caressing you and handling you like a fragile object, are now grabbing your neck and squeezing its sides, forcing you to meet his arrogant gaze. this is a different dazai than the one you know, a more cruel, more callous one. “ah, there’s my good girl,” he whispers coldly with a smirk, your jaw caught in his slender fingers as you now properly meet his gaze. “now, open your mouth for me… good. see how much prettier you are when you shut up and stop asking so many questions?”

he slips his thumb into your mouth, wetting it with your tongue before swiping your own saliva across your puckered lips. “good… suck my fingers like the slut you are,” dazai murmurs erotically into your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck as he dips his fingers in and out of your mouth. “this is what you want, right? what you keep coming back for.”

his words are mean tonight, like he’s punishing you for trying to get too close to him. vengeful, almost. although it’s quite typical of him to get impatient and even indifferent, dazai’s not the type to bring this kind of demeanor into the bedroom… at least, he’s never shown this side of himself before. but tonight he is more than determined to bare it all to you, to show you what he is really made of – and teach you to stay away from him, for good.

as he looks into your big, trusting eyes, which have never gazed at him with malice, he bitterly reflects on his decision. the vastness of those eyes of yours have never held anything but pure intentions and righteousness. they represent everything that he is not… and they hold the same values that got odasaku killed. you are a mere civilian who threw herself into the port mafia’s radar by sleeping with one of its infamous executives. at this point, your name has snaked its way into the mouth of dazai’s underlings; his enemies have readied themselves at your door. dazai was selfish to think he can keep you all to himself, his precious little treasure.

this was bound to happen, anyway. better that it ends now.

before you fool yourself into thinking a man like him can amount to anything more than a killer.

before your hands get soiled with blood.

before you’re shot dead…

… and before he’s convinced himself that he has a right to any of this. a right to see you, a right to hold you, a right to one day love you.

that’s why tonight, he’ll push you to your limits until you cry out in pain and pleasure; and when you’ve had enough of him and tell him to stop, he’ll leave wordlessly and never return, so you’re left only with the memory of his callousness and utter disregard for you.

gazing into the expectant eyes that are staring into his, dazai hikes his hands up your shirt to palm your breasts only to be surprised to feel nothing but bare skin. “no bra? you really are a slut, huh?” he shakes his head with a dry laugh as he tugs your shirt over your head, discarding the article of clothing on the floor. “always so desperate to be fucked.” nipples hardening at the brush of his hand, you bite back a sinful moan as he teases you with fleeting touches that send pulses to your core. the sight of you so vulnerable in his arms makes him hard; you feel his erection pressing into your back as he plays with your nipples. before you know it, those beautiful fingers of his are reaching for where you want him most – between your thighs, pushing aside your panties and sliding between your slickness.

he gasps mockingly as if he’s surprised you’re wet for him, an arrogant smirk forming on his lips. his hands know you well, his fingers finding the spot that makes you feel the best and rubbing in agonizingly slow circles. you can’t help but let his name roll off your tongue and let him know who you belong to, a quiet prayer on your tongue. succumbing to his touch so easily feels almost like a sin, but if it’s dazai, you’d do it in a heartbeat every time. even if it meant going to hell for it.

intoxicated by his cologne and blinded by his touch, when you feel his lips traversing your neck, you’re thinking to yourself like a fool: yes, this is how it should be. dazai’s awfully gentle now. this is how it should always be. you’re starved for him, begging for him to want you.

begging for him to love you.

but this man will never love you.

because this man is the devil.

