#if you’re wondering the specific choices i made for them were:

[getthembees]

i have a sims game with the batfamily and the funniest thing that’s happened so far is all the other kids had a flop valentines (dick made funny cards that no one found funny, jason went to a valentine’s day party alone and spilled punch on his shirt, tim made paper flowers but they got crushed in his bag, damian doesn’t exist yet) EXCEPT for Cass. whose superior strategy of Going Up To Her Crush (probably steph) and Handing Her a Valentines Straight Up actually worked. all the other kids came home mad asf except for her. she never loses. not even at valentine’s day

[kitimeq]

✿‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ say yes to heaven 🤍 sylus 秦 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ✿

pairing ✿‧₊˚: lads sylus x reader

summary ✿‧₊˚: 3+1: three times Sylus suppresses his desire to have you, and one time his control finally snaps. sprinkled with relationship fluff, size difference, love confessions and whole lot of overthinking from our fav crow boy.

word count ✿‧₊˚: 13.6k (a whole ass freaking novella, grab a snack.)

tropes ✿‧₊˚: 18+, 3+1, smut, but packed with feelings, fluff, est. relationship, body worship, plot with porn??, love confessions, sylus is obsessed, and so in love, first times implied, p in v, size difference, (by size difference i mean sylus is freaking huge, like a mountain of a man, so big it actually makes him nervous bc u so small, every single one of us would be a small dot next to him that’s my personal headcanon, have you seen his ib memory? yeah, yeah u have this man HUGE), anyways what is protection they don’t use it don’t be like them, needy sylus, pet names, everything is consensual, awooo.

author’s note ✿‧₊˚: hello! i was cooking this one for so much time, i hope it’s not too boring! I’m not a native speaker so i apologize in advance for all mistakes or repetitions. I was also trying to write inclusive y/n and i hope i succeeded. I also did not imagine y/n to have a specific body type — i truly believe that no matter your size, next to sylus you would look like a crumb. as small as a pebble. believe me, i’ve studied the sacred texts (night of secrecy, grassland romance, innocent birdcage do i really have to keep on listing the memories where he enormous u get the gist). so!! i hope you’ll enjoy it ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

!!do NOT read if you’re not 18+!!

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡ ݁

Sylus usually considered himself to be a patient man.

He occasionally did act on his desires—he could admit that much—but when it came to the things he truly cared about, the things he treasured, he didn’t mind the wait. He knew that the best things in life came at a price, and if the currency was time, in this case he was willing to pay in full. He knew it was worth it. That you were worth it.

You, who accepted him as he was, with all his flaws and imperfections, making his life better every day you were together. You, who were so brave, gentle, and kind that you made him want to become a better man too—just so that one day, he could say he truly deserved you. You, who he had completely fallen for, unable to imagine a world in which he wouldn’t make the same choice of courting you all over again.

That’s why he wanted nothing more than to treasure and respect you in every aspect of life—including intimacy and his own desires. And to be perfectly candid, he had plenty of those from the very moment he laid eyes on you. But he wanted to act like a gentleman, never rushing you into anything. He was patient, waiting for you to make the first move. He wanted to be sure you trusted him, that you weren’t afraid of him—or of the things he wanted to do to you if he ever got the chance.

And even after several months of officially dating you, he still stuck to his resolve, despite the unhealthy hunger growing inside him. He was adamant that you make the first move, even though the waiting was slowly killing him from the inside—his desires burning through his skin, desperate to see the light of your glossy eyes, to feel you squirming beneath him, and to hear your soft moans and whimpers, letting him know that you wanted him too.

He wanted you passionately. He didn’t desire anyone or anything else in his life. He had never thought of anyone else in such terms, which made the wait much more bearable, fun even. The occasional tension in the air only made things between you even more intriguing. Sylus wondered when the moment would come for you to finally let him explore you, taste you, just as he had wanted since the first time he held you in his arms.

He was a patient man. An inquisitive one, but patient nonetheless.

But it was just getting too much for him to handle lately.

He wondered if you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to make him go feral with want, push him into some action? Maybe you were just too shy to ask for something more, and decided to coax him to take you right then and there? Was it an act? A part of your meticulous, sneaky plan?

He felt his sanity slowly dissipating.

“Sylus? Please, hurry up and help me, we have to go!” You turned your head to look at him, your lips puckered in an adorable pout, and your feet anxiously shifting from one to the other, the sound of your beautiful black heels clicking against the floor of your apartment. The red soles didn’t go unnoticed by him.

And what didn’t go unnoticed as well was how breathtakingly gorgeous you looked, dressed in your tight black gown that accentuated the figure he was obsessed with.

However, he was a strong man. He could look at you in a dress and not get an instant boner; he wasn’t some mere beast. But when you asked for his help, he realized that life hadn’t prepared him for everything you had up your sleeve.

Because right now, you stood before him, your back turned toward him, holding your hair in your hands and exposing a zipper that you wanted him to take care of. A zipper that ran from your neck down, down, down to your red lace panties, which peeked out from beneath the unzipped black material.

He turned his head upward at the sight, his hand reaching for the bridge of his nose, a silent prayer escaping his lips. If God existed, He was not merciful this time.

He could also clearly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, the soft skin of your back exposed, slightly hidden under the material of the dress. Hadn’t he suffered enough?

He wanted to bark. Badly.

Oh fuck, was he really going to bark?

He hoped not.

“Sy?” The nickname almost made his legs buckle. He needed a moment to calm himself after just one look at you, and it seemed to take him much longer than what would be considered natural. The impatience in your voice betrayed your desire not to be late for the opera performance, which he had promised to take you to today. He gulped audibly and realized that you had no idea what you were doing to him—and that scared him.

If you were this dangerous unintentionally, how will he survive when you’ll finally, consciously decide to take things further?

“Yes. Yes, of course, sweetie.” He managed to choke out and stepped closer to you, your delectable scent overwhelming his senses. He tried to hide the slight tremble in his hands as he reached for the zipper at the bottom of your dress. When he zipped you up, he took his sweet time caressing your body with his knuckles, basking in the soft feeling of your skin and the dangerous touch of the lace of your panties. He hoped you couldn’t hear his heartbeat—or see the pink in his cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had blushed, but now he was sure of it, judging by the warmth on his face.

He was hopeless. Utterly ruined.

“There you go.” He said quietly, caressing your beautiful hair with his fingers, smoothing the creases which appeared after your hold. He brushed it from your neck and planted a slow kiss there, his movements far too composed for someone who was boiling with desire inside.

“Thank you. I couldn’t reach it at all and we’re already short on time.” You put your hand on his head, patting it gently and sighing when he touched your waist. He couldn’t help but squeeze you there, feeling the warmth of your skin through the soft material of your dress. You understood this gesture as teasing and giggled adorably.

“You look magnificent, my dove.” The compliment slipped through his lips, earning him your sweet smile and a kiss on a cheek. He watched as you passed him to grab your purse, going straight to the front door, leaving him behind. Trusting he’ll follow your step, as he always did.

Sylus closed his eyes and touched the very spot on his cheek where your lips had grazed, releasing a sigh that could be interpreted as both contentment and a silent prayer for endurance.

“You coming, Sy?” He could hear you calling for him, and he opened his eyes. His left one shone brightly at him from his reflection on the window. His Evol proved useless when his body already made it abundantly clear what—or whom—he desired the most.

“I fucking wish.” He whispered under his breath, turned around, and walked up to you, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder as he reveled in the weight of your body pressing against him. His ears were graced by your little squeal, that quickly transformed into uncontrollable laughter, a sound he wanted to record and play every time you were away.

You slapped his back playfully and joked about wanting to use your legs once in a while, and he laughed, saying that he just wanted to make sure that he had all he needed with him. Then, he grabbed his coat with his Evol, and used it to slam the door after you both went out. He hoped that the lust he felt, which started to get out of his control, managed to stay behind them.

He waited for so long; how hard could it be to wait for another couple of months?

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

Hard.

Tremendously hard, both theoretically and physically, given the reaction of his body upon the contact.

He shifted slightly so that you wouldn’t feel his growing bulge against your core, his hands hovered over your thighs, his cheeks flaming hot. He was about to fucking pass out.

But you were none the wiser, sitting on his body, strangling him with your soft, mouth-watering thighs, practically rubbing yourself against him, and performing your little dance of victory after pushing him to the ground during your sparring.

Normally, he would have laughed with you and treasured your moment of happiness, his senses overwhelmed by pride as he watched you get better and better at self-defense with every practice.

But that was just cruel.

Not only did you show up in that little piece of fabric covering your breasts, something you dared to call a sports bra, its thin straps reminiscent of a fish net, offering NO support whatsoever for your charms, but you also dared to wear that pair of leggings you claimed you had bought with your friend during your last trip to the mall.

And they were leaving nothing for his imagination, your every curve hugged tightly, every dip deliciously emphasized. And fuck, you looked gorgeous in wine red. You knew you did.

“I got it in your color! Do you like it?” You asked upon entering his gym, twirling for him like the most adorable fucking thing he had ever had the pleasure of seeing, your arms up and your hair still untied. He did saw red, and it wasn’t just the color of your clothing.

His color. His girl in his color, he was going absolutely feral.

“I do.” He choked out, and tried to avert his eyes from your posture but lost that battle quickly. “You look stunning. My little gem.” He answered and you dared to look at him sheepishly, your face showing the signs of getting flustered.

“I’m not just a gem anymore. I’m a professional fighter.” You playfully punched his shoulder, jumping around and mimicking boxing moves, making him laugh out loud as he grabbed your fists in his hands. He pulled you closer to him and kissed your forehead, his arms wrapping around your frame.

“Is that an apology in advance?” You asked him when his lips left your skin. He smirked, his brow raising.

“Might be. Today we’ll be practicing attacks and knocking down your opponent.”

“Me? Knocking you down?” You looked at him with disbelief, your hands dropping to your sides, already defeated. “I’m doomed. Sylus, can’t I knock down Luke or Kieran instead?” Your cute pout and hands clasped in a begging gesture made him laugh again, as he fixed the bandages on your hands.

“And you think they would be easier to conquer?”

“Yes. Obviously, yes.”

“But they wouldn’t make sure you’re not going to hurt yourself, kitten, and I already know your patterns…” He leaned over you, his hot breath caressing your ear, making you shiver. His hands avoided touching your body. “And weak spots…” A whisper and a gentle bite on your earlobe were enough to send your adrenaline soaring.

“You—!” You jumped from him, like a little kitten, your face flustered and gaze filled with playful threat. “You’re going down mister. You’re SO going dooown.”

And down he went.

Right under your soft body, squashed between your warm tights, looking up at your beautiful lips twisted in an adorable, cunning smirk.

Oh, the way he loved you. The way he wanted to have you. The intensity of that feeling started to suffocate him.

“Okay, you got me, sweetie.” He choked out and tried his best to sound as nonchalant as possible. But nothing about this situation was nonchalant—your soft tights squeezing his waist and your butt pressing on his weak spot almost made him see stars. He grabbed your waist to try to stop your body from moving and gritted his teeth, fighting with himself to not buckle his hips up. “Now, up. I admit defeat.”

Defeat that had to do with the improvement of your skills and the force of your little fists, yes, but also with the way Sylus was distracted by your body, his eyes wandering everywhere during the battle, but not the places he should actually pay attention to.

Apparently, he was a weak, weak man, when the situation concerned you. Weak and impossibly horny.

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I want to.” You answered, a mischievous glint adored your gaze. He drank that expression in.

Beautiful. You were absolutely beautiful, sitting on him, your body sparkling with sweat, face red from the exhaustion. How could he keep his mind from going places? “I think I like you like this.” His eyebrows went up, and cheeks felt a little bit too warm for his liking.

What were you trying to say?

“Yes? Like what, kitten?” His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. He knew that you could feel it, one of your hands rested on top of it, stroking his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin through his shirt. He shivered, his body covered in goosebumps, finding the gentle touch too intense, somehow.

“Towering over you.” His breath hitched; his heart almost stopped its beating. “It’s much easier to look at your face when I’m like this. It’s nice.” His heart squeezed instead, your confession turning out to be more touching than teasing, and he cursed himself internally for belittling your interactions and intimacy lately. His mind immediately assumed sexual undertones, where everything you were doing with him, at your own, unique pace should be more than enough for him.

“You like looking at me that much, huh?” He answered, his hand going up to caress your cheek with the back of his fingers. He smiled with content, and he put his hand at the nape of your neck, hoping you’ll understand the implications.

You did. Not a second later you lowered your body so that you were lying on top of him, one of his hands holding you to himself by your waist, pressing you even closer together. He acknowledged how much he loved your full weight on his body, your hearts pressed so close to each other they started beating as one.

You put your hands on his cheeks, smiled down at him, and pressed a small kiss to one of his eyelids, and then to the tip of his nose. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling.

“Of course. You’re my beautiful boy, Sylus.” You whispered to him, a smile adoring your face and he couldn’t help himself. He pulled you close by your neck and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, almost whimpering into your mouth from the intensity of his feelings.

You reciprocated the kiss, not hesitating even for a second, and soon, both of your lips were swollen and glistening, your minds filled with sparkles and cotton.

You were the one to break the kiss, your mind going dizzy, body trembling from the arousal. He could feel it without using his Evol—the desire that raised within you, the fire that now flowed through your veins. His eyes sparkled with anticipation.

One moment and you’ll go pliant against him, melting into his embrace.

One second, and he’ll finally taste heaven, be as close to you as anyone ever has been.

“Y/N, will it be alright if I—” He started speaking, your eyes looking at him from above as you held onto his cheek and neck, caressing his skin with your thumbs, making him feel oh, so cherished. Yet, he didn’t manage to finish the request because a sudden crash from the door opening pierced through the silent room, popping your comfortable bubble in an instant.

You jumped out of his embrace, leaving him cold and yearning, his hands sliding over his face in frustration.

“Boss—”

“Luke, Kieran it better be fucking important.” Sylus hissed through his teeth, and the fact that he didn’t even try to hide his frustration made you huff out a laugh and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. You didn’t want to laugh at him so openly, hiding how adorable his anger towards boys seemed to you at that moment.

His eyes caught yours, lured by the bubbly sound, and one of the corners of his mouth went up slightly. He raised his hand to your covered mouth and brought your hand down with his fingers, revealing your smile.

“It is, Boss! The Girm Company chairman called and demanded a meeting in thirty minutes.” Luke said quickly, Kieran peeking out from behind his shoulder. “And he didn’t want to take “no” for an answer.” Kieran added, his body now revealed.

You were not sure if Sylus was even listening, his eyes glued to your face, his fingers tracing the line of your smile absentmindedly. He still didn’t raise from the floor of the ring, his posture relaxed, one arm now resting behind his head.

“That bastard.” He answered under his breath, and closed his eyes in annoyance for a second and when he opened them, they were once again glued to you. “If you don’t want me to leave, just say a word.” He said, and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. The back of his hand started a slow caress of your cheek, and you felt embarrassed, knowing that the boys were still looking at you both, waiting for Sylus’s answer.

“It’s okay, Sy. I actually have some errands to run in Linkon so I better get going.” You answered, grabbing his hand and pressing a kiss to his fingers. His breath hitched, eyes following the movement with a longing deep in his chest. “Besides, I’m tired of beating your ass today. Save some dignity for the next time.” You added with a mischievous look, poking his hard chest with your finger teasingly.

The laugh that came out of his chest was sudden—loud, deep, and so sincere that it warmed your chest, your lips spreading in a proud smile. He grabbed your hand off of his chest and brought it to his lips, kissing your fingertips. The mirth in his eyes clearly visible, the affection bare and tangible.

“You are so generous, sweetie. Letting your pray off the hook so easily.” He couldn’t stop smiling even when he was raising to his feet, his hand going to massage his left shoulder. He looked at you and offered you his hand, which you immediately accepted. He helped you stand, his eyes tracing your every move, still unable to look away.

Your body entranced him, your presence lit a fire in his veins. The point where your hands touched warm and almost overwhelming. His desire for more once again proven unquenchable.

“Boys, let him know I’ll be there. It seems that I need to remind him who actually is in the position to make demands.” His voice was now authoritative, followed by the boys’ exclamations of “Will do, boss,” along with two salutes send his way.

And they were gone just as quickly as they had appeared.

“Don’t be too harsh on the chairman. I don’t want to get in the way of your business.” He saw you turn to him with a worried expression on your face, and he leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering on the spot for much longer than necessary.

“Hmm, I’m afraid that’s impossible.” He took your hand in his and placed a kiss on your knuckles, looking deep into your eyes. The sadness of you parting ways already blooming inside him. “They cut our time together short, so I’m planning on making them pay for that offense generously.” He smirked and watched you shake your head with disbelief, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I already miss you.” He heard you saying and you surprised him by throwing your arms around his neck, then kissing him almost senseless.

He closed his eyes and returned the kiss, which was starting to border on filthy. His hands grabbed your frame, pressing you closer to him, as his body bent toward you.

When you parted, your breaths were hot and heavy, a string of saliva still keeping your mouths connected. He stared at the filthy sight, his heart pounding in his chest, his boxers starting to become a rather tight fit. You placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away gently, your fingers trailing downward until they grazed his abdomen. He gulped audibly and remained still, watching you walk further and further away. He didn’t trust himself to move even an inch, afraid he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself anymore.

“Bye, Sylus. I’ll let you know when I get home safely.” You told him, walking away backwards now, your eyes not leaving his. “And we’ll continue what we started next time, okay, Boss?” The last part a whisper from your sweet lips, almost making him drop to his knees right then and there. You waved at him, shyness visible on your cheeks, and then you left him in the middle of the ring, stunned and filled with excruciating desire to finally have you.

Next time.

He groaned, his hands covering his blushing face, his mind already imagining the things he’ll do to you, only if you let him. God, he hoped that you’ll let him.

He did arrive late to the meeting that day, having to compose himself for much longer than you would have expected. He also made sure the chairman regretted keeping him away from you—your softness, your scent, an addictive drug he never wanted to be deprived of. The audacity to take that from him deserved nothing less than the highest of punishments.

He couldn’t help it; he already missed you.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

Sylus could write poems about his beloved, listing all her remarkable qualities and quirks; however, not once would he describe her as elegant and composed.

You usually were a tornado of various emotions, a temple of the things you cherished, your expressions lively and loud, honest and unrestrained.

You were also a bit clumsy—an occasional stumble, a bump to your limb now and then, or a broken glass wasn’t anything that Sylus hadn’t see you do before. He often worried about you and your safety, with new bruises appearing on your body from bumping into things or a piece of glass piercing through your delicate skin. Sometimes, he wished he could protect you from yourself too, but all he could do was press a kiss to every small injury you sustained from your hectic movements.

All bumps aside, he utterly adored that quality of yours. Every time he caught you acting awkwardly his chest seemed to shrink on itself, his heart squeezing, cute aggression overcoming his senses. You were just so adorable in those moments, the sight always reminding him of a little fawn, beautiful but uneasy on its feet. His craving to grab you and hold you in his arms, protecting you from the whole world, was strong; the urge to press a kiss to your forehead, then to kiss you senseless, even stronger. You were his little chaos: wonderful in your unexpectedness, extraordinary in every sense of the word.

Needless to say, he was used to your adorable clumsiness. He loved it.

That was probably why his brain stopped working when you proved to be everything but clumsy while playing the games at the local funfair. Your moves sure and precise, your gaze locked onto the targets, your body positioned exactly how it should be in order to gain the reward you wanted—whether it was a new plushie, a funky gadget or even some snacks.

And he had to say that this new, confident, borderline cocky behavior you were displaying was making him feel some things.

“Wait, let me try this time.” You said the first time he couldn’t score the prize, the claw mocking him relentlessly, wounding his pride.

You got that plushie in one, excellent attempt.

“Let me get that for you, Sy.” You proposed later, seeing him eyeing a figurine of a crow that reminded him of Mephisto. You were able to get not only that, but also a coupon for a food stall that served the best waffles you’ve ever eaten. As for Sylus, the sweetness of the treat paled in comparison to your blinding smile, with whipped cream still staining the corner of your mouth. He swiped it away with his thumb, then licked the digit, sending you a wink in the process.

He took pride in your blush, especially when making each other red that day started to feel like a competition between you two, whether you were aware of it or not.

“You want this one? Say no more, handsome.” Your words almost making him choke, your hands already grabbing the controls, your body bending over the machine, offering him a wonderful view of your ass. The tips of his ears immediately started to feel as if caught on fire. Even though he knew that you were teasing him, the pet name sounding foreign from your lips, he liked the feeling of you taking the initiative.

He also couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering, your body presented to him in a way that felt illegal to watch. He swiped his gaze up from the nape of your neck to your shoulders, taking note of your delicious-looking waist, perky butt, and thighs, which seemed lonely without his hands squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.