“get on your knees, pretty girl.” there are those sweet words of his – ‘pretty girl.’ that term of endearment that he’s whispered affectionately against against your neck when his arms are wrapped around your waist at night, when it’s too dark to head home and you find yourself tangled under the sheets until daytime – those words that have confused you, that have left your brain a muddled mess, that offered you a glimpse into the gentleness that could be. tonight, there’s not a trace of kindness in his unyielding voice – nothing to confuse for kindness. his hands are rough, reckless. tossing you over, he faces you with a look that’s condescending and rotten. “get on your knees, and remind me why i keep you around in the first place.”

you’ll take it.

you’ll take it all –

– even if he’s hitting the back of your throat and gripping your hair so tightly that you can barely breathe, that tears are welling in your eyes, that you’re choking on him. you can hardly keep up with his pace, hands clawing at the floor in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. you’re a distraught mess, lips swollen from his shoving himself into you, saliva dribbling down your chin, an undignified whore. but you’ll take it. you’ll take it all, if that’s what it takes to keep him even for a moment more. you’ll squash the feeling that this is so, so wrong, the awareness that he’s fucking you like an object, the knowledge that you’re nothing but a piece of meat to him.

if that’s what it takes to keep him, even if just for a little longer –

– you’ll take it all.

but when he sees those tear-stained eyes of yours, he just can’t bring himself to do it anymore. he pulls out of your mouth completely, leaving you coughing uncontrollably and desperately gasping for breath. a wave of guilt washes over him, knowing that he put you in this condition in the first place. “come here,” he says harshly, trying to keep up his façade as his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your hips. he tosses you onto the bed, the spring mattress squeaking under your weight, then you feel his body against yours from behind as he covers your eyes with one large hand until you see nothing but black. “don’t tell me you still like this?” he asks in a serious tone. he’s so close to you that you can hear his soft pants against your neck, feel the heat radiating from his skin; he must still be worn out from before.

but you say nothing, nothing at all, your lips sealed in a tight line.

he scoffs at your silence, his grip on your body loosening. “use your words. aren’t you going to tell me to stop?”

you turn to look at him, and your gaze finally meets his once more. your eyes are clouded with tears, your cheeks flushed, your lips trembling. but your eyes are unwavering. that grotesque look that he just can’t stand – those big eyes, still full of devotion, unconditional resolve. eyes that are full of nothing but righteousness. he’s the source of your pain, and yet you look at him with nothing but kindness. you look at him as though he can offer you some sort of salvation —

but this man can’t even save you from himself.

“i’m… i’m not.” your voice is meek, a sob escaping you.

you find your body shaking frantically, suddenly hyper-aware of your nakedness and the fact that dazai’s practically completely clothed.

he takes a seat next to you on the bed and wraps a blanket around you, deep brown irises staring into your eyes dubiously, as though he can’t believe a word that you’re saying. then, reaching out to cradle your face gently in his hand, he strokes your cheek with his thumb. his tender caress makes you sick to your stomach and you feel bile rising in your throat – you wish he would go back to fucking you senselessly and calling you names, if only just to make this cruel fantasy go away.

“don’t touch me like that anymore!” you suddenly blurt out of spite, shoving dazai away angrily. “don’t you know how confusing you’re being right now?” you cover your face in your hands like a child just to keep him from seeing you break down, as if you could possibly hide your stifled cries and the tears streaming down your stained cheeks.

“i see,” he says in a quiet voice, hesitating as he retracts his hand. there’s a grimace on his face as he withholds his words, resisting the urge to say something, anything, to ease the pain. but he knows there’s nothing he could say to take back all that’s been done. a tension hangs in the air, disrupted only by the sound of your shaky breath as you heave into the palms of your hands, pressed firmly over your mouth to silence your heartbroken cries. bending over in pain, there’s an empty pit in your chest as you crawl into his lap like a kicked-down dog. dazai makes no movement to get up, just lets you fall against him and hums softly to comfort you, stroking the tendrils of your hair like a wandering ghost.

when your tears finally subside, leaving nothing but your shattered memories, you glance up at him only to find he’s been gazing at you the whole time. on his face, there was a pained expression. something like regret for the past, or maybe even the future.

he looked as though he had been crying, too.

(c) BSDAWGZ Don't steal or plaigarize cos that's mean... and if you enjoyed the fic, please share! Remember, likes don't share my work, reblogs do! ^^~ Beautiful dividers by @ v6que~!

#BSDAWGZ #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs smut #dazai smut #dazai osamu smut #dazai osamu fic #bsd angst #bungo stray dogs angst #dazai angst #dazai x reader #dazai x reader smut

388 notes · View notes