The cheerful sound of the machine made him snap back into reality, just as you were looking over your shoulder, sending him the sexiest, oh so sexy, proud smirk he ever saw in his life. He smirked right back, even though his legs felt disturbingly like jelly.

“I’m starting to think you enjoy this.” He remarked, grabbing the prize from your hands once again, the rest of your treasures already sitting comfortably in the back of his car. You send him a mischievous smile and fixed your hair, your fingers threading through the strands, the smell of your perfume reaching him once again during that night.

He wanted to devour you.

“And what’s wrong with that?” One of your hands grabbed his bicep, holding on to him as you started your lazy stroll in search of yet another entertainment. “You always get me things. And since I know now that you suck at these games, I have a perfect opportunity to return the favor.” He laughed at that, his hand moving to flick your forehead.

“I don’t suck at these games, all of them are tempered with, sweetie. I actually find it astonishing that you are so good at them.” His reply kind of soothing his wounded pride, his mind once again remembering your movements from before. The way you moved with confidence and grace, the little smirks and winks you send his way. His blood started to boil several stalls ago, and it hasn’t calmed since. “Makes one wonder about the extent of your abilities.”

The new, cocky, and self-confident side of you aroused him almost to the point of him grabbing you by the waist and taking you to his car, taking advantage of his tined widows.

“It all comes down to having a good strategy, as someone once taught me.” You said, repeating the words Sylus is always saying to you during your training, a mirth lacing your tone. How he adored you.

“Wise counseling you have here, kitten. You must have a fantastic teacher, if his lessons are proving to be useful anywhere you go.” The smile not leaving your face making him never want to look away.

“Oh, yes, he is. And an eye-candy too.” You touched his nose with the tip of your finger teasingly while he laughed. He stopped walking and turned to you fully, his arms closing around your waist, bringing you to him, close enough for your bodies to touch. The height difference always made him dizzy, with your head fully tilted upward in order to catch his gaze.

“Mm. Maybe that’s a quality he learned from you.” His tone quiet, one of his hands going to touch your cheek, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip. You appeared stunned. “I cannot think of someone sweeter than you. If he’s a candy, you’re one delectable dessert.” He whispered, his eyes going from your eyes to your lips, their reddish tone reminding him of a little cherry. He was fighting with himself not to put his hands on your ass, and squeeze the flesh that you kept pushing his way from the very beginning of your date, or not to place a kiss on your smart little mouth, which kept sending him these playful smirks all day long. He knew that if he started here, he would not be able to stop. No one would be capable of separating him from you, public place be damned.

His desire boiling inside him, threatening to melt his vessels and pour from his body, enveloping you in a tight, pleasurable embrace. He felt feverish, your body pressed to his giving him all the warmth he ever needed, molding his thoughts to fit only your frame.

You were perfect in his eyes. Your body, the perfect shape for him to hold, your face the only one he wanted to remember. And the way he felt when he was with you—so immensely happy, so carefree, so right—was a feeling he had never even dreamed about having. Your banter, little jokes and witty comments made him so at ease he never wanted to stop talking to you, afraid of depriving himself of even a second of the comfort you brought him: the knowledge that he could speak his mind freely, for you understood him beyond the limitations of language. By your side, he could be himself, the thoughts in his head quiet, giving way to expressing himself in any way he wanted. His little taste of heaven: the time you spent together.

He loved you. So intensely it used to scare him, but now he was offering himself willingly, no longer afraid of rejection. Even though you both still didn’t acknowledge it out loud, the feeling lingered in the air between you — a delectable sweetness, a comforting fragrance.

He wanted you. Body and soul. Soul and body. He liked to think he already had your soul in grasp, your actions and openness served as a perfect proof of that, yet your body was still his to claim. And the fact that there was still a part of you he didn’t manage to possess, to thoroughly acknowledge, frustrated him inconceivably.

Especially because you had that strong of an effect on him. Everything you did capable of driving him perfectly insane. Oh, how you had him wrapped around your little finger, without being aware how completely obsessed he was with you.

“Is that so?” His gaze went from your hypnotizing eyes back to your lips, drinking in every single whisper. You stood on your tiptoes, the sight making his hands squeeze your waist tighter, his breath quickening, mind trying to process closer distance. “If he keeps sweet-talking me like this, then I guess he will finally get to taste it.” You grabbed his chin and tilted it down, pressing a soft, drawn-out kiss to his lips. His eyes closed immediately, desperate to heighten his senses. He wanted this kiss to last, both in the moment and later in his memory.

And just as he was about to wrap his arms around your back, pulling you closer, hiding your body from everyone else just to steal a few more kisses, you stepped back, the quiet sound of a smooch echoing between you. He bit his lip, almost drawing blood, restraining himself from chasing after your lips.

“C’mon now. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve that I need to show you.” You gripped his hand tighter and started to walk toward one of the booths. You sent him a smile over your shoulder, making his efforts to calm his racing heart futile. “And then maybe we can grab some cotton candy? All this talk about sweets made me crave some.”

“Anything for you, sweetie.” He answered absentmindedly, your taste still lingering on his lips. How were you always able to move on from the kisses so quickly? It would be the only thing he could think about in the next minutes.

“And what do you want?”

“Hmm?” The question shocked him, his eyebrows going up, his eyes intently observing your face.

“Do you have something you’d like to do while we’re here? I keep dragging you stall to stall ever since we came here.” You said while turning to fully face him, grabbing both of his hands. “I want you to have fun too.”

“I always have fun when I’m with you.” His response honest, his thumb caressing your knuckles. “You make life so interesting. And today you already managed to surprise me, so I would say that was more than enough entertainment for me in a day.” You rolled your eyes at him, a small smile on your lips, and looked at him with patience.

“But the day’s not over yet. Isn’t there anything you’d like to do? Look around.”

He lifted his head from your frame and began taking in the booths and various food stalls that had previously escaped his attention. He hummed, and he could feel you shifting on your feet, unable to contain your excitement.

That’s when he caught something interesting out of the corner of his eye—a couple emerging from a small booth, huge smiles plastered on their faces as they held small pieces of paper. A spark of excitement ignited inside him upon realizing what it was.

“There. I want to have a memento.” He said, his finger pointing to that innocent-looking booth. Almost impossible to spot in the abundance of lights and sounds coming from other attractions.

“Okay! I think I already won you a mountain of mementos but if—Ah!” Your eyes lit up when you realized what he was pointing to, your lips spreading in a cheerful smile. “A photo booth! Sylus, that’s wonderful!”

It wasn’t long before you were both inside the booth, the space cramped, almost too small for him to fit. He sat on the small stool, taking up nearly all the space, leaving you no choice but to sit on one of his legs. Your arms wrapped around his neck for stability, yet there wasn’t a hint of discomfort on your face.

He loved how natural it was for you to be this close to him, the proximity no longer making you nervous. He still remembered how you were at the beginning of your acquaintance, when even an eye contact was enough to make you shy away. Now, touching him was as easy as breathing, your body relaxed and pliant under his wandering hands.

While you were clicking playfully on the screen, setting up the machine, he took his time observing you—mainly how your body looked next to his, which made him short-circuit, reminding him why he was still waiting for you to make the first move in initiating sexual intimacy. The reason he didn’t want to rush things, nervousness buried deep inside his chest.

You were sitting on his leg, your whole body weighting next to nothing, his one limb nearly twice as big as both of yours. Your soft flesh pressed to him didn’t even take up half of the place available on his leg, and when he put one of his hands on your back, the huge patch of your skin he was able to cover made him gulp audibly.

You were so tiny, next to him.

He was a huge man, and he knew that. Not just his height, but his overall build made even other men look small in comparison. While he usually considered it one of his greatest assets, a fantastic tool for intimidation, in this particular case, it planted a seed of worry in him.

It took some time for you not to shy away from his touch, not to flinch every time he leaned to you, his body covering whole line of your vision. And it took him even more time to learn how he should touch you and hold you, not to put too much force behind his caresses, not to make you bruise. And although the gentleness run in his bloodstream by now, he was still worried about the actual sex.

What if he scares you? His body completely covered your delicious curves without issue.

What if he overwhelms you? His stamina and eagerness matched his overall size.

What if he hurts you? The thought of your body unable to accommodate to his size made his blood run cold.

He looked at your body again, and he had to hold in a sigh. He loved your curves, the unbelievable softness of your skin, how warm you were. He felt his hunger increasing every day, every minute, every second he spent in your presence.

Yet he had to wait patiently, not wanting to scare you. He also knew that you were starting to get bolder with him day by day. He liked to think that it was just a matter of time until you will initiate something more, cover him with your soft embrace, let him melt in your warmth.

Because at the end of the day, his observations of your size difference not only filled his mind with fear, but also made his body tingle in all the right places. The arousal he felt knowing that he could manhandle you without any issue, cover your whole body entirely with his, shield you from the world and its coldness—all consuming. The only thing he could think about.

You were tiny in his embrace.

But he could make it work. He will make it work so good.

How could he hurt you when he was so certain that you were made to be his? Two halves of a perfect soul.

His hand slid down to hug your waist and he pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. It made you giggle, you thought that it was his way of showing impatience. And it was, in a way. Just not the kind of impatience you assumed it was.

“All set! I had some fun with the stickers, do you want to choose your own?” He looked at the screen and opened his mouth to deny, but one sticker did actually catch his attention. He clicked on the small dove and placed it in the bottom of the template, next to the various hearts you already decorated it with.

“That’s you. The resemblance is almost striking.” He said making you laugh and you picked a sticker of some kind of a black bird.

“And that’s you. They unfortunately don’t have a crow one so this little fella has to work.” You placed the sticker close to the dove one, satisfied with your work.

“I get the vision. When I’m squinting my eyes, I guess.”

You had four pictures taken, all accompanied by laughter and endless teasing. One where you kissed his cheek, one hand holding his jaw, his eyes closed and features relaxed. One where he pretended to bite your neck, your face caught in laughter. One where he rolled his eyes, reacting to your lame joke of getting rabies from his bite, as you placed your pointed fingers above his head, adoring him with imaginary horns, your mouth open in fake shock. And the last one, where you grabbed his face and kissed him, his gentle smile pressed against your mouth, a picture of joy that couldn’t be restrained.

“I might have gone kind of overboard with the stickers.” You said when you got your two copies of the pictures, four perfect rectangles inside a scarlet border, adorned with hearts, flowers and stars. Two adorable birds were at the very bottom of it, just below the date. Sylus looked at the pictures, and his heart seemed to grow bigger, the wave of emotions making him unable to utter even a simple word. “But I think they’re cute regardless! It’s so nice to finally have a picture of us printed out. I’m definitely going to frame mine.” You said and took out your phone to take a picture of it.

His thumb gently caressed the piece of paper, words still stuck in his throat.

It was the very first picture of you two together, and when he looked at it, he couldn’t help but get emotional, knowing that he never expected to have someone like you in his life. Someone to cherish, to protect, to hold. Someone who reciprocated his feelings, someone who will never leave him, even if doomsday falls upon Linkon, even if the world crumbles.

“Are you okay, Sy? You’ve gone nonverbal again.” He felt your hand on his wrist, offering him a gentle squeeze. He finally looked at you, going out of the trace he was in, and saw your beautiful face laced with concern. He felt your hand going up and down his arm, caressing him in order to bring comfort.

“Did I?” He managed to choke out and hugged you to his chest, craving the closeness, not wanting you to see his slightly glistening eyes. He feared that the darkness of the night would not be enough to cover them, the lights from the fun fair only exaggerating his sudden surge of emotions. “They’re perfect. Thank you.” You hugged his torso tightly, your arms going up and down his back. You knew him well enough to realize he got emotional, but you were smart enough to let him savor his feelings in peace. If he was not comfortable showing you his tears, you had to understand it—the knowledge of how much it meant to him already warming your heart.

“Anything for you, Sylus.” You repeated the same thing he said to you earlier, and he picked you up, still hugging you to himself, his face finding coverage in the crook of your neck.

“Sly little thing.” He whispered and pressed a kiss there, drinking in the sound of your laugh and melting under the touch of your fingers, which stroked his hair affectionately.

Oh, how he couldn’t wait to finally be yours completely.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

Mesmerizing.

You, dancing in his room at two p.m to the new vinyl he bought, your hair down, arms up. Your eyes were closed and there was a small, relaxed smile playing on your lips, that seemed to grow bigger with each sway of your hips. You decided to wear the nightgown he got you some time ago, white lace caressing your body with a gentle flow of the shiny fabric.

He couldn’t breathe. All air sucked out of his lungs the moment he turned around and saw you swaying to the music he picked out. A surge of want so intense came over him that he was afraid to move even an inch—his body on fire, his mind filled with the visions of you, thoughts of you, and what you could be reduced to, enriched with under the touch of his hands.

If only he wasn’t a coward.

“Will you join me?” you said over your shoulder, opening your eyes slightly, and you must’ve seen something unusual in his eyes, because your movements slowed down and a furrow appeared between your brows. He wanted to kiss it off instantly. “Sy?”

You were so precious and delicate, a perfect opposite of his harsh exterior and even more barbaric interior. He waited so long, restrained himself for so much time, waiting for you to move first—now, standing before you, the thought that you wanted him this way too pierced a hole in his heart and filled it with fear.

“Forgive me. I cannot.” he answered, his voice coming out with a slight growl, that he couldn’t contain anymore. He inhaled deeply and gritted his teeth, hoping that he was at least successful in not making his eye glow, his Evol suddenly unstable. He didn’t want to know your desires, not when they were visible so clearly on your face now—openness and anticipation, ever since you went back from your date.

He hoped that shower would be able to calm you down, even though the warm and steady stream of the water didn’t manage to help him this time around.

He was losing his composure and he was losing it fast. Weeks of this insatiable hunger, unrelenting need and dripping tension did that to him. He knew he was fighting a losing battle ever since he laid his eyes on you today, looking so cozy in your oversized sweater, filling the air around him with your intoxicating scent.

He was ready to devour you months ago, the buildup straining his muscles now, making him restless. He was a goner—one wrong move and his previous patience and willingness for you to take the lead reducing to vapor.

“Why? We always dance together to your vinyls, especially the new ones.” Your movements faltered to a stop, your magnificent face turned to him, with an expression so honest it made his heart clench painfully.

He thought of all the times you danced under the moonlight, soft notes of his favorite music floating through the air, your bodies moving to the rhythm, sometimes gracefully, some other times not so much. The feelings overwhelmed him even more drastically, his eyes closing for a moment.

It was enough time for you to close the distance, and soon he felt your cold hand pressing against his cheek, swiping the flesh with your thumb. He squeezed his eyelids shut tighter, the touch making his soul burn. You took his head in both of your hands, lowering it to face you.

“Sylus, talk to me.” you said, tone worried. He could feel you standing on your tiptoes, wanting to bring your face closer to his. His body almost shaking with the need to hold you. “You’re acting very unusual today. Is something wrong?” He exhaled the air he didn’t know he was holding and opened his eyes. Your face was so close that he could see the shadow your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. He could feel your breath, warm and inviting.

“I can’t touch you now,” he managed to utter, his hands at his sides, struck in cruel stillness. He locked his eyes with yours, filled with worry and a comforting gentleness. You were always so gentle with him; it made him go insane. “Because if I do, I won’t be able to hold back anymore.”

He saw the realization in the shift of your features as you fully grasped the meaning of his words. To his surprise, you took one of his hands in yours, and placed it on your cleavage, right over your beating heart, the rhythm beneath his palm fast but steady.

“Then don’t. Why would you even want to hold back with me?” You answered, slightly breathless, a pleasurable tingling already setting deeply in your abdomen. You looked at his face, the redness of his cheeks nearly matching the color of his eyes, the look he gave you so desperate it turned your legs to cotton.

The sudden burst of happiness in your chest almost made you tremble, you had waited so long for him to finally claim you as his, and it seemed he had finally reached his limit.

“I don’t—” He stumbled upon his words; a reaction so different from his usual self-confident demeanor it made you crave to uncover more versions of him. All versions of him, every single one he was willing to show you. “I can’t help but fear that I will hurt you. You are so soft, so breakable, it makes me nervous. Aren’t you scared of me? Of—Of what I could do, to you?” The confession slipping out of him, and he grabbed your wrist in one hand, the other coming to rest on your back. He slowly brought you to him, pressing your bodies together. He heard your breath falter, and drank that sound in. Then don’t — you had no idea what a hurricane you managed to stir inside him with just two simple words.

“Sy. My sweet, caring gentleman.” He heard your answer, and felt your fingers caressing his under eyes gently, your eyes never leaving his. One of your fingers touched the wrinkle between his brows, smoothing the furrowed surface. “You could never hurt me, even if you wanted to. You’re so fixated on the knowledge what you can do, that you’re forgetting that you’ve never even touched me hard enough to leave a bruise. No matter how much I wanted you to, sometimes.”

“You—”

“I’m not scared of you, Sylus. I could never, and I will never be scared of you. You’re the one with whom I feel the safest.” His hands started trembling, his patience thinning with every beautiful word from your lips. You were telling him things he didn’t even know how desperately he wanted to hear. “And I want you. I want to finally feel you, all your roughness and sharp edges. I want all of it.” The sound of your breathing mingled with the soft tunes of the vinyl. The air thick with want.

Any second now, he could feel it in the shiver down his spine.

“And I want it now.”

Snap.

His resolve shattered as he pulled you into him, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep and desperate it left your legs trembling. He kissed you with raw intensity, his tongue exploring your mouth, drinking in every sound you made as his hands roamed your body, claiming every inch he could reach.

You felt him everywhere. Your thighs, hips, waist, your neck, hair and breasts—he seemed to touch everything he was depriving himself of before. His hands huge, and although slightly rushed and trembling, still surprisingly gentle.

He lifted you up, your legs straining his waist and he laid you down on his bed, not breaking the kiss for even a second, your breath his breath, your lips water to quench his thirst.

His head was spinning, and when he finally opened his eyes the sight before him alone made him lose his mind.

You were sprawled under him, your hair a wild mess, your lips swollen from the abundance of his kisses. Your eyes glistened, the look in them so full of trust and love, love so visible it nearly broke him in half.

“You’re exquisite. Irresistible. Ethereal.” The praises slipped out of his tongue before he could stop them. The last bit of control fleeting with the touch of your impatient fingers, unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off of him in a matter of seconds. He couldn’t even find it in himself to tease you for your impatience, not when his brain already turned into mush after touching your bare skin. “You look as if you’re coated in frosting. My sweet girl, my most delectable little sin.” His eyes focused on your white dress; his hands not brave enough to let it slip off of you yet. He already feared the man he would become upon seeing you fully bared before him.

“Sylus—”

“It’s unholy. How much I want you.” His lips traced a path from beneath your ear down to your neck, finding their place on your collarbones. “How much I need you. The greed unexplainable, insatiable no matter how close I get to you. It’s not enough. It will never be enough.” His eyes met yours in a silent question and you nodded quickly in permission, gulping audibly, your eyes drooping. He let his hands travel up your legs, grazing your inner thighs, swiping through your hips, his palms tracing the lace of your panties, making the hair on his body raise. He then swiped through your waist and finally, finally his hands rested on your breasts, where you wanted them from the very beginning.

His breath hitched as he looked down your body, noticing how his touch had already lifted the fabric of your dress, baring your legs and stomach. His body shielded you from the chill in the air.

He squeezed your breasts gently, fondling them in his hands, a low groan escaping his lips—the same ones which couldn’t resist kissing your belly, anywhere he could reach, not even thinking about stopping his sensual kneading. It baffled him, how soft you were, how pliant under his touch. His hands, although taking so much of the space on your body didn’t seem to make you nervous at all—every single one of his touches you accepted with soft sights, low whines and a bitten lip. You trusted him, and he was drunk on that trust, wanted more, needed to see how far it could take him.

It quickly appeared that there was no limit to the things he could do to you, your whispers not only appreciative, but also encouraging. The uncontrollable thrusts of his hips against the duvet bordered on painful, the knowledge that he would have you in mere minutes making him unbearably hard. But he accepted the friction, your comfort mattered to him the most, and he wanted to take care of you properly.

“Sylus. Sylus, more, please.” He heard your silent plea, and caught your eyes in his, and that’s when he decided it was a time for you to drop the dress. He helped you out of it then licked the goosebumps forming between your breasts, each tiny dot on your skin making him awfully aware that this was it. Your beautiful form, completely bare, just for him to see, to worship.

“My little gem.” He breathed out, his eyes drinking in your body, committing to his memory every dip and curve. “My treasure.” He nearly growled, his mouth attached to your breast, licking and sucking on your nipple, moaning in the process. He wanted to devour you whole, to not leave a patch of skin untouched by his mouth. He thrived in the way you took hold of his head, your hands messing up his hair, caressing it when his tongue worshipped your breasts and nipples, drowning in their softness. He found his safe place.

“Oh God I—I feel like I’m floating, please don’t stop.” He heard you breathe out, your chest heaving, your legs closing in an attempt to relieve the tension building inside you. “You’re so good. So, so, so good, Sy.” He released one of your nipples with a pop, and stored the visual of your skin glistening with his saliva for later. He basked in your praise and pushed himself down, knowing exactly what he wanted to do next.

“Yes? You want it, kitten? Say you do. Please. I need you to say it.” His voice groggy, laced with yearning so tangible it made your body shiver.

“Yes. Yes, I do. Please, Sy. I waited so long for you.” Your words made his head spin, a smile spreading on his lips not flirtatious at all, just pure joy and contentment. He kissed your stomach and his hands once again swiped through your whole body. He raised on his forearms and caged your head between his arms, and then pressed a long, deep kiss on your mouth which quickly turned into another wave of heavy kisses. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

He was ravenous.

“I need to prepare you first, sweetie.” He said to your mouth, his words immediately swallowed by your perfect lips. You whimpered and his grip on your arm tightened involuntarily, his hand playing with your hair. “I need to take my time with you, otherwise I won’t be able to fit. You’re so tiny it scares me.” You nodded into the kiss and he smiled at you gently, and after pressing a kiss to your forehead, he went down.

And when he finally widened your legs, his mouth was on you instantly, making you moan, your legs clasping on his head reflexively. He grunted into your core, licking and sucking skillfully, guided entirely by pure need and his own instincts.

“You taste so sweet.” It wasn’t long before your legs were trembling and his fingers joined his mouth in an attempt to open you up a little more, to prepare you for what’s to come. “You’re dripping because of me.” He chuckled softly but deeply, chest filled with pride, and he licked your core once again, sucking at the sensitive bud. What he didn’t expect was when he managed to fit one finger inside you, angling it upwards, your back suddenly raised from the bed, hands reaching to his chest, delicately pushing him away. A drowned-out cry escaped your lips, the wetness between your tights increased, your plushy walls fluttered around his finger.

He made you come, and he instantly got addicted to it.

“Yes. Yes. Just like that, beautiful—Fuck.” With a swear word on his lips he wasted no time in slurping up your spent, his fingers from one, going up to two, then three. And when the only thing he could hear were your moans and whimpers, the taste of you imprinted on his tongue, the slide of his fingers smooth and slick—he realized that you were ready for him.

He slowly withdrew from your pussy, pressing one last lingering kiss to your clit. As his fingers slipped out of you, he finally let himself to catch more than a glimpse of your face.

And it shattered him, how utterly ruined you looked. All flushed and heaving, skin glistening with sweat, eyes shining, filled with unshed tears.

He did that to you, and he couldn’t be more proud of himself. He licked his fingers clean, savoring your taste, then he pulled you into an embrace, his arms wrapping around your whole body. Your head dropped on his bicep; your breath labored.

“You okay, kitten?” He asked gently, ignoring his painful erection, still stranded in the stiff fabric of his pants. His head pressed to your neck, and he inhaled the scent, licking off the droplets of sweat in the process. He couldn’t get enough.

“Yes. More than okay.” You answered, and he felt your hand wandering, trying to unbuckle his belt. His chest squeezed. “Need you now. Please, Sylus…”

“You don’t have to beg. I’ll gladly give you my everything. All of me.” His hands left your body for a moment, swiftly taking off his pants, his mouth now kissing your cheeks and nose.

“I want to taste you, too.” You whispered to him shyly, and he grunted, closing his eyes, begging every deity to give him more patience. How he would love for your little mouth to envelop him, but he knew that the sight alone would be enough to make him undone.

“Next time, okay, sweetie? I cannot wait to be inside you.” You giggled and nodded, pressing a kiss to his nose, stroking his hair gently.

He shivered and hissed when he took off his underwear, letting himself out in the open. He was so hard it hurt, his hand going up and down his erection in an attempt to reduce the tension, even though he knew that the only one who could truly satisfy him was you.

“Oh my god.” He heard your gasp, and noticed that you were looking at him, his body fully exposed, his cock heavy in his hand. “Sylus— Sy, it won’t fit. There’s no way that—” He silenced you with a kiss, and swiped his hand through your core, gathering the slick and spreading it on his member. The smooth glide felt so good he lost himself in the feeling for a second, his tongue licking into your mouth, swallowing your gasps.

“Shhh, I made sure to prepare you as well as I could. And I won’t hurt you, you said so yourself.” He said the last sentence into your lips, once again pressing a long kiss there. Then he kissed your cheek, and breathed hard against your neck, his one hand wrapped around your waist, holding you closer to him, and the other stroked his cock, guiding it to your entrance. When the tip touched you, he gritted his teeth and you gasped, the first contact electric. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers playing nervously with the hair at his nape.

He breathed heavily; the tip of his cock aligned perfectly with your entrance. “You can take it; you were made for me. I will make it fit.” He let go of your waist and grabbed one of your hands in his, kissing your knuckles and smiling gently at you, the anticipation making his body shake. “Just relax for me, will you? Can you do that, kitten?” You nodded and exhaled slowly, some tension getting out of your body. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead and intertwined your fingers with his.

“Close your eyes. I want you to feel me.”

“No. I need to see you, Sy. Don’t make me look away.” He chuckled and pressed his forehead against yours in a silent acceptance. He never wanted to take his eyes away from you too, your desires matching perfectly.

You were his soulmate, after all.

He pressed his erection to your opening and started to slip in, gently, unhurriedly, despite the desire to take you in one thrust of his hips. You opened your mouth in a painful moan, squeezing his hand, panic visible in your eyes. He hated that he was bringing you pain, but knew that it was inevitable, he saw how wide he was stretching you out. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Easy. You’re doing so good…” He breathed out, his hand leaving his cock to hold your hip, the other going up and down your body in a comforting caress. “Taking me so well...” His voice hoarse, sweat dripping from his forehead from the strain of keeping himself under control. He managed to put the tip in, your pussy squeezing him, your heat making him shiver, the sensation the most pleasurable he ever felt. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to calm himself down.

“It hurts, it really—it really hurts.” You whispered and he grunted, feeling you squeeze him harder, his length sliding into you deeper. He opened his eyes and lowered his body to get closer to your face, and placed a kiss between your eyebrows.

“I know, love. If you want to me stop—” He couldn’t recognize his voice anymore.

“No. Never. Please.” You kissed his brow, and send him a small smile. “I—I can take it. I was made for you, yeah?”

He huffed out a laugh, a whimper finding a way out at the same time.

“You were. Mmhm. Good.” He slipped in further, his mouth opening wider. “Good girl. Just a little more.” And before he managed to stop the shivering of his body, he burrowed himself in your tight heat almost to the brim. You were not able to take all of him in yet, but it was nearly a perfect fit, the sight of you wrapped around him made him see red, a low moan slipping out of him, your whimpers the most magnificent tune he ever heard.

“I’m going to move now.” He said and you moaned, your head nodding frantically.

He started thrusting inside you, and he felt as if fireworks exploded inside him, the desire burning brightly, need finally calming down, his mind completely at ease. Your moans, whimpers, cute little “ah,ah,ah’s” making his whole body shiver, a smile finding its way onto his swollen lips. You felt so good below him, your warmth enveloping him fully, and he started to question if he truly was worthy of such a blessing.

He didn’t care anymore. He had you, you wanted him and that was all that mattered now.

“You’re so. fucking. tight. God.” He started moving faster to the accompaniment of your small encouragements, his hand holding onto yours. And when your legs wrapped around his hips, bringing him closer to you, he was gone.

He grabbed your waist and lifted up your butt, the pace and force of his thrusts intensifying, his grunts leaving his mouth freely, silent praises slipping from his lips every now and then. He couldn’t stop now. Didn’t want to stop.

“I want—I want to stay inside you forever. I feel—Ah—Mm—like I’m melting.” He moaned and you felt his mouth on your body, kissing every patch of skin he was able to reach. You kept breathing out soft, quiet moans, tears filling your vision. “So cute.”

You felt so good, the stretch now pleasurable, your body accepting him fully, every thrust welcome, each one anticipated.

And he could see that so clearly on your face, his mind calming, knowing that he was able to bring you pleasure. It made him feel better too, your lovely expressions making his blood pump faster, his hips thrust deeper, just to see and hear more tokens of your delight. He was addicted to you and your reactions, to the way you sang his name, the way your skin tasted and eyes glistened every time he managed to catch eye contact.

Time quickly went by when you were losing yourselves in each other. The positions changed constantly, Sylus looking for and finding new ways to tip you over the edge, making sure you were completely satisfied. You encouraged him to leave some marks on you, and you made sure to repay the sentiment, scratching his back with your nails, and pressing hickies on his chest—he already wished for the marks to stay there forever, and you assured him that you’ll stay instead, making him jump on you once again, burying his head in your shoulder.

“Say my name, kitten. Keep—Keep saying my name.” He grunted, his hips unrelenting, your bodies soaked, your own so tired that he had to hold it in his arm for you to not slip off the bed. He kept thrusting inside you from behind, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your neck and shoulder, his movements deep and sensual, pleasure overwhelming. You granted his wish, your voice hoarse and quiet.

You were going at it for hours now, yet he still hasn’t come.

Not because he couldn’t, but because every time he was close, he was slipping out of you, his eyes squeezing shut, a hand gripping himself at the base.

He didn’t want the night to end, refused to let you go, savored the feeling of being buried deep inside you, not knowing where you ended and he began.

“Sy—Mmm—Sylus—Ah.” The words failed you, your mind filled only with pleasure and thoughts of him. You were so tired and yet he made you feel so good you wanted to stay in his arms forever. “The—Ah—The sun is rising.”

He nuzzled into your cheek, his thrusts slowing down, quiet grunts leaving his lips. He sounded wrecked.

“I know, love. You look so wonderful in this light.” He kissed your cheek and glued himself off of you, leaving your body cold and shivering. In the next second, he manhandled you onto your back again, facing him. Your hands immediately flew to cover your face, fearing how completely ruined you must have looked after so much time making love and so many orgasms ripped out of you.

“No—Mmh—Don’t hide yourself from me.” He grunted, and took your hands in his gently, revealing the beautiful mess he managed to make of you. Your face covered in tears, cheeks flushed and lips so swollen it only made him want to kiss them some more. So he did. “Never hide yourself from me, dove. Hold me.” He kissed the palms of your hands and put them on his neck, your arms going to hold him closer. He huffed out a weak laugh, his thrusts not stopping even for a second. You felt his huge hands caressing your thighs and you moaned softly. “God, I’m sorry, kitten, I just can’t stop—I—”

“It’s okay, S—Sylus. Ah—I won’t run away.” You pulled his head closer and kissed his lips softly. His hands encircled your waist, drawing your body closer to him, the hair on his forehead brushing against your chest. Your eyes met his and he seemed to calm slightly, your gaze soothing the flame inside him.

“I love you. I—” You suddenly confessed, a single tear slipping down your cheek. His breath faltered, ruby eyes widening, your words shaking his world completely. “I love you, Sylus. So much. I love you so intensely it scares me, I—Ah—” A moan was ripped from you when he suddenly picked up the pace, the sweat from his forehead landing between your breasts. Another happy tear slipped from your eye, and if you had enough energy to keep your eyes open, you’d see that he was teary-eyed too. His hands grabbed your head, turning it up so he could look straight into your eyes—his own burning with desire and unspoken devotion. He needed to hear you say the words once more, but before he could start pleading for it, you managed to read his mind.

“I love you, Sylus.”

And those words were what finally made him shatter.

He came, so violently he nearly blacked out, his whole body trembling, and movements faltering, his cock buried inside you the deepest he could go. He released grunt after grunt, his arms holding you tight to him, your soft sighs only seemed to prolong his fall. He nuzzled his face up against your neck, then cheek, his lips touching your skin, unable to press more kisses due to the uncontrollable moans coming out of his mouth.

“F-Fuck—” He managed to choke out and you tried to calm your heavy breathing, focused on his cum filling you up, so much that you could already feel it spilling out. You whined and brought your hands to his waist, holding him close, and you came one last time too, your pussy squeezing him even tighter, ripping a short cry out of him. Goosebumps spread around your body from the pleasure and you went pliant in his arms, letting your sore muscles finally rest against the soft sheets.

Sylus relaxed a few moments later, his sweaty body collapsing on top of you, mindful not to put his full weight on you. His hot, heavy breath still warmed your neck, your hearts beating rapidly against each other, showing no signs of calming anytime soon. He managed to turn onto his side, his arms still wrapped around you, taking your body with him.

You were held in a wet, yet warm embrace, his arms protecting you from the cold morning air, your bodies still connected. The silence that ascended upon you comfortable and desired after so much time of intense workout—both throats roughed up and in need of hydration.

“Sylus, I—” You started saying, your voice a rough whisper, your head raising to meet his gaze, surprised that his crimson eyes were already studying you. He put one of his hands on the back of your head, his fingers playing with your hair ever so gently.

His gaze so intense you started to turn your head away, but he gently brought it back to him. He didn’t have to open his mouth for you to understand what he was feeling—the emotion in his eyes unmistakable.

“I love you, too.” He breathed out, his hand going up to your cheek, stroking it with the back of his fingers. His hand was cold and served as a delightful compress for your burning face. “I love you more than any words could ever express.”

He reminded you of a statue under this warm, morning light, his body perfectly sculpted. The only source of color were his cheeks, blaring red, nearly matching the color of his sparkling eyes. His wet hair still bearing the paths carved by your fingers, his lips kissed and twitching, fighting off a smile, which threatened to form when he realized how intensely you were observing him.

“My home is your home, my heart is your heart. Every breath I’ve been taking ever since I met you had already been yours — the day you tell me to cease, I will gladly do so.” He continued, his breath slowly calming down, one of your hands going to stroke his chest.

“I will never tell you to cease, you little dramatic fool.” You answered playfully, blinking away your tears, your hand going to rest on his warm cheek, his face immediately nuzzling into your palm. “If anything, I would curse you to live forever. Soundly and happily, by my side.” A soft laugh came out of his lips; a start of a smile that overtook his entire face, lightening up his features, showing off his small sharp canines.

“By your side...” He repeated, his voice possessing a dream-like quality, a smirk still visible. He swiped his hand over your body: from your shoulder, through your waist, down to your hip, and then back up. His touch soothing as always. “A curse has never sounded so sweet, my little dove.” He closed his eyes, and a sigh escaped his lips. The happiness spread through his body so intensely, that he thought he was going to burst.

Live forever, by your side. There was no other place in the entire universe where he would rather be.

He felt you squirming, a crease appearing between your brows, your hand squeezing his bicep. He hissed, feeling you squeeze him down there too, his cock still buried deep inside you, your plush walls a place he never wanted to leave. However, he knew that after so much time and so many orgasms you needed a break, your body sensitive and in need of extensive pampering. Good thing he adored spoiling you with affection.

“I’m going to pull out now, okay sweetheart?” You nodded your head, a small smile on your lips. You were just too adorable. “And then I’ll put you in a warm bath, order your favorite meal and change the sheets. Any objections?”

“None at all.” He switched your position so that he was once again on top of you, and he gently pulled out, a grunt leaving his lips at the loss of the comfortable fit. You whimpered when his cum started flowing out of you freely, and he couldn’t look away, the sight making the desire in him burn once more. He stopped himself before he started showing the cum back inside you. “Will you join me in the bath too?” He looked at your face, covered in the warm sunlight, the sight making him breathless.

“I would love to, if that’s what you want.” He hugged you to himself one more time, his body covering yours completely, his face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. He grazed the delicate skin with his teeth, then pressed his lips to your pulse, his tongue picking out to lick at your salty skin. “I love you.” He whispered into your neck, basking in the feeling of your heartbeat beneath his lips. “I love you, Y/N. Thank you for showing me what love feels like. Thank you for accepting me.” His breath started going out labored, the intensity of the emotion too big for his body.

“Thank you, for letting me love you. You are the best thing that happened to me, Sylus. I hope you know that.” Your kiss to his temple and your hands caressing his back felt like a blessing, your bodies connected in a soul-crushing hug his own private oasis. Never in his life had he experienced such a moment of total tranquility; only you were capable of bringing him peace.

He never wanted to let you go, and he didn’t have to. No other thought filled him with so much joy. You were his, just as much as he was yours. An ideal exchange of souls.

“I do.” He breathed out, and looked into your loving eyes once again. You smiled at him, and he felt his breath being punched out of him, his ruby eyes fluttering. He shook his head and reciprocated the smile, which quickly turned into a full laugh, your bodies shaking, hearts beating in unison. “I truly do.”

Your lips found his in a kiss that tasted like a promise—of a hand to hold, body to warm up to, and a heart that beat for one another. In every life, every universe, and in every space and time—now, and forevermore.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡ bonus! ˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

“So, which one finally did it?” You asked him nonchalantly, when you were both freshly washed up, lying on the new, pleasurably chilly sheets, basking in the afternoon sunlight. Too exhausted to raise, too happy to fall asleep after the whole night of making love.

His head on your chest stirred slightly, a confusion slowly overtaking his features.

“Hmm?” He opened his eyes, but he didn’t find it in himself to raise. His arms holding your body close to his, tightening their hold, a signal he hoped would make you continue the caress of his back with your fingers.

Your skin bared a fragrance of his soap and his skin, and he felt drunk ever since he noticed it.

“The workout outfit a size too small? Or those jeans at the funfair?” You continued, and his mind started to connect the dots. His eyes widened. “I knew that I would be sticking my ass out a lot that day so I made sure they were extra tight.” He heard you giggle and raised his head immediately, his gaze falling on yours.

“You—”

“What? You were making me wait forever! And don’t get me wrong…” You cupped his cheek, and he was rendered speechless. The whole time he was fighting for his sanity, trying to wait for you, restraining himself from taking you on the nearest piece of furniture — You were riling him up on purpose? “I love that you are a gentleman, and the princess treatment is really nice too, but I just couldn’t wait to have you ravish me, you know? Your girl has needs.”

He was going completely insane. He let out a hearty laugh, and shook his head in disbelief. It seemed that he underestimated you again, forgot that your desires and needs matched his almost perfectly.

And he should’ve known that the workout clothes were a bit too revealing for your liking. Fuck, he should’ve known.

“And it seems my girl is a sly little vixen.” His voice laced with humor, a smile still visible, head impossibly light. He hummed, and kissed a smile off of your plump lips, then your neck, shoulders and chest. You started trembling, and the smile he sent you this time made him look as if he was a wolf studying his pray. You gulped audibly. “Well then, if you decided to manipulate me, then I think you are ready to suffer the consequences.” His kisses reached your breasts, and he took one perky nipple into his mouth, sucking passionately. His other hand grabbed at the other boob, kneading the flesh languidly.

“But it’s already bright outside, shouldn’t we—” A press of his finger on your lips hushed you, and his eyes met yours, his lips still circled around your delicate nipple. With a snap of his fingers the curtains covered the windows, cutting of the only source of light. Darkness enveloped you, making the press of his body on yours even more intimate. Your body was still on fire after the hours of tangling in sheets, every part of you sensitive and tingling under his skilled hands.

“Ah, ah. You’re trembling. Why is that, I wonder?” You heard his voice closer to your ear, and when your eyes got used to the darkness, you saw his eyes filled with mirth and something primal. His hands went slowly up your tights, their destination obvious. “I had no idea that my kitten was that starved. Now I can’t possibly leave her unsatisfied, can I?”

You felt his hands touch your warmest spot, and you let fireworks overtake you once more, your spine twisting to get closer to him. He tasted the skin on your chest again, and went down with his kisses, leaving a happy, wet trial in its wake. He raised suddenly, kissing you on the lips.

“And what about the zipper?” He asked absentmindedly into your lips, remembering the situation that nearly made him lose his mind couple of weeks ago.

“What zipper?” Your confusion truthful, your squeal loud when he suddenly plopped motionless on top of you, a sigh of exasperation leaving his mouth.

It seems that loving you was the beginning of his end, after all.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

thank you for your time! ♡ PLEASE let me know if you liked it, i would appreciate every single comment and engagement!!! i would be so happy to read your reactions (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

likes would be much appreciated ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[cressidagrey]

Building Blocks

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: How to parent a genius: A guide by Oscar Piastri.

Notes: Because I felt like it was very mean to just give you "half" a new piece of writing, with an edited version, here you have some fluff!

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Oscar had long since accepted that he was raising a genius.

It wasn’t the kind of genius that screamed for attention or rattled off multiplication tables at age two (though she could, and did, if she was annoyed enough). No, Bee’s genius was different—patient, precise, methodical in a way that sometimes made Oscar forget she was still learning how to tie her shoes consistently.

At the moment, she was halfway through assembling the LEGO® Technic Ferrari Daytona SP3—3,778 pieces, ages 18+, and she was building it upside down just for fun.

Oscar had found it complicated enough to need a YouTube tutorial and was now trying to attach one very specific connector piece. It was not going well.

“Papa,” Bee said gently, not even looking up from her own section, “that axle doesn’t go there. It’s a two-length, and you’re using a three. That’s why the gearbox won’t sit flat.”

Oscar blinked. “How do you see that?”

She shrugged. “I counted the ridges.”

Of course she had.

He changed the piece, and—miraculously—it clicked into place.

They were seated on the living room rug, surrounded by plastic trays of sorted bricks and half-finished subassemblies. 

Oscar had tried giving her a kid’s set once this year. Something with animals. She’d built it in seven minutes, asked him if it was a prank, and requested the Lamborghini Sián FKP 37 next.

He looked at her now—curled over her build instructions, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration, tiny fingers moving with frightening efficiency—and wondered, not for the first time:

How do you race a kid like this?

Not race in the literal sense.

 Race in the life sense.

How do you raise someone who could probably code her way into a Mars rover before she loses her first tooth?

 How do you parent brilliance?

Oscar loved her completely. That part was easy.

 But raising her… it sometimes felt like trying to build IKEA furniture with the instructions written in Latin while she translated them into quantum theory beside you.

When Bee was two, he’d brought home a simple Lego castle. The 5+ kind. Pink turrets. Smiling bricks. It had taken her twenty-four minutes. No instructions. One correction.

They moved to the 10+ sets after that. Then 12+. 16+.

Now they didn’t bother with age labels. If it didn’t come with multiple gear assemblies and at least two bags of axles, she got bored.

He leaned back, stretching out his legs as she sorted bricks with the focus of someone solving a global crisis. Her curls were pulled back in a lopsided ponytail, and she was humming to herself—some hybrid of Beethoven and the Paw Patrol theme. A mix of classical and chaos. Just like her.

And Oscar found himself smiling.

 “Do you think you’ll want to build real cars one day?”

Bee paused. Thought. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll restore cars like Mama does. I like knowing why something works. Why people make the choices they do.” She looked up at him. “I like your choices.”

Oscar’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“You do?”

She nodded. “You always come home. Even when you go far.”

He swallowed. 

Bee smiled, then reached for another piece, her tiny hands precise. “Mama said you have to go race soon.”

“Yeah. In Japan.”

She nodded. “Don’t forget my shirt.”

Oscar smiled, eyes crinkling. “Never.”

They worked in silence for a while. The only sounds were the click of Lego pieces and the distant hum of the dishwasher.

Oscar watched her move—steady, focused, brilliant. She didn’t fidget. Didn’t question herself. She just knew what she wanted to build and made it happen.

He was raising a genius.

 And not just the kind with facts in her head—though there were plenty. She had empathy. Precision. Curiosity.

And she scared the hell out of him.

 In the best way.

The thing was, Bee wasn’t just smart. Lots of kids were smart. Bee was something else entirely. Curious in a way that never stopped. Observant in ways that made you feel like she could see under your skin if she tilted her head right.

She didn’t just memorize—she understood.

She asked how DRS worked when she was two and followed up with, “But doesn’t that affect battery deployment?”

She once looked at telemetry on Oscar’s laptop and said, “Why are you lifting before Turn 9 now?” and then told him why when he didn’t answer fast enough.

And somehow, she still wanted him to sit beside her while she built things. Still curled up under his arm during movie night. Still called him Papa like it was magic.

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, watching her snap together a section of bricks like she'd been born doing it.

“How’d you get so smart?” he asked softly.

Bee didn’t even pause. “Because you and Mama never make me feel weird for asking questions.”

Oscar blinked. His throat tightened.

“You don’t get mad when I want to read the building manual instead of the storybook,” she continued, turning the model gently to check the incline. “And Mama says it’s okay to love logic and glitter.”

Oscar nodded slowly, words caught somewhere between pride and awe.

He watched her now, slotting in a gear mechanism with tiny fingers and utter focus, her brow furrowed like a seasoned engineer.

How do you raise a kid who’s already looking three steps ahead?

Who watches a race and times pit stops with a stopwatch app she downloaded herself?

 Who reads two books a week and corrects the science in children's cartoons?

You don’t try to match her, Oscar thought.

You just show up.

You sit on the floor and sort the bricks. You listen when she talks about dolphins and binary code in the same breath. You answer every question, no matter how bizarre. You fold the shirts. You build the drawer. You take her seriously, because she always takes you seriously.

“Papa?”

Oscar looked up. “Yeah?”

Bee held up a completed axle assembly, expression bright. “Do you want to click this piece into place?”

He smiled. “Will you judge me if I get it wrong again?”

“Only a little.”

“Deal.”

He snapped the piece in. She double-checked it, nodded solemnly, and handed him the next one.

Oscar didn’t know how to raise a genius.

But he was learning how to build with one.

 Moment by moment.

 Brick by brick.

[tender-rosiey]

hiii this is my first time requesting so i dont know how specific or vague i should get :,) but maybe a scenario between sukuna and reader on how their wedding ceramony(and maybe afterparty) went? i saw an edit of sukuna with lana del rey’s margaret and immediately thought you could write this scenario since all of your husband!sukuna works are chef’s kiss “:D

true oath — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: so glad you like my husband!sukuna works anon and I hope you like this as well 🥹 ALSO special thanks to @lexiene and @camelnose for beta-reading BIG HUGS TO BOTH OF YOU SRSLY MWUAHHH

the servants scurry all around the room, trying to finish as much as possible in the time frame they have been given.

meanwhile, you are sat in front of your vanity with your personal maid who is putting the final touches to your makeup. you let out a soft giggle at the franticness of the others then look at the mirror to examine yourself.

the kimono had been handpicked by sukuna himself, something he believed was only logical—given that, according to him, nobody knows you as well as he does, and of course, that you’re getting married to him.

you thought he was being overconfident in his abilities, but to your surprise, he really did end up choosing something that—both—fit you well and you liked very much.

though, you wouldn’t tell him that. you wonder what his reaction would be to how you actually look in it, especially since you barely made him agree to not seeing you until the ceremony.

“no.”

“sukuna, come on,” you huffed, clinging onto his arms, “it’s a tradition!”

“I don’t care about traditions, you know that,” he replied simply and carried you in his arms.

you pouted and rested your head on his shoulder, looking up at him with your best puppy eyes, “please, honey?”

he looks at you for a few moments before clicking his tongue and looking away, “fine.”

“yay!”

you let out a chuckle at the memory and are interrupted by the door opening. the servant at the door is heavily panting as he speaks, “the l—lord demands to begin the ceremony right now.”

one of the maids looks at him incredulously, “what?! we still have much to prefer like the pathway to his highness and the food!”

the servant nods in understanding, “I know I swear,” he gulps, “but he is getting real impatient and has expressed the need to see her highness more than once.”

you roll your eyes and stand up, “well, tell him that we will be on our way.”

the main maid gasps, “but my lady—”

“don’t fret,” you smile, “if he asks about the unfinished tasks and preparations, I will tell him that you were working on it, but his insistence on speeding things up halted you from your duty, understood?”

they all nod hesitantly. you clap your hand and grin, “well then, lets go! I am excited to see my dear future husband.”

the maids smile nervously, still trying to come to terms with your marriage to sukuna. staying by his side as his lover is one thing, but to officially be declared his wife?

they have come to the conclusion that either you are as crazy as him underneath or you simply managed to tame him—to an extent at least.

you finally exit your room, and as you walk down the hallways, servants clear the way for you, bowing their heads as they offer you their blessings.

you look around the halls, finding them decorated with flowers already, so they are probably talking about the path in the main room.

the flowers are all of your choice, and it fills you with a sense of joy that each one that you pointed out on your outings with sukuna has been placed meticulously in the arrangement that litter the halls.

you slow down your pace, partially to soak in the view a bit more and partially to tease sukuna who is probably waiting with the last smidge of patience he can manage.

sukuna, who is sat on his throne, hand on his knee as he tapped it in waiting. he knows what you’re doing. you have always tried to test just how much you can get away with, which is admittedly a lot at this point.

for example, the first time you did something that he considered audacious is when you were strolling the gardens when you first came to the palace.

you were faced with sukuna who was stood in the place where you usually lounged.

it irked you cause he had the entire garden but chose the most secluded spot—which was usually where you sat so the servants can forget about doing any chores.

you frowned, “that is my spot.”

he quirked an eyebrow but didn’t look back at you. he let out a chuckle, “and this entire palace is mine.”

“nice try,” you quipped, “but I know the palace belongs to sukuna, the king of curses.”

at that, he turned to look at you. he leaned back against the tree, arms crossed and a cold stare on his face, “and who do you think I am, human?”

“oh—shit, okay,” you spluttered, “so you’re sukuna? you look more handsome than I thought.”

a smirked plays at the corner of his lips.

he didn’t reply to you, and you—rightfully—thought that you have dug your own grave. you started to shift your footing from your tip toes to your heel, and you looked away.

he stood up, an amused smile on his face, and he passed you, “I am expecting more from you, so don’t disappoint me.”

you tilted your head, watching his retreating figure. he had left one last comment, “but the next time I see you, I expect you to kneel at my presence.”

that was the moment that sukuna started wanting to see more of you, to see how far you could go. it was a new thing to amuse himself with, so it was more than welcome.

he just doesn’t know when it started being the other way around, because you, in fact, did not kneel.

instead, you started treating him like someone who you genuinely enjoyed their company, and it threw him off slightly; however, that is one of the reasons why he is currently waiting for you, his bride to appear.

the door finally opens, and it reveals you.

sukuna’s heart doesn’t skip a beat at how the kimono fit you exactly how he thought, how your make up was simply perfect, nor how the smile on your lips exuded both happiness and mischief.

what sukuna feels instead is booming pride.

you were always his, since the moment you entered the palace, before he even laid eyes on you. but this silly tradition simply solidifies it even more in the eyes of the others.

he smirks as you finally stand in front of him. you can barely contain your grin, “hello, future husband.”

he didn’t think that a tie to him would ever make somebody so joyed. he smirks at you, patting his lap, “you should know by now that I know you best, you silly woman.”

instantly, your expression falls, and you retort, “way to ruin the mood, king.”

amusement glints in his eyes, and he pulls you close to him, “don’t you ever get tired of giving me attitude? you ought to learn your place.”

“is it not by your side, my lord?” you hum, and he chuckles, content when you finally settle on his lap.

“damn audacious woman,” he looks up at the servants that fill the room.

they are all bowing, some trembling, others alienly still. then there is you who is swinging her feet as she sits on the lap of the king of curses.

he lets out a small breath then speaks loudly, “get the rings.”

in a moment, a servant comes in, carrying a cushion where two golden rings lay. your eyes widen at the sheer amount of patterns of gems on one of the rings.

the servant kneels in front of you two, and sukuna takes the ring decorated with gems in one hand and your hand in another. it slips perfectly onto your finger, and you raise your hand.

you feel your jaw slack a bit at how intricately made it is. and upon closer inspection, you see that one of the patterns is actually sukuna’s name.

you look up at him, and he is already looking at you with a small smirk and a confident look, “you should see the look on your face,” he muses.

he takes your hand into his and raises it slightly.

he examines it quietly before letting go. you blink confused but shrug the thought of your mind. you hold his hand in yours gently, and you put the ring on him.

his ring, contrary to yours, is a lot minimal. it’s a simple golden band, but what surprises you is that your name is etched on the surface.

“sukuna, my name…?”

he looks at the ring on his finger and flexes his hand. he looks at you simply says, “figured you would like something like this.”

you smile widely and giggle, “you know, people usually carve the name of the inside.”

“and I am not usual, am I?”

you nod gently and lean against his chest, “no, you’re not.”

you honestly didn’t know what to expect from a wedding ceremony in the ryomen sukuna “style”. however, sukuna was set on…standing out and making it a memorable event.

the room was flooded with servants carrying trays upon trays of food—all which you have noticed were your favorite—and dancers that put one of the most fascinating shows you’ve seen.

you gape at how they make their moves so effortless, which you can see through just how much practice was put into it.

you look at sukuna, and you seem him smirking down at you, clearly proud of the reaction the show has gotten out of you.

“how—how long have you been preparing for this?” you ask the man.

he glances at the dancers then replies, “6 months; I needed it to be perfect, and these humans take so long to learn things.”

“also, I know that the show I organized is great—“ he says before holding your chin and making you face him, “but that enamoured face should be directed at none other than me, got it?”

you nod frantically, not out of fear, but he is staring directly into your eyes in a way that simply is far too intense. he releases your chin, humming in satisfaction.

the dance finally comes to a close, and everybody in the room bows down to the both of you.

uraume speaks up from beside you—when did they get there—head held down humbly, “it is time for you to exchange vows, my lord and m’lady.”

vows? sukuna prepared vows?

tilting your head in confusion, you look at sukuna, and he is already looking at you. he rolls his eyes, “I didn’t prepare anything, brat; don’t get ahead of yourself.”

okay, that tracks. you give him a thumbs up.

but he is quiet for a moment before speaking up, “I have no need for that; all that you need to is that,” he leans closer to you, "you are mine, entirely and without exception, in every breath you take,” he spoke lowly against your lips, “I won’t let you forget that.”

he lets out a breath of amusement at the way your eyes widen and the glimmer behind them. he wastes no time in locking his lips with you, sealing your contract for life.

—

“wooo! I am married!” you say drunkenly, giggling and swaying slightly beside your now husband.

you whip your head back at him, almost falling in the process but his hand easily steadies you, “sukuna, I am married!”

“I know,” he replies, eyeing the empty cup that was full of sake. he hums, “uraume, what was the intensity in the sake?”

they both glance at you, standing on top of a table, babbling a kind of song about your marriage and being a queen now.

you nearly trip on the covers, but sukuna nods for uraume to stop your fall. they hold you up with one hand, maintaining a safe distance, so sukuna doesn’t get protective.

“high, my lord.”

you keep giggling and squealing, and he sighs, “certainly looks like it.”

he rests his chin on his palm, watching your figure run around and keeping an eye for you. however, in the corner of his eyes, he spots a couple of men staring at you, eyes full-blown and open.

it irks him that even after that display, they still dare to look at what belongs to him.

with minimal effort, he flicks his finger, and their heads go flying to the corner of the room. some of the blood splatters onto the floor, but he pays it no mind.

“ooo, red wine!”

“don’t you dare drink that, you stupid woman!”

after a while you find yourself laid down on the bed, head dazed as you try to make sense of your surroundings. you can hear a door closing, and some heavy footsteps getting closer and closer.

finally, your husband comes into view with his arms crossed. you pull on his sleeve gently, “what about the after-party?”

he sits down beside you, and you take the chance to lay your head on his lap. he allows it but grunts in response, “after-party with you all delirious like this?”

“I am fine!” you protest, huffing and giving him the most intimidating glare you can muster.

he simply flicks your forehead, and you yelp, shielding your face away from him, “you’re so rude!”

“pretty sure, you aren’t supposed to reply your king and husband like that,” he states. he squishes your face with one hand and quirks an eyebrow, “you’re testing your limits.”

“I don’t care!”

“oh?”

you note the change of tone almost instantly, and it is enough to sober you up.

you look up, wide-eyed at him, and on his face is a devious smirk, and behind his eyes are thoughts that are probably going to be the end of you tonight.

he leans down slightly, “I have a different kind of after-party in mind,” one of his hands trails to hold your wrist, “which I think you will quite like,” you try resisting for even a second, but you’re no match for him, “starting now.”

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[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Dick, and Jason being told by their shy gn crush that he doesn't need to do it as he's under the mistletoe with them please?

Dick

Jokes on you if you think this man is going to walk away from this golden opportunity that he had been waiting -and planning for- the entire night.

So needless to say this man was both restless and excited that he finally got you under the mistletoe with him, so much so that it was blatantly obvious for all to see that you were the one he wanted under that mistletoe with him, no one else could elicit such a strong reaction out of him like you could.

When you tell him meekly that he didn’t have to do this only made him all the more eager to prove that this was what he wanted to do, for there was no other better time then this for Dick to easily confess or show his innermost love for you.

Dick smiles sympathetically at you as he raises your head by your chin until you were looking at each other in the eyes, his smile becomes more genuine when you did as he leant towards you with the intention of speaking to you without others listening in.

‘Now where did that come from?’ He’d ask softly.

‘I just don’t want you to feel forced into doing anything you didn’t want.’ You reply. ‘I know it’s a tradition but no one should be forced to participate if they don’t want to.’ You then added on.

Dick made a face of thought before pushing his forehead to press against your own as he said. ‘Well what if I did want to do this? What if I sad that I’ve been waiting to do something like this the entire night that I had it planned specifically for us?’

You started into his eyes with confusion and Dick would be lying if he said it wasn’t adorable because it was. ‘Why?’ You ask him and it felt like the funniest thing he was ever told but he quickly composed himself as you would probably take it the wrong way if he did.

instead he just caresses your cheeks when his hands held your face as though it was precious and priceless treasure that he could ever hold within his hands. ‘Maybe because I like you silly and have been thinking about kissing you for a while and thought ‘hey why not kiss under the mistletoe?’ Dick tells you as he chuckles lightly at your wide eyed expression as though silently asking him if he was serious.

And sweetheart this man was more than serious, way more.

‘So cutie, would you mind if I kissed you under the mistletoe?’ He whispered to you, wanting you to have the choice to make your own decision like you gave him the chance to walk away from this, he didn’t want you to do anything you didn’t feel fully comfortable for.

You placed your hands atop of his own and smiled sweetly at him. ‘I wouldn’t mind it at all, as long as it’s you I wouldn’t want anything else.’ You admitted as dick closed the gap between you two as you shared a sweet kiss beneath the mistletoe, bringing forth a beginning of your new relationship with the most beautiful and wonderful man you have ever met.

Jason

Jason wasn’t the type to be caught under the mistletoe whatsoever ever as he tended to masterfully avoid it however he could, kissing under it was not his thing, but thanks to the unspoken feelings he had towards you and suddenly this man is etching towards the doorway with the mistletoe in hopes that he could coincidentally get lucky with having you there.

So when his wish does come true and you’re both under the mistletoe, it’s anything but like the silly movies and cheesy books that Jason read in his free time, that and because they were on clearance sale in the local bookstore to give way for more room for more books in the future.

Jason didn’t want to put you in a position where you would be made to feel uncomfortable or had no choice in the matter, and yet hearing you tell him that he didn’t have to kiss you under the mistletoe as you looked anywhere but him, made his heart hurt as a result but he knew that if he wanted to advance your relationship then sometimes he’ll have to be the one to take the bold step forward.

However if it was for you? Then Jason will gladly be the one to always take that brave step forward to show you that not everything was scary and that some times were worth the risk.

‘Why would you think that I don’t want to do this chipmunk?’ He’d ask you.

‘You don’t like these types of things, force proximity and the social pressures of making two people kiss for the sake of upholding a tradition,’ you shrugged as you burrowed your hands into your hoodie, ‘you just don’t like those types of things as it forces affection and you’d do anything to get out of Dick’s apparent and away from this little get together before he does something…’

‘Stupid? Ridiculous?’ Jason listed off on his fingers.

‘Dick like is more what I was looking for.’ You chuckled as Jason locked eyes with you and suddenly the you were seen, you could see the love within his eyes and suddenly the room felt warmer then usual when Jason reached for your hands within your hoodie to hold them in his own.

‘Well I can tell you that I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but with you, and since your stood here under the mistletoe I am too, where you go I go sweetheart. You can’t get rid of me that easily as I’ll always want to be wherever you are regardless of my feelings towards it or not because all that matters to me is that I have you.’ Jason tells you, finally getting the words that he wanted to get off of his chest at long, long last.

‘Now would you allow me to kiss you under this cheap piece of plastic mistletoe chipmunk.’ Jason then says in a lighthearted tone, smiling in that charming way that always had you feeling butterflies within your stomach. ‘You didn’t need to ask Jason but yes I would love to.’ You replied.

The kiss you both shared under the ‘cheap piece of plastic’ was sweet, tender and addicting all the same as you both smiled against the others lips, happy to know that there would be new journeys ahead of you both that you can walk through together.

[trippinsorrows]

love lies

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

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

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

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

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

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

She should have broken it off a long time ago. 

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

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

Stay away from Roman Reigns.

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

Or, it was. 

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

Roman lost.

He lost. 

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

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

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

Something that felt and seemed inconceivable at the time.

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

She wonders if he still feels the same. 

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

Talk to her like that. It was…confusing. 

It all is, but especially that. 

Especially something so….personal. 

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

And, he always does. 

At one point or another. 

—-------

March, 2022

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

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

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

Or, at least, tried to.

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

Of course.

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

Go fucking figure.

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

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

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

Everything about him screamed power. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, I—”

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

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

The eyes of the Tribal Chief himself, Roman Reigns. 

—-------

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

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

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

She wasn’t his type. Too thin. 

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

But.

Alamea…she was most definitely his type. 

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

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

—------

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

Alamea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One he could absolutely learn to manage.

—-------

April, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna take this in a little more.”

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

“Man, you are magic, Lay Lay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled, “did you design this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—---------

May, 2022

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

Until then.

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

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

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

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

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

That was the hate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s just go.”

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

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

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

And, she was right.

It was just the two of them.

Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ….”

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

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

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

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

For this setting, at least. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s get out of here.”

—------

June, 2022

It’d become a routine really.

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

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

Always to her pleasure though. 

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

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

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

Except for her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, then it happened. 

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

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

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

What….the….fuck?

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

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

And with her. 

Peace with her. 

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

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

But.

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

—----------

July, 2022

“Does he eat pussy?”

“Mom!”

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not little, is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

Usually Martin or One Tree Hill. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If they could ever be more.

A dangerous line of thinking, for sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not what it could never be. 

—----------

July, 2022

It happened again.

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

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

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

“Tell me something about you.” 

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

And yet….

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

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

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

He chuckled. “Definitely not like you then.” 

“And my oldest sister, Paris—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t say anything after that. 

Neither did she.

—-------

November, 2022

Oh hot damn, this is my jam

Keep me partying 'til the AM

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

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

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

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

Jimmy was a good ass DJ.

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

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

Some mess, it certainly was. 

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

The group cheered, as Roman sighed heavily. 

Over his dead body. 

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

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

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

(Y-y-yeah) Party like a rock, party like a rockstar

(Y-y-yeah) Party like a rock, party like a rockstar

(Y-y-yeah) Party like a rockstar, t-t-totally, dude

The women sang along as Jimmy and Jey headbanged, Naomi somehow not wasting or spilling the drinks in her hand. And, Sami….Roman had no idea what the fuck Sami was doing. Moving erratically, dancing, in his own sort of way. He looked like he was having complications from an exorcism or some shit. 

They were all a hot fucking mess.

Alamea’s eyes opened as she landed on Roman who sat quiet and partially irritated, prompting her to giggle to herself. Holding onto a dancing Naomi’s shoulder, she made her way off the table and stumbled over to him. 

She frowned, looking at her empty hand, wondering where her red solo cup had gone.

“I took it,” he answered, forcing her gaze back on him. “You’ve had enough.”

At that, she pouted, “you’re no fun.” He said nothing as she moved closer, standing in front of him, pulling down her dress that just kept sliding up, her ass too much to keep it where it needed to be.

“What are you doing?” His voice sounded strained, but she ignored it, starting to dance in front of him. But, it was short-lived, because it was like she suddenly remembered there was another attendee other than himself and his family.

“Friend!” She shouted, way too excitedly, stumbling over to Sami, starting to dance with him.

On him.

Roman’s jaw clenched.

Alamea was having the time of her drunken life, dancing with her new bestest friend in the whole world, Stan.

Wait, no. That wasn’t his name.

Fuck.

What was it?

Shmuel?

Yeah, that!

“BFF’s,” she said, attempting to imitate the handshake he did with the twins. 

“Come here.” Came the deep voice of Roman who’d stood up, marching over to grab a hold of her. Naturally, she swayed and leaned into his hard body as he escorted her right back over to where he was sitting on the sofa.

On his lap.

A drunken smile fell on her pretty face. “Right here?” He looked down at her as she grasped at his shirt. “In front of e–everyone?” She shifted atop his lap, gasping at the feel of him slightly hard underneath her. “Oops.”

His jaw clenched once more, but for a different reason.

Except, the song changing again served as a maybe necessary distraction. Not the best though.

“I love this song!” She shouted, repositioning herself so that she was sitting forward on his lap, wiggling, feeling his bulge press against her partially exposed center as her skimpy dress rose up yet again over thick thighs and ass.

You wanna see some ass?

I wanna see sum cash

Keep dem dollars comin

And das gonna make me dance

Alamea danced on top of Roman, twerking her ass all up and on him as Naomi did something similar to Jimmy who mimicked the motion of backshots. Jey and Sami stood to the side, throwing up cash bills, donning sunglasses that Roman hadn’t the slightest clue where they’d gotten them. 

But, while Alamea was having the time of her life, along with seemingly majority of the party, Roman was clearly not.

“Enough of this shit,” he hissed, reaching for the remote to turn off the music.

“Hey!” She protested, frowning, eyes blinking. “I–I–I was listening to t–that.”

“Party’s over,” he announced, uncaring. His gaze fell over to his cousins, Naomi, and Sami. “All ya’ll drunk asses need to go back to your rooms.” 

Sounds of protest from attendees, Jey hiccuping as he swayed and fell onto the sofa. “Man, I ain’t even that—that drunk, uce.”

Naomi pointed to Sami. “What h–he said!”

Sami’s eyes widened, asking no one but himself, “what did I say?” 

Roman shut his eyes, reaching for his phone and sending a text for the Wise Man to come over. Never mind it was 3am, he wasn’t about to deal with this shit. 

And, he didn’t.

Less than ten minutes later, Paul was present, escorting the inebriated parties back to their rooms, all of which were conveniently located just a few doors down from Roman. But, still, given how wasted they all were, he wouldn’t trust them to walk in a straight line, let alone to the right hotel room. 

Paul had just finished with Jey, who'd he heard saying something about getting Waffle House, when the Wise Man went for Alamea who continued to dance, listening to some song through her phone. 

But, Roman stopped him.

“I’ll take care of her,” was all he said, and it was all that was needed. 

Paul left the Tribal Chief alone.

A few minutes later, Alamea became aware that it was really just herself and Roman. “Well,” she elongated the ‘l’ and started to look around, as if searching for something. Her purse, most likely. “I–I guess I—should get g–going.” Shrugging, she attempted to walk past him, of course, stumbling seconds later.

Roman caught her, looking down at her. Naturally, his eyes set on her titties, sitting nice and perfect in that little dress of hers. “Naw.” She looked up, warm brown eyes wide and full lips formed into a pout. “You’ll stay with me tonight, baby girl.” 

Alamea blinked, hating and not understanding why her stomach fluttered at that. At the nickname. 

It’s not like it was the first time he’d called her something other than her government, so what was different?

“I—I don’t—” She stopped, falling and leaning into his chest. Her eyes shut. She was suddenly so tired, and he just felt so good.

He did nothing, just standing there holding her as the music continued to play from the phone in her hand. 

Got me lost, got me hooked, now I'm so confused

Was this a part of your plan?

I don't really understand what to do

What to do with a boy like you?

They remained that way for a few minutes before Roman finally lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. He sat her on the counter, opting to only wash her face, removing makeup for her. He’d have helped her shower, if not for the fact he was certain she’d probably pass out before he could finish.

So, he skipped that, helping her out of her dress and into one of his shirts. Alamea became slightly more cognizant when he carried her once more into the bedroom, laying her down, pulling the covers over her, making sure she was good before leaving her alone. 

She wasn’t exactly sure where he went, but her guess would be to clean up some of the mess they’d made. 

However, that was the least of her concerns, because her drunken haze wasn’t enough to stop her from thinking about his actions. How he….how took care of her. Like….like he cared.

Music no longer playing, Roman having stopped it, leaving her phone on the nightstand, the lack of Kesha’s voice didn’t stop the lyrics from playing on repeat in Alamea’s head. 

Got me lost, got me hooked, now I'm so confused

A song and lyrics she’d heard a million times over before, they’d never felt or rang more true than in that moment. 

—------

December, 2022

The last thing Alamea expected or needed was Roman Reigns waiting for her in her hotel room.

But, that was exactly what she got.

Ever since that night of their impromptu party, that something had shifted between them. She didn't know what, just that he’d reverted back to his old ways of mostly ignoring her during the days. He was still outside of her door more often than not, but he didn’t stay anymore. Sometimes leaving as soon as they were done.

It was….confusing, to say the least. Hurtful as hell, to say the most.

Blowing out a breath, she bumped the door shut with her hip and locked it. “Not tonight,” she murmured. She couldn’t tonight. 

Physically and emotionally. 

“Where the hell have you been?”

She just looked over at him. It was obvious he was pissed, and any other time, she’d be nervous by his tone and expression. But, not tonight. Just….not tonight. 

Alamea stepped out of her heels and threw her purse to the side, finally answering, “out.” 

She realized she’d yet to maintain eye contact with him, a partially intentional act on her part. But, trying to move past Roman Reigns without answering a question posed to you was never a good idea. 

He shot up off the bed and blocked her path, a solid wall of prevention. “You’re drunk,” he assessed, eyes going over her from head to toe. He looked displeased. Oh fucking well.

“I had a drink or two. I’m not drunk,” she argued, feeling a sense of defensiveness that clearly came from the alcohol in her system. “Now, can you please move? I’m tired, and I can’t do this with you tonight.” 

“Do what?” He sounded both annoyed and confused, the latter of two just pissing her off.

“Roman, please.” She ran her hand over her hair and closed her eyes. “It’s been a rough day. I just want to go to bed.”

He looked down at her, a line of fire flashing in his eyes. “Were you with someone?”

At that, her head snapped up. Irritation covered her face, moving its way up her body. The absolute audacity for him to not only ask her that but to seem annoyed?

The alcohol had her emboldened but not stupid. She murmured, “you’re impossible.” Foolishly, she tried to move past him again, only for him to lift his arm, barring her. “Ro–”

“I’m not going to ask you again, Alamea.” She closed her eyes. “Were you—”

“Fine!” She snapped. If her volume or outburst surprised him, he did an excellent job not showing it. “You want to fuck me? Fine! Fuck me!” She pushed him away and marched over to the bed, starting to remove her earrings. “How do you want me, huh? On my back? On my knees? What will it be tonight?”

Roman turned towards her, looking less angry and more confused. That only made her more upset. “What the hell are you doing?”

“This is what you wanted, right?” She continued, using the hair tie on her wrist to put her hair up. “This is all you ever want.” 

It was that statement that caused the anger to completely slide away as Roman realized what was happening. “Ally—”

“Come on!” She reached back, probably for the zipper of her dress. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To get your itch scratched, so let’s get to it.”

“Would you shut up?” His tone was softer, volume lower. He stepped toward her, reaching to lower her arms. “Stop it.”

“Why?” She snapped once more, trying to tug her arms out of his reach. “You need to get what you came here for, right? Why else would you bother with me if not to get your dick wet?” Roman didn’t show it, but it was off for him seeing and hearing that from her. Alamea was a lot of things, but drunk, angry, and incoherent would never be any terms he’d use to describe her. Maybe omit the latter of the terms, she may have been drunk and angry, but he was following her just fine. “So, do it. Fuck me. Fuck me and leave like you always do.”

It was the way her voice cracked at the word ‘always’ that did something to him, made him pissed all over again. 

He fucking hated seeing her cry. 

“What are you waiting for?” She was beating on his chest, the tears flowing freely. “Just do it.” She sobbed. “Just leave me.”

“C’mere,” he whispered, moving his hand to the back of her neck. “Look at me.” His tone was soothing, free hand moving to her waist, holding her. He waited until she settled her eyes on him. “You wanna know why I leave?” Alamea didn’t say anything, just nodded quietly, her tears still reflecting, taunting him. He shut his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. “I can’t function when I’m with you.”

Alamea wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. And she definitely didn’t expect him to continue. “All I fucking think about is you. Your smile. Your scent. Your taste. I’m with you, and all I want to do is stay because everything is simple with you. No pressure. No weight. It’s just me and you.” 

And it was true, every fucking word that he never thought he could find in him to verbalize. But, he was a selfish bastard, too selfish to realize that letting her go was exactly what he should have done. 

But, as true as all of that was, he could never and would never say that to her face. Not when she was sober. No, he could only say it then, because she was drunk, and he’d seen Alamea drunk. Knew good and well her memory of the night prior would be all but non-existent. 

It was a confession that wouldn’t hold or stand, because she wouldn’t remember it come tomorrow.

Roman wiped at her tears, and she clutched onto his shirt. She didn’t know how to even begin to process what he was saying, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol in her system. 

“I told you before, Alamea, I’m not a good man.” His voice grew soft, and she could have sworn she saw his eyes gloss over. “I can’t give you what you want. I can’t be what you deserve.”

It was when he attempted to pull away that Alamea broke from her haze of surprise. She released the knot of his shirt in her hand and slowly moved her hand up his chest, resting it over his heart. “This….” Her smile faltered, battling with the defeated frown that was impatiently waiting its turn. “This is all I want.”

He said nothing, and neither did she. Not after that. Both silent for different reasons. Alamea because she wasn’t sure how they were to move forward from this, what happened after tonight. 

And, for Roman, it was less confusion regarding what happened next and more the fact that Alamea was desiring something she already had.

—-----

2023

In 2023, Roman modified his schedule. He wasn’t part time, per se, but he certainly wasn’t full time like he used to be. He stopped attending every show, his appearances being something more of a surprise than anything.

That also meant his dynamic with Alamea changed. If he wasn’t at work, that meant that she didn’t see him as much, that their arrangement shifted from something consistent and frequent to the polar opposite. 

It was an…adjustment for her, for sure.

Beneficial in a lot of ways, as it freed up some of her time, allowing to work with and design for other superstars. But, it also left a sort of void that she couldn’t allow herself to think too much about. Too difficult. 

What she couldn’t ignore though was the slow and gradual implosion. Tension. Ego. And many other things that started to infiltrate her work family. As great as Alamea viewed Roman, she could acknowledge that he could be….a lot.

In not the best ways.

Ways that were starting to directly impact his Bloodline.

It started with Sami. His loyalty to the Bloodline waning and completely gone with a single chair to Roman’s back. An already sensitive topic and area for The Tribal Chief. That seemed to mark the beginning of the end of it all, because before she knew it, not only was Sami gone, but so was Jey.

That was especially hard for her. Over the past year plus, she’d grown so close to all the members. Especially the twins. They were like her brothers, and for someone who’d already lost her only real brother, it was like reopening a wound that never fully healed in the first place.

She knew it was hard for Roman, too. Not that he’d admit it. He’d hint at it during pillow talk, but a full, honest acknowledgement of how he’d unintentionally caused the dissolution was something she knew that she’d never hear. 

Even if it was true. 

He still had Solo. Still had Jimmy.

Still had her, and for him, that seemed to be enough.

If only she felt the same. 

But, again, Roman being gone for what felt like the majority of the time helped in other ways. She focused more on work and started thinking more about her future outside of WWE. While she loved designing gear for the superstars, she found herself thinking more and more about the long-term. If she could see her doing it for the rest of her life. If she would be satisfied. She wasn’t sure.

She did know, however, that the idea of trying to launch her own clothing brand seemed more than appealing. Maybe opening up a small boutique back home was looking more and more like a possibility and reality. Because being on the road was fun sometimes, but she often found herself missing home more and more. She missed being around her family.

So, maybe a couple more years, and she’d venture back home, establishing roots there.

Maybe start to lean into the idea of settling down. It was something she knew she always wanted. A husband and family, but it was never a big priority. She wanted to establish and be comfortable in her career first. And, she had. Being the Bloodline’s lead designer along with other close friendships with the other superstars had given her a decent sized online following.

That could definitely be helpful when it came time, maybe, for her to establish her brand. 

But, thinking of her future also meant figuring out her present. And, Alamea was starting to see that while she definitely missed Roman when he wasn’t around, it wasn’t….it wasn’t unbearable. She was happy to see him when he came around, but she was also learning how to navigate a life around him.

Without him.

And, maybe, just maybe, that could be a thing she could learn to make a reality. 

She tried, at least, downloading a few dating apps. It felt silly though. At 26, using apps to find potential romantic interests seemed like an almost embarrassing thing. It also didn’t work out very well given her insane travel schedule. Still, it was nice to have men to talk to. 

Even…even Carmleo was nice to talk to from time to time.

If only Roman could function with that last part and not act a goddamn fool afterwards.

He’d shown up one show for an unadvertised appearance, saw her talking to Melo backstage, and fucked her completely into that damn mattress later that night. 

It felt less like a care thing, and more Roman being possessive. Whatever that meant, because Alamea didn’t know a lot, but one thing she did know was that she was not his. Not in any meaningful way. They fucked, and that was it.

Right?

—----------

2024

He never said goodbye. 

Not necessarily in between his sporadic appearances. Where he would show up to work in the morning, do his thing in the evening, appear outside her door at night, and be gone the following morning. At some point, when him leaving right after the deed was done transitioned into him staying longer, holding her, pillow talk, staying the night, he’d mention it. Tell her that he’d be on the jet back home in the morning.

And, he’d do just as he stated, being gone by the time she woke up the following morning ready to travel to their next stop. 

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

So, it wasn’t that goodbye she didn’t get.

It was the one following Mania. 

His loss at Mania.

He’d only spoken to the Wise Man, given a few orders, and he’d boarded that jet with not as much as a single look at her. No text. No call.

Nothing.

And, it’d been that way for four long months. Four months filled with nothing but stress and anxiety. Roman’s fall at WrestleMania left the Bloodline in shambles, all but extinct. It was already on the brink of collapse, what with the turbulent exits of Sami and Jey, but it seemed Roman losing to Cody truly cemented that.

He’d failed, according to Solo, and failure, as deemed by Roman himself, was always unacceptable. 

Roman was labeled a disgrace and therefore unfit to lead the Bloodline. New leadership was needed, according to Solo, who also felt that he was the right person to do so. 

Alamea didn’t agree, but at the end of the day, her opinion didn’t matter. She was just there.

Solo ousted Jimmy, the last piece of what used to be her normal. Brought on new, distant, dangerous family members. It started with Tama, who’d never not made her feel uncomfortable. Then Tonga. He was less erratic as his brother but equally unhinged, just in a subtle way. 

And then there was Jacob.

He was just fucking terrifying. 

Everything that was happening felt frightening. Alamea partially expected Solo to also kick her out. She was hoping for that, but instead, he made her stay. Kept her close. Forced her to watch as he and the new Bloodline wreaked havoc. And, it wasn’t that the OG Bloodline wasn’t equally volatile, but there was always a method to the madness. Roman was methodical and strategic. 

Solo just felt like a little boy stomping his feet trying to prove that he was old enough and ready to sit at the big kids’ table. 

At the head of the table.

Week by week, it seemed to go from bad to worse. The only thing that helped was Paul. That he too shared her horror at what was being done. The massive undone of all of Roman’s hard work. The erasure of him. The disrespect of his legacy, but for all the poking and prodding that bear, the bear…never came.

Roman never showed up.

Never replied to any of Paul’s texts and calls, something she inquired about every damn day. 

Never replied to any of her calls and texts. 

He’d completely abandoned them. 

Abandoned her.

And, he never even said fucking goodbye. 

—-------

August, 2024

Alamea always had a bad feeling about Summer Slam. A small part of her was hoping that it would be Roman’s return, despite four months of no contact. But, that hope went right out the window when the new Bloodline finally turned on Paul and landed him in the hospital and out on indefinite leave.

Because if that couldn’t drag Roman out of hiding, what could?

And, it only worsened when she was told the day that they wanted her out, ringside. 

She’d paled. 

They’d never asked that before, and despite offering no clarification or direction, she knew exactly why. 

They wanted her to interfere and help Solo win the match. 

Win the Undisputed Title from Cody Rhodes.

Roman’s title.

And, in the strangest of ways, it was right then and there when she realized what they were asking—telling—of her, she knew what she had to do. 

There was interference. As expected. New or OG, if there was one thing the Bloodline would always do, it was make sure whatever man or men was/were in the ring would come out on top.

It was a common, shared understanding thing.

Not for Alamea. 

Four months of being and feeling helpless bled over into a newfound, insurmountable amount of indignation and defiance. Tama and Tonga were out of the picture, somewhere battling it out with Kevin Owens and Randy Orton, who’d come out to even the odds.

Jacob was down and injured, his leg fucked up, but that didn’t stop him from yelling at her.

“Distract his ass!”

He was referring to the referee, and the moment was perfect. Solo had the upper hand and was clearly wearing Rhodes down. All she had to do was capture and sustain his attention last enough for Solo to get in a cheap, illegal shot and do it. Secure the win.

Standing on the sidelines, the roar of the audience, the chill of the Cleveland air, the rapid beating of her heart, it was all so much.

“Ally!” Solo leaned over the rope, body sweaty and exerted. She winced. Only Roman had called her that. It felt wrong coming from Solo’s mouth. “Get me that damn chair!”

He was pointing to the ready, open, available chair only a couple feet away from a grounded Jacob.

She looked at the chair, looked at Jacob, looked at Solo, and with every single piece of frustration that had been building up over the four months, she said without a single stutter. 

“Go to hell, Solo.”

Those in close enough vicinity expressed sounds of shock. Jacob was spazzing, but when was he not?

Solo, however, he was enraged.

She tried to move, tried to run, but he was too fast. It seemed like it only took a matter of seconds for him to move out the ring, grabbing and dragging her by her hair into the ring. 

“No!” She’d shouted, trying to fight against him, but was no good. “Let me go!”

“You ungrateful bitch!” He’d yanked her head back, yelling and screaming in her face, spit flying. “I would have given you everything! I’m your Tribal Chief!”

The hell you are.

She would and was preparing to say as such, but the moment was taken from her the minute Cody came from behind, grabbing Solo, effectively separating them. Knocked off her feet, she stumbled into the corner, watching Rhodes do his signature Cross Rhodes move. 

To this day, she’s still uncertain if it was to save her or take advantage of a distracted opponent. 

But, it was a short-lived upper-hand, because less than a minute later, Cody was back on his ass and Solo was on his feet, moving towards her. And, once more, she was on her feet, his hand tightly gripping her hair, but this time, a different position. One arm extended and holding her out, the other also extended, thumb protruding, Alamea knew all too well what was going to happen next.

But, it didn’t. 

It didn’t because the sound of rhythmic drums and flashing blue lights broke everything. The momentum. The moment. The fucking atmosphere. 

For the first time in months, Solo and Alamea shared something. The wide eyed look of disbelief on both of their faces as the crowd all moved to their feet, screaming and shouting in anticipation for what so many—Alamea and Solo included—believed impossible.

But, then she saw it. 

She saw him, and he looked livid.

Alamea cried out in pain when Solo roughly shoved her into the post, pain shooting through her shoulder. On the mat, she held onto her arm, the burning intensifying, face scrunched up in pain. 

She wasn’t looking, too consumed in her discomfort and the shock of it all to see it was at seeing her reaction—the pain on her face—that made Roman waste no time getting into the ring.

And, at the same time he unleashed months worth of pent-up rage onto his younger cousin, the ref helped her out of the ring, another referee meeting them and escorting her to the back. 

One look over her shoulder, however, would find Roman looking directly at her. 

—---------

Alamea would love to say that that was it. That him randomly showing up after months of being MIA and straight up ignoring her was it. The straw that broke the camel’s back. That despite him showing up and essentially saving her, it didn’t make a difference. 

That she was finally done after that.

But, she can’t.

She can’t because that would be a lie. 

Did she give him an earful when he, of course, showed up later that night outside her hotel room, as always? 

Sure. 

Never mind the fact that the first thing he did was welcome himself inside of said room, immediately and gently reaching for her arm, inspecting her shoulder, asking, “you alright?”

No. No, she was not alright.

“I’m fine.” 

A lie. A fucking lie.

“What the hell, Roman?” She yelled, pacing across the hotel room as he sat silent on the edge of the bed. “Paul and I were texting and calling you for months with no response, and then you just show up tonight like everything is fine?”

His gaze remained focused on the floor, his voice even and calm. She hated it. “Nothing is fine, Ally.”

“No shit,” she scoffed, shaking her head, rubbing her temples. “Roman….you abandoned us.” 

You abandoned me.

Had she been looking at him, she’d seen his jaw tick at that. At the word abandoned. “I needed to clear my head, Alamea.”

“So, say that,” she snapped, finally stopping to look and focus on him, regardless of his lack of eye-contact. “Communicate with us, Roman. It’s been a fucking nightmare—” Alamea winced seeing his reaction to her poor choice of words, but it didn’t stop her from expressing months worth of frustration. “You lost, and I get that was hard for you, but leaving us here to deal with all this mess was not fair, and you know it.”

Leaving me here.

“I know that.” His eyes lifted to hers, finally, and she immediately regretted it, because him looking at her like that, almost….sympathetic. Apologetic. It….it didn’t help. “And, I’m sorry.” 

That definitely didn’t help. 

“Are you?” A pointed challenge but valid question, nonetheless. She crossed her arms, the pain in her shoulder almost non-existent largely due to the Tylenol she’d been given by the trainers. “Because that would mean you actually care.”

He was silent.

“You think I don’t care?”

A simple question. If only a simple answer was available. Though unnecessary, because Roman was on his feet, in front of her and on her before she could truly process what kind of answer she wanted to give him.

His lips were on her, igniting a fire she didn’t realize she’d missed so much until that moment. Roman always kissed with intent and purpose, neither of which were unclear in that moment. She grasped at his face, holding him closer, his mouth dominating her.

Her hand went to the bottom of his shirt, eager to lift it off, to feel taut muscle under her short acrylics. He obliged, removing his shirt, leaving him bare and exposed to her. Her breath caught just for a moment. His body had always been something to be exalted, but it seemed over the past year he’d progressed to whatever exists beyond the gods level.

Divine.

He was divine.

Roman worked quick to return the favor, yanking her toward him and pulling off the thin sleeved shirt she wore. No bra. Big, heavy breasts freed, she could see his eyes darken. He’d always been obsessed with her body, almost as much as she adulated his. 

He hiked her up on his waist, an unnecessary act as he simply moved to lay her down on the bed he was previously sitting in. 

Body hovering over hers, she sat on her elbows, watching and lifting up her lower half as he went to remove the matching pants to her top.

Again, that darkened look of desire that deepened as he focused on her thick thighs and the sacred, still clothed space between them. 

“Missed this,” he murmured, soft, thick lips trailing kisses down her neck while one hand played with her breast. “Missed you.”

A statement she couldn't think too much about when his mouth shifted to her nipple, sucking greedily while his other hand lowered from playing with her breast to dipping inside her underwear.

“Roman,” she moaned his name, neck craned back, one hand cradling the back of his head as his tongue circled around her chocolate areola and his fingers began collecting the wetness already forming between her thighs. 

He was too good at this.

Way too good.

Eyes barely open, focused and unfocused on the ceiling above her, dissatisfaction filled when he released her with a pop, voice haughty and something else. “You missed me?” 

Need. A sense of need unlike the carnal one blooming through the both of them. 

She said nothing, shifting and moaning as he teased a finger in her tight hole. An unacceptable non-answer.

He snaked his way down her body, Alamea partially wishing she’d removed his pants instead as she caught a brief glance of that unmistakable dent against his dark sweats. 

She watched as he easily slid her panties down her legs, bringing them to his face, eyes shutting as he sniffed and inhaled deeply, like trying to comment her scent to memory.

It made her even wetter.

She watched his head lower and lower, the tip of that pink tongue peeking out and grazing just enough for her to feel but not feel. Groaning, she reached to push his head down and help him reach his target, but he resisted, smirking up at her. 

Damn you.

“You missed me?”

Her eyes widened. This bastard. 

“Roman, please,” she groaned, again, working to help him reach his destination, and again, he decided to play more games.

Her head dropped back when he hummed and blew on her clit, fingering the wetness on her inner thigh. “That wasn’t an answer, baby girl.”

Damn him.

He always knew just what to say, when to say it, and how to say it. It always did her something different when he used nicknames like that. Even calling her Ally. But, it was when he placed a long, languid kiss up her pussy that he finally evoked the response he was clearly looking for.

“Fuck,” she cursed, ready and willing to say whatever he wanted to get exactly what she wanted. “Yes, yes, I missed you, okay? I missed you.” A desperate confession born from need and borderline pain.

It pained her to not have him.

Another haughty smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

Like most, if not all, sexual interactions, Roman ate her out until she was seeing stars, moon, skies, Jupiter, Mars, and anything else not of this world. His arrogance was astounding to many, and rightfully so, but for her, someone who’d been on the receiving end of that magical tongue of his, it simply wasn’t enough.

He was too good. 

And, he always knew just how and where to get her for when it was that time. Time for him to spread her thighs, and slide every inch of that thick, long dick of his inside of her. And, when he did, for the first time in much too long, they were both moaning together. He kept his grip on her hips, her fingers dug into his back, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

It’d been a while, so there was a bit of discomfort, maybe even pain, but that easily and quickly morphed into that pleasure only he could bring her. 

“Missed this so much,” he groaned, deep voice in her ear as he drove into her, filling her to the hilt. “Thought of this—of you—the entire fucking time.”

She moaned, seeing the hiss leave his mouth as her nails raked up and down, laying claim to him. “L–liar.”

She could have sworn the faintest hint of a smile appeared on his face before he shifted his hips and somehow found a way to dig into her even deeper. “Shit,” she cursed. “You’re so deep in me.”

“Course’ I am,” was his cocky ass reply, though again, well warranted. “No one else can fuck you like this, Ally.” 

Ally.

God, it’d been too long since she’d been called that. Called that by him. The only person she wanted to hear said name from. 

She was having a hard time keeping the noise down, keeping from screaming, the intensity of his thrusting causing the headboard to smack into the wall repeatedly. She was certain they were going to put a hole into it. 

“You think I don’t care?” He asked, having switched positions so that one of her thick legs was over his shoulder, her other leg locked around his waist. He was pounding her. “That it didn’t kill me to be away from you that long?”

It certainly didn’t feel like it. Not while he was gone, but in that moment, with him etching and memorializing his place and autonomy over her body with his dick, she could feel it. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was, was unprepared to admit that it was care. Not really.

The sex. He could have just missed the sex. Not her. 

He, unlike her, seemed to be able to separate the two.

If only she was so lucky. 

When he put her on her hands and knees, she’d braced for something else. Rougher. Less….whatever that was. It was his favorite position on especially stressful days. He’d use her body as a ragdoll of sorts, jerking her back and forth, heavy balls slapping against her bountiful ass the same way her Double D’s flopped all about. Erratic and aimless. He’d use it—and her—to decompress from the heaviest of stressors, and she took it all. 

She took everything he gave her, because it was mutually satisfying. He fucked her until she couldn’t feel anything else, couldn’t take anything else, all the while he got his own sort of fill and salacious unloading. 

It just worked.

But, this was different, there was something almost…..sensual. He fucked her hard and deep, but he also kept that big body leaned over hers, continuing to pour into her all of the right—or wrong—words.

“Mmmm. Look how good this pussy molds to my dick. Shit made for me and me only.”

“You making a fucking’ mess all over these nice as sheets. Your Tribal Chief loves how wet this pussy gets for him.”

“Fucking perfect, Ally. I can never get enough of you.”

“That’s it, baby. Take this dick.”

“Trying to act like you didn’t miss me but milking the shit out of my cock. You a terrible liar, baby girl.”

They fucked throughout the night. Various locations. Several positions. Respites never lasting longer than twenty minutes, though none of it really shocked her. Alamea learned a long time ago if she was with Roman, alone, a bed or any other type of flat surface in the vicinity, she’d always end up with her legs in the air.

That wasn’t the problem.

Afterwards was the problem.

He didn’t leave. Not after the shared shower where he ended up on his knees eating her pussy like it was his midnight snack, a necessity in order for him to slumber. Not even after they—eventually—made it out of the shower, where she’d expected him to grab his clothes and redress, preparing to leave.

No, he instead made his way over to the bed, stark naked, climbing in and clearly waiting for her.

Or, something, at least.

She climbed in shortly after him, not needing to position herself. He did that for them, pulling her atop his body. Silence fell among them. Welcomed but not helpful.

They needed to talk. 

“I care, Ally,” he spoke into the dark, voice low and what some might consider vulnerable. “Too much.”

She said nothing, unable to ignore the unspoken “I’ve always cared” that lingered in the room. 

—-----------

The appearing and disappearing act continued. A bit of a detriment, in Alamea’s eyes, given all that happened since Roman’s grand return. New title as the OTC aside, it’d been nothing but back and forth between him and the New Bloodline, because, of course, his pride and hubris remained unchanged. He believed himself able to handle them all on his own. 

She knew he couldn’t, and deep down, she knew he knew that, too. But, for as long as she’d known him, Roman’s pride was one of his biggest downfalls. He’d continue to end up in the situation he was in until he realized that he needed help.

And, to her credit, she tried to reason with him. Using their pillowtalk for those occasions where he showed up and they fell back into their old routine to talk some sense into him. But, it was always the same thing.

“I’ve got this, Ally.”

He didn’t. He didn’t have it. And, she knew as much when he agreed to team with Rhodes at Bad Blood. 

Knew that if there was an opportunity, that was it, so she did what she had to do. 

Reached out to Jimmy. She’d spoken with him every so often ever since his little brother and his new Bloodline put Big Jim out of commission for six long months. Stressed with him how Roman needed him.

Roman needed help.

And like the loyal family member he was, he showed up. 

Right when Roman needed him the most. 

She’d been on the sidelines of that match, saw the shock and appreciation, subtle vulnerability in Roman’s expression as he stared up at Jimmy in that ring. Saw his lips moving, asking, “you called the play?”

The way Jimmy nodded, pointing to her, Roman’s eyes setting on hers, locking.

“For you,” she mouthed. 

Because, she had. She did it for him.

She did a lot for a man who, really, didn’t do much for her in return.

Not….not what she really wanted, at least. 

But, Jimmy’s return kickstarted something. Restarted what was starting to feel like the good ole' days. Jey was recruited, though he’d made it clear it was less about helping Roman and more about getting his receipt on Solo and his crew following them costing him his title. Sami returned simply to help Jey. No other reason.

A disastrous show at Crown Jewel, however, revealed that while they were together, they weren’t united, and that was a problem.

A big problem. 

One of many problems, as Roman still refused to humble himself, even as the group went around trying to recruit a fifth and final member for War Games. The match that was supposed to determine once and for all who the real Bloodline was.

Except, they couldn’t find a fifth member.

Until they did.

And, Roman hated it. Hated him. CM Punk. Though, she couldn’t blame him. That history ran deep, and so did the hurt.

In getting to know Roman better, learning him, she’d realized that underneath that harsh, hardened exterior was an unhealed man.

It sometimes made her wonder if…if that was why he never gave any indication of wanting more from them. Wanting more of her beyond just what she could provide him sexually.

If something held him back.

If someone.

Regardless, it didn’t matter anyway. They had more important issues, because even though they came out with the dub at War Games, Solo was still refusing to relinquish his “claim” to the title of Tribal Chief.

This meant another match was needed. 

Just the two of them.

Roman vs Solo in Tribal Combat.

Like most things, Roman didn’t outwardly admit it, but she could see it. See that he hated it came to this, hated that despite everything that happened, he still loved his cousin.

But, Roman knew what had to be done. And, he did. He came out on top, hailed as the Undisputed Tribal Chief. It seemed like things were starting to gradually fall into place.

Seemed that way, at least.

—-------

Alamea wouldn’t say that it went downhill after Tribal Combat on Netflix, but one could argue that, in some ways, it went downhill after Tribal Combat on Netflix.

Roman was so determined and focused on winning back his title, on entering and winning the Royal Rumble to secure a chance to do just that, that he’d lost focus on something else.

Something important.

Something that was currently biting him in the ass.

The favor.

Punk’s favor owed to him by Paul Heyman. She had a feeling, a big feeling, actually, that somehow, someway, that favor would end up screwing over Roman. And, sadly, she was right.

He was being screwed over.

Back to back. 

Punk eliminating him at the Rumble.

Seth injuring him at the Rumble, thus ruling him out for Elimination Chamber, his last opportunity to challenge Cody for the title. 

The constant back and forth between him, Seth, and Punk all culminating to the grand reveal of the big favor. That Punk wanted Paul with him, in his corner, at their match at Mania. 

And right then and there, Alamea knew where things were headed. What was happening.

Betrayal.

Roman was being betrayed.

Again.

And this….this, he couldn’t ignore.

Couldn’t not talk about. She couldn’t see how deeply it was impacting him without at least trying again to get him to open up.

Alamea woke up in the middle of the night, alone, but not alone. Reaching for his shirt, she slid it over her body, walking out to the balcony of her hotel room. That’s where he was, sitting and looking out over the city, alive and surprisingly bustling considering it was the middle of the night. 

Cali things, apparently.

Pushing back some of her hair, she sat down next to him, unsurprised at how he kept his gaze on the city, not even bothering to look at her.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did he. 

Not at first.

“It’s funny how much a year can change,” he spoke, deep voice low and laden with something indecipherable. “This time last year, I was untouchable.” 

She remained silent. There was nothing to say to that, because he was right. He was literally on top.

Alamea watched his face distort into something bitter and resentful. “I should’ve tightened my grip on this company’s neck.” A sudden relaxation of his hard features as he chuckled bitterly. “It was the Wise Man that taught me diplomacy.” His voice suddenly mocking as he recited something she’d also heard Paul repeat almost a dozen times. “You gotta think politically.”

She licked her lips, moving closer to him. He reached a hand to her thigh. “I tried to help everyone.” A dip in his tone. Sadness. “Most of them don’t understand what a helping hand really looks like. What that really feels like.”

She frowned. “Roman…”

“What do I get for it?” A rhetorical question, his head shaking, hand squeezing her thigh just enough. “Netflix…TKO….Billion dollar deals.” Truths that could not be denied. There was 100% no question that the company had been as successful as it’d been the past few years because of the man next to her. “And somehow, I’m out on my ass.”

“Roman.” She placed her hand on top of his, taking and squeezing it. “You’ll get past this.”

Her words, however, didn’t seem to penetrate. “I lift everybody up and somehow….no one’s got enough respect….to just be true to their Tribal Chief.” He swallowed, jaw clenched. “To be true to me.”

So what does that make me?

An almost bitter question she forced herself to keep safe within the confines of her mind. She’d never been one to kick a man when he was down. 

A quiet fell over them followed with an almost whispered, “lessons learned.” She ran her thumb over his knuckles as he turned to look at her for the first time. “We don’t lose.” She pressed her lips together. “We learn.” Unable to help herself, she reached to cup his face, his salt and pepper beard bristling against her palm. “Don’t trust anyone.” Words that didn’t seem to meet his eyes. Not as he looked at her.

“You can trust me, Roman,” she whispered. “You have to know that.” As much as she wished that gentle reminder would prompt a different expression, one of acceptance and appreciation, it didn’t. He still looked torn. Conflicted. The weight of it all fully visible for her to see. “I’m here. Right now. With you. Does….does that not mean anything?”

Do I not mean anything?

A question she’d wondered since their meeting three years prior. 

A question, one day, she knew, she’d have to ask. But, not that night.

Again, it wasn’t about her, and she wasn’t prepared to try to make it about her. 

Even if….even if there was a conversation they needed to have about her, about them. She couldn’t. Not tonight, at least. Soon. Most likely after WrestleMania, where he was likely to take another break.

“You sticking around?” His voice broke her from her thoughts. Even. An admirable attempt to remain indifferent and unbothered, but she knew better. Could see past it. Could see the hesitation and uncertainty swimming in his eyes. 

Her answer was interesting to her, because at one point, it would be different. Another response than the one she would give him. An answer that was a bit of a necessity. 

If for some reason, she didn’t want to stick around, that option seemed like no longer an option.

She didn’t have the choice to not stick around anymore. 

“Yeah,” she answered, lowering her hand and scooting closer to him. Roman moved his arm around her, kissing the top of her head. She snuggled into him, hand on his chest. “I’ll stick around..."

—----------

She needs to talk to him. 

Not a text. 

Not a phone call. 

No waiting around for him to find her after the fact, when he feels like being bothered with her. 

She needs to talk to him, in person, and now.

It’s why, despite the massive weight of nerves sitting on her chest and rumbling in her stomach—unless that’s another symptom—she finds out where his locker room will be. Because of course, title or no title, the Tribal Chief always has his own space at every show. 

Never to share with others except his Bloodline.

Whatever that means and looks like these days. 

Determined or not, it doesn't stop the fact that there are a million and one things she’d rather be doing right now. Literally anything else. Anything. But, almost two weeks of sitting on this is already too long. Every day that passes without her saying anything just delays the inevitable. 

She has to tell him at some point, and him making an unadvertised appearance at the show tonight is the perfect opportunity to do so.

Standing outside the locker room, Alamea forces herself to push back the urge to run away and hide. In every and all the ways. Makes herself knock three times, waiting, foot tapping, arms crossed outside the door. 

It doesn’t take long for the door to open, and while she’s not sure who she expected to see, it certainly isn’t him.

Paul looks nervous, but that’s to be expected. He should be.

Roman is gonna fuck him up.

He clears his throat, stepping outside, standing in the doorway. Almost intentionally. “Ms. Dixon, what a sur—”

“Cut the crap, Paul.” A terse interruption, somewhat unlike her character, but between that and the fact that this bastard clearly made his choice regarding whose team he’s on, she really doesn’t have much of anything to say to him. “Do you know when he’s set to get here?”

Normally, it would be posed as a “when” versus a “do you,” but again, Roman’s long-term Wise Man has found himself in that space below the doghouse these days, so what he knows has, she’d bet, become severely limited.

He stutters with his response. “Well, you know as well as I do, the Tribal Chief comes and goes as he ple—”

“That’s not what I asked you.” She closes her eyes, shaking her head. This is already hard enough, and the fact that she’s now, of all times, getting a sudden wave of that damn nausea is just icing on the fucking cake. “Never mind, I’ll just wait for him.”

Because he’s bound to show up sooner or later, and she’d rather the sooner so they can get this over with now, even if something tells her this discussion is better served for after the show. 

After WrestleMania, like she was initially thinking. But, there's something....something that won't let her wait any longer.

He...he deserves to know.

But, it’s when she goes to walk past Paul, into the room, he moves, shifts his big body, blocking her.

She frowns.

What the hell?

An insincere smile followed by a bullshit excuse or reason. However he sees it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her frown deepens. What? “I always used to hang out in the Bloodline locker room.”

A fact. When not working and helping the few superstars she was allowed to work with, Alamea would oftentimes spend the majority of her time in the locker room, laughing and bantering with the twins. Sometimes, it was just her and Roman. He’d kick everyone else out so he could focus before a match.

Never her though. 

And, Paul knows this, so she’s even more confused by his reluctance.

“I understand that.” More insincerity, except something else now. He’s nervous. Even more than he was when he first opened the door. “But, I just think tonight you’d be better served somewhere—”

“Who is that?”

Another voice.

Not hers. 

Definitely not Paul’s and most definitely female.

Familiar, too.

Alamea’s frown deepens once more, as she watches how Paul’s eyes go wide, his body angling towards inside the room. 

“Oh, nothing, just—”

“Who’s in there?” She asks. Nothing else. Voice still. Dangerously still.

A now frantic almost gaze switched back onto her. “Uhh—

“I said who is that, Paul?”

Again, the female voice from inside the room. More attitude. A lot more attitude. 

Something comes over Alamea as she subconsciously starts putting the pieces together. Something that makes her shove past the obese men, uncaring of how he stumbles and almost falls to the ground. She’s too busy putting a face to a voice, an act that gives her the most unexpected answer.

It’s not the fact that Jaida Parker in Roman’s locker room that bothers her.

Nor is it even the fact that the NXT star that she’d heard had been out on injury the past few months is looking her up and down with a sort of contempt. 

No, it’s the fact that Jaida Parker is standing before her, mean mugging her, with one hand on her hip and the other on her slightly swollen belly. 

Her pregnant belly.

And, it’d be maybe nothing to think about, but not for the fact that one look at a now standing Paul, the immense, sheer panic and terror on his face, that gives it away. That puts all the pieces together for one damning ass puzzle. 

Jaida’s scowl shifts into an almost knowing smirk as she rubs her stomach. Salt on an open, gushing wound. “Oh, you that lil seamstress girl that used to be with the Bloodline, huh?” She scoffs. “I didn’t even know you was still around.”

Not anymore.

Alamea says nothing. She has nothing to say, or maybe she has a lot to say but none of it nice nor appropriate, and really, her gripe is not with the haughty woman before her. Or, even the complicit accomplice. 

It’s with him, but they’re words that will never be spoken, because she’s done.

Done with it all. Done with this job. Done with WWE. Done with him.

Alamea turns on her heel, marching out past Paul, out of Roman’s locker room, and though he doesn’t know it yet, out of his life.

[catscidr]

Hiii I just found your acc and really like your stuff! Can I pls request lazy morning sex with Jing Yuan (and any character you think might fit this prompt) I just looked and there is not one fic like this of this man when he's like... right there. He's like so perfect for this scenario. Thank you sm and have a great day/night! <3

i just finished writing this its 3am i think i blacked out. everybody give it up for my man jing yuan i need himSO BAAAAD AAHHH i hope u like this nonnie ♡♡ cw: nsfw, mdni. semi-clothed sx, soft dom jy, clt stimulation, size kink if you squint, praise, pet names, slight overstimulation, cuddling n fucking face-to-face, riding, creampie. /not proofread ill do that in the morning. dies/ includes: fem reader, jing yuan, fu xuan mentionned wc: 3,2k

You loved and hated waking up next to Jing Yuan in the morning. On one hand, the rhythm of his beating heart lulls you to sleep, and he makes for a wonderful personal heater; but on the other... he’s a little too comfortable. So much so that every time you sleep with him, you, without fail, end up being late for work. That, or you barely make it in time. At times you would point your finger at him and accuse him of being a wholesome, sleepy version of an incubus, and he would laugh in that smooth, baritone voice of his. 

Regardless. 

This morning was one of those mornings, of course. Jing Yuan came back home for the first time in two weeks the night before- being the general of the Luofu means that he would occasionally have to leave for an unknown amount of time to take care of business. Every time he had to leave, you’d linger around him a little longer than usual, wrap your arms around him tighter than you normally would and let your lips linger on his cheek long enough for the sun to rise completely. 

He’d come back so late last night that you were already sleeping in your shared bed, legs haphazardly thrown over the bed sheets in a poor attempt to regulate your body temperature. The button-up shirt you wore made his heart lunge in his throat in the best way, but the last thing he wanted was to wake you. So, he’d carefully remove his armored uniform, take his shirt off and slip into the bed with you with nothing but his briefs on, and pull you into his chest. You had unconsciously nuzzled closer to him, your body craving the warmth of his body you had missed oh so dearly. 

Which explained the situation you were now in. The dilemma you found yourself stuck in. Jing Yuan was back; you had your face mere millimeters away from his plush chest, his arms held you tight against him, and his soft snores almost convinced you to fall back asleep. Keyword; almost. 

As much as you loved him you knew that he’d be here once you came back from work, so with as much resolve as you could muster, you try wriggling your way out of his grip. With him being as big as he was, though, it didn’t surprise you when he tightened his hold on you, treating you as if you were his plushie threatening to fall off his bed and he was a child.

You let out a quiet oof from his strong grip and reevaluate your options. There weren’t many options, but at least you had choices; either you wake him up, convince him to let you go and then get to work early enough that you don’t risk getting written up again, or you let him hold you and... arrive at work late. Again. Which was the last thing you wanted, given the fact that your boss had specifically told you that she couldn’t allow you to miss another meeting. 

Step one was to summon the ability to be even more stubborn than your lover. Step two is to carefully wriggle your arms up, high enough that you can move your hands and you can use them to your advantage against the beast. It took you some time, given the fact that they were stuck between his and your body, but you succeeded, nonetheless. And you only got one displeased grunt from the sleeping general in response. 

As you’re about to proceed with step three, Jing Yuan cracks an eye open and buries his head into the crook of your neck while curling into you, effectively trapping you between his plush muscles and the duvet. 

Could have gone better. 

“Jing Yuan,” you huff, your voice sounding more like a whine than anything. The general doesn’t respond, leading you to believe he fell asleep again, but his morning voice graces your ears before you have the time to curse him out. “Mhm, I’m up,” he hums, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck in a false apology. 

You wriggle in response, grunting from the sheer effort. One of the downsides that came with cuddling with Jing Yuan was the way he could keep you right there with him as long as he wanted, curse his strength. 

Seeing as he wasn’t going to budge, you decide that two can play that game. You stare into his silky mop of silver hair, pondering whether you should negotiate your freedom or if you should play dirty- but where's the fun in trying to talk your way out of this predicament? You bring a hand up to gently brush his bangs away from his face. He makes a soft noise of contentment at the feeling of your fingers delicately brushing against his face and, before he can grow too comfortable, you lean in and bite his cheek. 

The general makes a noise of surprise, grunting as he pulls away from you to narrow his eyes at his perpetrator. His pout morphs into a lazy smile as he holds your glare. “If you wanted to play you could have just said so, sweetheart,” he says lowly, moving his free hand from your back to letting it rest lazily on your hips, thumb rubbing gentle circles on the exposed skin. 

You stick your tongue out at him stubbornly, “Not now, I have to get up.” Unfazed by your headstrong attitude, Jing Yuan shifts one of his legs to come between yours- his strong thigh sandwiched between your soft ones. A surprised gasp leaves your lips in response to the smooth way he molds his body to yours, but you refuse to allow yourself to be swayed by him. 

“Aeons- ‘Yuan please,” you huff quietly, but he notices the way your voice catches in your throat. His golden eyes briefly shine with what could only be described as mischief and, with a smooth motion, Jing Yuan grabs ahold of your shoulder and swivels you around so that your back is against his chest. A surprised oof rips from your throat as you bounce lightly on the bed from the impact- he lowers his face to yours, a rich, deep chuckle echoing in your ears as your resolve begins to melt away. 

Taking advantage of the new position, Jing Yuan throws a leg over yours to trap you in and, in turn, grinds his growing bulge against your ass. If he wasn’t hard at the sight of your face in the morning when he first woke up, he sure was now; while he slowly ruts against you, he allows his hands to wander down to the hem of your shirt. 

You stifle a moan as the metaphorical dam in your head begins to crumble apart. Sure, you would see him when you would get back home later, but you were with him now. Laying here with your lover, safe and comfortable in his arms while his clothed erection lazily thrusts up into your heat. 

As you let out needy whines that you aren’t even aware you’re voicing, Jing Yuan brings his lips closer to your ear. “Five more minutes?” he asks with a knowing smile, his own breath becoming more and more rugged the more he rubs up against you. Gods, he could feel you throbbing through his sweatpants and your panties. 

You swallow thickly and whine in response, your head already fogging up with desire. Going a whole two weeks without sex wasn’t particularly hard; you had your trusty toy with you and your hands if it happened to run out of battery and you were that desperate. But you weren’t- and during these past two weeks you had felt just fine, totally not pent up or even the slightest bit sexually frustrated. Your job had kept you busy, but when you’re stuck in Jing Yuan’s arms after not feeling him for so long, after not feeling his cock twitching inside you, you felt like something snapped inside you.

Distantly, you think about how pathetic this must look for him; only a few lingering touches and his hips pressing up against yours from the back and that’s all it takes for you to drench your panties. But really, you couldn’t care less. You knew he was just as pent up as you were. 

You bring one of your hands down to fumble with the hem of your panties to quickly take them off, down your legs. Hearing Jing Yuan’s hoarse breathing in your ears only made you even more eager to feel his skin right up against yours. Maybe part of the reason why you were so incredibly turned on was because of how tired you still felt, but either way, you needed him. And he needed you just as badly. 

The general’s hands leave you temporarily to slide his sweatpants down to his thighs, low enough for his cock to leave its confines. Precum builds at the tip, swollen and pulsing with the need to bury itself inside you. He sighs, one of his hands coming up to stroke his length, thumb sliding over the slit every time his fist comes up. You whine at the loss of his hands on you and reach back to take his hand, bringing it between your legs to rub your clit. He laughs at your impatience, shifting his weight on his other arm to lean over you properly. 

“Someone’s impatient and greedy,” he goads. “I thought you wanted to get to work, darling,” he purrs in your ear, his middle and ring finger coming together to tease your bud, riling you up further and making a mess between your legs. A strained fuck leaves your lips as you back your ass up into him, his hard cock tucked between your thighs, rubbing into your arousal. “Please just-” a whimper interrupts you as Jing Yuan increases the pace of his fingers, “-inside. I-I need to feel you,” you huff, feeling too empty. He considers teasing you some more, listening to the wet sounds of your pussy bounce off the walls of your shared bedroom, but his own patience was also waning thin. 

A quiet noise of protest leaves you when the man takes his hand away from your bud. He brings his fingers up to his lips to lick your slick off of them, moaning at the taste. Your thighs clench in response, jerking the general’s cock unintentionally. 

“Fuck,” he growls into your ear, hurriedly taking his length into his hand to guide it into your soaking wet cunt. Your mouth hangs open when you feel his tip slip between your lips, needy noises slipping from your mouth. Inch after inch he sinks into you, slowly letting you accommodate to his girth. He finally bottoms out, stretching your hole as you keen and whine from the satisfaction of feeling so full. 

He waits a few beats to allow you to get used to him, your hoarse breathing matching his own. When he feels you clamping down on him less, he starts to thrust- pulling out slowly and thrusting back in sharply. You moan aloud, mouth agape as his cock bullies your spongy walls relentlessly. 

“Jing Yua-aan,” you whimper, hands gripping onto his forearms weakly, nails forming crescent shapes into his skin. He reduces you to a sleepy, blabbering, moaning mess as the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the bedroom. With one hand splayed across your lower tummy, he presses down, making you arch your back into him from the sudden added pressure and pleasure. 

“Y’ like that? You missed me, huh?” he taunts, though his own voice trails off into a needy moan the more he feels the drag of your walls along his cock. “I know I’ve- fuck, m-missed you,” Jing Yuan stutters, thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy as he feels a familiar coil form in his abdomen. His thigh muscles clench as he wills away his orgasm, needing to feel you all around him for a bit longer. 

Unable to respond you simply nod dumbly, the words leaving your brain as it’s reduced to mush. Your lover hums, a smirk stretching his lips, “Yeah?” He brings his face closer to yours, your breaths tangling with each other before he smashes his lips against yours, the angle awkward and uncomfortable. But you don’t care- the added stimulation makes you melt as you crane your head back to kiss him properly, your lips occasionally leaving his from the force of his thrusts. 

Jing Yuan moans into your mouth and breaks the kiss. He looks at you with pure lust swirling in his golden eyes, your face sinful and needy. An idea pops up in the general’s mind and he smiles down at you, pressing one last chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“Ah, w-what are you-” you slur, your sentence interrupted by the general manhandling you to switch positions. He kicks the sheets off completely and places both of his large hands on your waist, gripping you firmly as he lays on his back, placing you on top him. His cock slips out of your walls with a wet shlick and you whine at the feeling of being so suddenly empty, twisting your body so that your thighs straddle his hips. Jing Yuan looks up at you with a small, cat-like smirk and your breath catches in your throat. 

His silky hair splayed out on the pillows beneath him, cheeks flushed, and eyes piercing into yours made your knees buckle and you suddenly froze in your movements. Feeling your pussy throb against him, Jing Yuan chuckles heartily, one of his hands leaving your waist to stroke his hard cock, your slick dripping down on him. 

“Lift your hips up and sit on my cock, darling,” he orders softly, a stark contrast to the way he looks at you- with pure, unfiltered lust and adoration. Your body moves automatically as you obey, hovering your tight pussy over his swollen tip, and lower yourself down. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, and you feel his girth stretching you out again as you begin to bounce on his hard cock. 

“Yeahh just like that,” he hums, the hand that held his length moving up to rest on your stomach, thumb jutting out to rub tight circles over your sensitive clit. You squeak in surprise, your body jolting forward, and place your hands over his plush chest for balance. “Feels good, baby? Feel how deep my cock is?” 

A moan leaves his kiss-bitten lips and you swear you physically felt yourself get pushed closer to your nearing orgasm, the noises leaving his lips amplifying your pleasure tenfold. “Taking me so well, look at that pretty pussy,” he coos, and you keen as his half-lidded eyes burn into yours. He feels your walls clench in response to the praise and flashes you a dangerous smirk; he places his feet flat on the bed and tightens his grip on your waist to buck his hips up, making you topple over him. Your gaze is unfocused and blurry as you look down at him, heavy breaths leaving your lips, tears threatening to roll down your rosy cheeks from the pace he set. 

“And look at you,” he whispers lovingly under his breath. Jing Yuan throws his head back deeper into the pillows, keeping his eyes on you as he watches you lose yourself to the addicting feeling of his cock bullying your sopping cunt. “Y-Yuan,” you whine, your climax threatening to rip through you as you bite your lip to stifle your needy moans. He tuts, leaning up to bite your lip to pull you out of your pleasure-filled daze. 

“Pay attention to me darling. Thaat’s it, let 'em out for me.” The general huffs, brows furrowing in concentration to focus on the feeling of your warm walls surrounding him, sucking him in endlessly. His thumb presses down onto your clit roughly to bring you closer to your orgasm; you whimper in turn, a chorus of oh fuck and please’s leaving your puffy lips. “I-I’m so close,” you whine, eyelids fluttering shut as you feel your control leaving your body, the tight coil of your orgasm threatening to snap. 

Jing Yuan groans, hips bucking up into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as he keeps up the pace, persistent. “Come on, give it to me, pretty girl.” He coos, voice breaking into a whine, close to climaxing himself. His thrusts become sloppier, and he bites his bottom lip to stifle a string of hearty, needy moans. 

His hips still up into you as he cums, thick ropes of his seed painting your walls white. Jing Yuan’s thumb flicks your puffy clit until you climax as well, your cunt milking his sensitive cock. You whimper, feeling your clit buzz with overstimulation as he keeps rubbing it with purpose. “S-Stop, stooop,” you cry, your eyes burning with tears as the dull pain turns into pleasure, “Aeons you’re so tight.” Your lover slows down his movements, easing the tension in his muscles, until he stops circling your clit and gently places both of his hands on your waist. His hands slide up and down your sweaty skin, soothing the bruises that will inevitably form.

Your body slumps, exhausted and utterly spent, arms caging him as you rest your face in the crook of his neck. You both feel sticky and sweaty, but the warmth you shared made up for the need to jump in the shower to wash yourselves off. Jing Yuan shifts his hips so that his softening cock slips out of you; he inhales sharply, his cock still sensitive. 

“I missed you,” you mumble quietly, voice muffled from the way you're pressed into him and the pillows and press a chaste kiss to his neck. “Yeah? I never would have guessed,” the general chuckles, arms coming up to hug you tightly, one hand placed behind your head to cradle you close to him. You hit him with a huff but then sigh, content. 

“Mmh, but I missed you too, darling,” Jing Yuan replies softly. He holds you as your eyes droop, exhaustion taking ahold of your tired body. His own eyelids droop as he listens to your soft heartbeat, and soon enough, you’re both sleeping, legs tangled together while Jing Yuan’s strong arms keep you laid atop of him. 

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

You’re not sure what time it is when you wake up, but you hear a phone ringing loudly in your ear, jolting you away from your peaceful dreams. You don’t recognize the tune, and as you’re about to wriggle your way out of the dozing general’s arms, he swings one arm over to the nightstand next to your bed and answers it without looking at the caller ID. “Jing Yuan speaking,” he says in a hoarse voice, eyes still closed. 

Even without his phone on speaker you could make out a very loud, very shrill voice from the other side of the line, yelling out two hours late, a single mission and get your ass over here. Jing Yuan doesn’t react, the same sleepy, cat-like smile on his face as he listens to the person rant. They eventually let up and hang up, saying something you couldn’t quite catch. Your lover haphazardly tosses his phone somewhere on the bed and loops his arm back around you, nuzzling into your neck. 

“Who was that?” you ask, voice cracking from how much you abused your vocal cords (apparently) two hours ago. He scoffs, amused, and pulls away just enough to speak clearly. 

“Lady Fu Xuan,” he says slyly. “I should get dressed before she decides to read into my divination and sees things she probably shouldn’t.”

[lazy-ahh]

MASTERLIST ! ! !

sincerely hope you enjoy your time here! 🫴💝

MARK GRAYSON

one-shots

› [ORBIT (YOU BURN BRIGHTER WITHOUT ME)]

you loved him in the way people love stars—knowing the light is already dead by the time it reaches you. mark grayson was made of collisions: his hands, his heart, his promises. you didn’t mind the bruises. not until the day you became one of them. (or: in which love is not enough to save you, but it’s the only thing either of you knows how to bleed for.)

› [YOU WERE ALWAYS IT FOR ME]

in which you hear something you weren’t supposed to. too bad mark grayson doesn’t know you’re awake. too bad you’ve loved him just as long.

› [TROUBLE LOOKS GOOD ON YOU]

you’re a disaster wrapped in kevlar and bad decisions. mark grayson? he’s sunshine in spandex. you shouldn’t work. you don’t work—except when it’s 2 am and the city’s quiet, except when his hands find the cracks in your armor like they were made to fit there. except when he looks at you like you’re something worth loving, and for once, you don’t have the heart to tell him he’s wrong.

› [FIVE MORE MINUTES]

you just wanted a snack—was that too much to ask? but with mark grayson's warm, shirtless body pressed against yours, his hands tracing lazy patterns over your hips, and that stupidly perfect smirk ghosting your shoulder... maybe hunger can wait. after all, who needs food when your clingy, ridiculously hot superhero boyfriend is determined to keep you in bed forever?

› [ISSUE #27: HOW I (RELUCTANTLY) FELL FOR A NERD]

you've spent months pretending mark grayson is just some awkward comic book nerd—until one conversation about seance dog ruins everything. now you're stuck noticing things: how his stupid sweater hugs his arms, how his laugh sounds like a dying seagull (...in a cute way? and also why is his voice kinda hot-), and worst of all, how he might actually be the only person who gets you. william is suffering. you're in denial. mark is, as always, a disaster. this is war.

› [THRAXAN DRESS CODE: SMASH OR PASS]

mark grayson has survived battles, aliens, and the horrors of thraxa—but none of it prepared him for the real threat: you, utterly obsessed with how good he looks in that stupid, shimmering thraxan outfit.

› [THE WAY HOME FEELS]

debbie grayson has two sons—one by blood, one by choice. mark grayson has known this since he was ten, when you first started tagging along after school and never really left. seven years later, nothing's changed: you're still her favourite, still folded into their family like you were always meant to be there. and mark? well. he's just desperately in love with his best friend, watching you move through his house like it's yours, wondering if you'll ever realise his heart has been yours just as long.

› [YOUR PERSONAL CHEWTOY]

what started as a silly tiktok trend quickly spirals into something far more intimate when you convince your superhero boyfriend to try the viral "bow challenge." but between mark grayson's effortless strength, his flustered giggles, and the way he melts under your touch, you quickly realize this is about so much more than snapping a piece of silk.

› [THE SOUNDS HE MAKES (ARE ONLY FOR YOU)]

mark grayson purrs. it’s a secret only you know—something between a biological quirk and a love language, vibrating against your skin every time you touch him just right. and god, do you love finding new ways to draw it out of him.

› [CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT (I'LL CALL IT LOVE)]

mark grayson has a problem: you. specifically, the way you laugh at your own pranks, the way your hands always find their way to him, the way you call him 'pretty boy' like it doesn't ruin him every single time. (he wishes it meant something. he wishes you'd mean it.)

› [OVERDUE FEELINGS]

in which you’re just trying to finish your damn homework, but mark grayson keeps being distractingly… mark. (leaning into your space. bumping knees under the library table. accidentally reciting love poems like they’re about you.) it’s fine. you’re fine. (you’re not fine.)

› [YOU, ME, AND THE GHOST OF HIM]

in every world, you'd choose mark grayson. even when he's not yours. even when he's broken. even when it destroys you both.

› [THE WAY LIFE GOES]

you died a hero. you fought your way back from the grave. but the worst part isn’t the scars—it’s watching mark grayson live a life without you in it.

› [YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE GOES GOOD WITH GAMING?]

you’ve waited weeks for him to return from his mission, and now he’s here, warm and insistent against you, while your ranked match blares ignored on the screen. the worst part? you don't mind losing. despite the weeks of hard work. you want his lips on yours, his weight pressing you into the chair, the way he murmurs "i missed you" between kisses like it’s a confession. but you’ve clawed your way to this rank-up game, and you never quit—even when mark grayson’s tongue is lapping up the precome leaking from your tip and your fingers are trembling on the keyboard.

series

› [ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE]

childhood best friends aren't supposed to stare at each other's lips. they don't linger in quiet moments, hearts pounding, stealing glances that last a second too long—close enough to cross the line, but too scared to take the leap, scared of ruining the one good thing close to perfection in their lives. mark grayson knows this. you know this. yet here you both are... two idiots who'd rather choke on their words than admit the truth.

› [ALMOST, BUT NEVER QUITE (pt. 2)]

a hundred almosts. a hundred times mark grayson nearly tells you—with his hands brushing yours a second too long, with his voice cracking when he says your name, with the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that makes sense in his chaotic, superhero life. but ‘almost’ doesn’t change anything. not until one quiet night, when the air between you crackles with everything unsaid, and the line between friendship and more feels thinner than ever.

(or: mark and reader are disasters in love, dancing around the truth until neither can pretend anymore.)

-

GOGGLE-LESS! MARK GRAYSON

one-shots

› [HOW TO (NOT) CONFESS YOUR FEELINGS VIA ATTEMPTED MURDER]

they say violence is a love language—and yours is practically poetry. mark grayson knows this better than anyone. (or: the one where you punch him in the face daily and he still looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.)

-

MASKLESS! MARK GRAYSON

one-shots

› [(YOU WERE) MY HOME]

you memorized the exact shade of brown in mark grayson’s eyes. the way his laugh crinkles his nose. how his hands always tremble after a fight. he memorized the way your body went limp in his arms when the kryptonite hit. how your blood looked smeared across his suit. the exact second your heartbeat stopped. (he’s not your mark. but when he kisses you like he’s drowning, you let him.)

-

MOHAWK! MARK GRAYSON

one-shots

› [ME? CARE? LOL. LMAO.]

imagine the most unhinged version of mark grayson—now give him a mohawk, piercings, and exactly zero self-preservation instincts. this is that fic. (also maybe some feelings. but we don’t talk about those.)

› [CHAOS LIKES COMPANY. A.K.A I LIKE YOU]

you always imagined your grand exit would be more dramatic—maybe a hail of gunfire, a building collapsing in slow motion, at least a decent fucking punchline. instead you're testing a theory: if you disappear now, will mark grayson (your idiot, your disaster, the love of your shitty life) even notice? were you gonna be a tragic loss that haunted him forever, or the weird stain on the couch he learned to ignore?

› [I HATE YOU (I LOVE YOU)]

mark grayson is seventeen, stupidly powerful, and completely incapable of handling you—his childhood rival, his best friend, the person who drives him absolutely insane in every way possible. you fight, you shove each other into lockers, you steal the last fry off his tray every damn day. and yet, somehow, you're the only thing he can't seem to live without.

› [LOST STAR]

when a tamaranean crash-lands on earth with his powers locked behind strange cuffs, the last person he expects to meet is mark grayson—mohawk, piercings, and all the attitude of a pissed-off superhuman. but after a very unconventional first encounter (involving lips, language barriers, and zero personal space), the two find themselves tangled in something neither expected. now mark’s stuck babysitting an alien who follows him like a lovesick comet, touches him like he’s something sacred, and looks at him like he’s the entire damn universe. worst part? mark’s starting to like it.

› [BLACK AND BLUE]

what do you get when you mix a snarky kryptonian with a mohawk-sporting, emotionally constipated invincible? a whole lot of bickering, brutal takedowns, and unresolved sexual tension that could power a city. you and mark grayson have been dancing around each other for years—fighting villains, fighting each other, and definitely not thinking about what his hands would feel like under your shirt. but when a simple mission leaves you both bruised and breathless, that thin line between rivalry and something else starts to blur. and maybe—maybe—you’re both finally ready to cross it.

-

OMNI! MARK GRAYSON

one-shots

› [HIS TO KEEP]

they’d call it toxic. you call it love. mark grayson decides what you eat, what you wear, when you come—and you wouldn’t have it any other way. after all, who needs freedom when you have him?

-

SHIESTY! MARK GRAYSON

one-shots

› [TIS' BUT A SCRATCH]

you’re bleeding out. you’re definitely bleeding out. but hey—if you play it cool, maybe mark won’t notice? (keyword: maybe.) turns out, hiding a gaping wound from your superpowered, hyper-observant boyfriend, mark grayson, isn’t exactly your best idea. especially when said boyfriend is the kind of guy who swears like a sailor, fights like a berserker, and somehow still manages to be the most overprotective idiot alive.

-

SINISTER! MARK GRAYSON

one-shots

› [THE THINGS YOU'D DO FOR LOVE]

you’d follow mark grayson anywhere—even into the dark. when he asks you to betray everything you once stood for, you don’t hesitate. not when his hands are the only ones that still feel like home.

series

› [A BEAUTIFUL, MONSTROUS THING]

mark grayson, also known as invincible, is a sinister conqueror who decided to kill thousands of people alongside his father. they call him a monster. you call him yours. (and when he smiles at you—all sharp teeth and ruined cities—you don’t flinch. you smile back.)

› [YOUR SON, YOUR BLOOD, YOUR UNDOING]

love is a weak human thing—until it isn’t. until it’s mark grayson’s hands around his father’s throat, his lips stained with viltrumite blood as he gasps ‘mine’ like it’s the only word left in his vocabulary. (or: the one where legacy means nothing, and you mean everything.)

› [HONEY ON HIS LIPS, VENOM IN HIS KISS (MY LITTLE BUMBLEBEE)]

a chillingly sweet one-shot where mass murder is just foreplay, where pet names are whispered between executions, and where the only thing more terrifying than mark grayson’s power is how desperately he’s adored by you. when a foolish hero tries to stand against you both, they’ll learn the hard way: this couple kills together—your hands just as bloody as his, your smile just as sharp. after all, why should the world get to keep its heroes when you could keep mark all to yourself?

-

VILTRUM! MARK GRAYSON

one-shots

› [THE WRONG UNIVERSE TO LOVE YOU IN]

this one wants you back. the problem? you don't belong to him. you belong to the mark grayson who loves eve, the mark who will never know you loved him first, the mark whose laugh still echoes in your dreams. now, as his fingers wipe blood from your face with terrifying gentleness, reality splits open: stay and die for a love that was never yours, or let him steal you away to a world where you were his—where you'll always be second to a ghost of yourself. (he promises to be better. you almost believe him.)

› [ORPHAN OF THE VOID (MEETS HIS RUIN)]

rule #1 of being a space outlaw: always put yourself first. you've survived slave markets, alien mobs, and the cold void of space—but none of it prepared you for mark grayson. in another life, you might’ve run. but his hand fits too perfectly around yours—and for the first time, you’re not sure you want to escape.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

JASON TODD

one-shots

› [HOME IS WHERE YOU ARE]

the blood on jason todd's gloves isn't yours. the ache in his chest is. it's been there since the first time you kissed him - this relentless, terrifying need that claws at his ribs whenever he's away from you.

› [TRACING SCARS]

in the quiet hours between nightmares and dawn, jason todd lets himself be vulnerable—just for you. tracing scars instead of reopening wounds, sharing breath instead of bullets, he learns that some things are stronger than the past.

› [THE CROWBAR WASN'T THE WORST OF IT (WATCHING YOU FORGET HOW TO SMILE IS)]

you'd recognize jason todd anywhere—even through the armor, even through the years. the arkham knight moves like a ghost, but you know the weight of his footsteps, the hitch in his breath when he lies. and when he saves you from a bat to the skull, you do the one thing that might break you both: you pretend not to know him, the boy under the armor who still wears your old hoodie beneath his kevlar.

› [IT WILL COME BACK]

twenty five times jason todd warned you not to love him, and one time he begged you to stay.

› [CLOSE ENOUGH TO HURT (CLOSE ENOUGH TO HOLD)]

jason todd doesn't ask for hugs. he asks you to punch him instead. it's your job to read between the bruises.

› [LIKE WE WERE KIDS AGAIN]

"you stayed," you murmur, voice cracking like the childhood promises you both broke. jason todd doesn’t answer—just holds you tighter, as if his arms could undo years of hurt. (they can’t. but tonight, with your laughter muffled against his chest and his fingers tangled in yours, maybe "broken" doesn’t have to mean "unfixable.")

series

› [I THOUGHT OF YOU BETWEEN THE BLOODSHED]

jason todd comes home to you with bruised knuckles and a heart too full to name. the red hood is all sharp edges and violence, but with you? he's just jason—achingly tender, disarmingly soft, hands that break bones cradling your face like you’re something sacred.

› [BETWEEN THE BLOODSHED (pt. 2)]

the red hood is all sharp edges and violence—but with you? he's just jason. aching. tender. hands that break bones cradling your face like you’re something sacred. and tonight, jason todd doesn’t want worship. he wants to be ruined by it.

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

[cheshireliam]

Ring Schwartz 2nd Birthday Campaign: Story

Chapters 1 — 3

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

— Even if your heart is trapped in abyssal darkness, even if you can’t love yourself. 

I wish for your daily life to have even just one tiny sparkle. 

…

Kate: Wow… this tea is delicious! The rich aroma lingers in my mouth with every sip.

William: Word has it that these tea leaves are the best batch ever grown in years.

— It was a quiet morning on a day off with no plans for the day, and I was enjoying the tea William had prepared. 

As I relaxed in the peaceful atmosphere, the sound of two pairs of hurried footsteps broke it. 

Liam: Kate, since when did you start dating Ring!?

Alfons: You’re so cruel, Miss Kate… was I no more than a one-time fling to you!?

The words spoken by the two men who burst into the dining hall had me completely bewildered. 

Kate: I don't remember dating Ring, nor do I remember ever having a fling with Alfons… 

William: Fufu, I wonder what amusing misunderstanding could've let to this?

Liam: Ring came all the way here to Crown’s castle and he’s asking to see Kate. 

Liam: He said he has some secret business with her that he can’t tell anyone else about.

Alfons: The ever so innocent Ring personally requesting to meet you, and for it to be in regards to some secret business, no less…

Alfons: Isn’t it obvious that the two of you share a very special relationship?

Kate: It’s not… you should tone down your curiosity, Liam.

Kate: And Alfons, please stop making up nonsensical things just because you’re finding this funny. 

Alfons: Alriiighttt.

Liam: Okaaay. 

The pair, who were always drawn to anything even remotely entertaining, replied in unison. 

Finishing my tea, I stood from my seat.

Kate: Thank you for the tea, William. 

William: Where to next?

Kate: Considering he came all this way specifically to see me… I should talk to Ring first. 

…

Right outside Crown’s castle, I spotted Ring being ambushed by Harrison and Roger. 

Kate: Ring, I heard you wanted to see me…

Ring: Oh! You actually came, Robin…! 

The moment he saw me, Ring’s eyes lit up like a lost child who had found his parents. 

Roger: So… how do you intend to ask the lil’ lady out on a date?

Ring: T-that's not it! I’ve already told you, didn't I? I’m not here to ask Robin out on a date… 

Harrison: Doesn’t look like he’s lying.

Roger: Oh? Then what business do you have with her, if not a date? Depending on your answer… we might not let you have Kate. 

Roger and Harrison stepped forward and stood protectively between Ring and I… 

It looked like they were protecting me, but…!

One glance at their faces made it clear that they were just having fun with the situation. 

(First there was Liam and Alfons, and now even these two…?) 

(... I guess Ring’s just too good to tease.) 

I suddenly felt bad for Ring once I realised how that must have felt. 

Ring: I wanted to keep it a secret so the information wouldn’t leak, but… I guess I have no choice but to reveal it now.

Ring: Actually… I came to ask for your help with choosing a birthday present. 

Kate: A birthday present?

Ring: Tomorrow is Nica’s birthday. I don’t have a sense for such things and don’t know much about them, so I’m struggling to pick a present. 

Ring: I asked for Dari’s help at first, but— 

…

Darius: I’m busy, so I can’t help. Why don’t you ask someone from Crown to help you instead? 

Darius: That way, you get to find out more about them and pick a present for Nica at the same time. Killing two birds with one stone, right? 

…

Ring: … That’s what he said, so I figured I’d ask you for help since you seem to have a good sense for getting gifts. 

(“Seem to have good sense”... this is the first time I’m getting this compliment, it feels kind of good to hear.)

Feeling pleased by the compliment, I decided to go with the flow and accept his request. 

Kate: Alright. If you’re okay with me helping you, I’d be happy to. 

Ring: R-really? You’ll be a huge help…! 

Ring’s smile made me think that… if he were a dog, his tail would be wagging like crazy right now. 

Kate: It’s just… I’m not exactly an expert on knowing what men like to receive as gifts, so I think it might help to get some opinions from others. 

Kate: Harrison, Roger, what would you be happy to receive as a gift? 

I decided to ask them right away, since they were just there, but— 

Roger: Alcohol. Or something that goes well with it. 

Harrison: I’d like something sweet. 

Their instant responses were exactly as I expected. 

Ring: Food, huh… Nica has refined taste buds, so I’m not sure I can find something that meets his standards… 

Kate: Boxing gear would be a good gift for Roger, and a novel for Harrison…

Kate: Don't you think it'd be nice to receive something related to your hobbies? 

Roger: Hmm… I already have gear I’m used to, so I don’t really need anyone to buy me more.

Harrison: I wouldn't know how to react if the novel isn’t to my liking or it's one I’ve already read. 

Ring: … Choosing from a category the other person is especially familiar with is a double-edged sword. 

Kate: You’re right. … It’s troublesome indeed, so shall we ask others for their opinions too? Let’s go, Ring! 

Ring: Ah, yeah! I’ll be counting on you. 

— And so, we started our search for Nica’s birthday present. 

…

Ring and I went around gathering opinions to help us decide on a present for Nica. 

William: Something I’d want? Let me think… what do you think I’d want? 

Ring: … That’s what we came to ask.

Kate: Off to the next person! 

…

Liam: Something I’d want… I don’t really want anything in particular. 

Liam: Right now, all I want is the smiles of the audience who come to see my performances! 

Ring: As expected of Sparkly Pink… even your words sparkle…! 

…

Elbert: I want… the most beautiful thing in this world.

Ring: That’s hard. We’d have to compare every single thing in the world to find out what the most beautiful thing is… 

Alfons: I want to spend a sweeeeet, passionate night with Miss Kate. 

Ring: Y-you can’t! 

Alfons: Why do you get to decide? This is between me and Miss Kate. 

Alfons: Ahh, could it be that you've already reserved a night with her yourself? 

Ring: Wha—!? A-absolutely NOT. Don’t say anything weird!! 

Kate: Please don't poke fun at Ring, Alfons. Let’s move on! 

…

Jude: … Somethin’ I want? “Money” or “submissive labour”. 

Ellis: I don’t want anything. But if I had to choose… I suppose I’d want something that would make you happy. 

…

Victor: Something I’d want for my birthday…? Don’t tell me, are you planning for my birthday celebration next year!? 

Victor: First of all, I want everyone from Crown and Vogel to sing me a birthday song. And then— 

…

After gathering opinions from everyone in Crown… Ring and I headed off to buy a present. 

Kate: Hmm… some of their opinions were helpful, whereas some… not quite. 

Ring: … Maybe I should just give him cash instead.

Ring: That might be better than ending up picking something weird and disappointing Nica… 

Kate: You can’t let Jude influence you! The process of choosing the present is important too, you know? 

Ring: Is that how it works…?

Kate: Absolutely! In that case, let’s change our approach.

Kate: Instead of thinking about what Nica wants, let’s think about what you want to give him. 

Ring: What I want to give him…? 

Kate: For example, we could consider getting him something he can use at work or help him relax… 

Kate: Try imagining how Nica would use a present you give him. That might give you some ideas. 

Ring: I… 

Ring’s eyes, usually bright like the reflection of the clear blue sky on a water’s surface, suddenly darkened as though a drop of ink had fallen into them. 

He seemed to be lost in his memories of the past, and for a moment, I thought I saw my image disappear from his eyes. 

It felt like he had wandered off somewhere far away, leaving me feeling uneasy all of a sudden.

Ring: I… want to give Nica a present that will make him smile again. 

Kate: Make him smile again…? 

(From what I’ve seen, Nica always seems to be smiling…)

(... What does Ring mean by “again”?) 

I wasn't very familiar with anything that had happened to the two. 

But… I could tell that Ring’s words came from his heart. 

(A present that will make Nica smile… I wonder what that could be.)

Ring: At this point, I should just buy this. 

With a look of exasperation on his face, Ring picked up a book titled “100 Jokes Guaranteed To Have Everyone Rolling With Laughter!”

A mental image of Nica cracking one of those witty jokes flashed through my mind and vanished as quickly as a shooting star. 

Kate: L-let’s give it another thought! We still have plenty of time!

Ring: But… 

Kate: I’ll help you search for a present you’re satisfied with! Don’t give up!

Ring: … Thanks, Robin. You’re very kind. 

Just as we started walking toward another store, something caught my eye.

Kate: What do you think of this, Ring? 

…

While searching for a present with Ring, my eyes landed on an advertisement for a “coffee cup painting experience”.

Since the members of Vogel lived in the palace, they most likely didn’t have much personal tableware… which made a personalised coffee cup a practical gift. 

Moreover, I was sure Nica would be pleased to receive a one-of-a-kind coffee cup hand painted by Ring himself. 

Ring: … They said they can process it quickly at the shop, so it’ll be ready for pick up tomorrow at noon. 

Kate: I can’t wait to give it to Nica.

Ring: Yeah. 

Ring and I left the store chatting after painting the coffee cup. 

Just then, my vision turned orange.

Kate: Huh? Are these…

Ring: They’re osmanthus flowers. 

Kate: But osmanthus flowers usually only bloom in autumn, right? Wouldn't that make this an off-season bloom? 

Ring: … Or it might be a specially cultivated variety that blooms in all four seasons. 

Kate: A specially cultivated variety…? 

Ring: I'm not too sure of the details… but there’s a technique where different plants are crossbred to create new varieties with specific characteristics. 

Ring: For example, some flowers are cultivated to have more vibrant colours, larger flowers… or a stronger resistance to disease. 

Kate: Wow…! I never knew such techniques existed! 

Listening to Ring’s explanation, I looked up at the osmanthus tree again.

Kate: I don't know if that was how this tree was created, but… 

Kate: … If it was, then it means this tree was grown¹ carrying the hopes of the people who cultivated it. 

¹ The word originally used here was “born”. But trees don't give birth… now do they? 

I was so captivated by the sweet scent of osmanthus flowers and the sight of delicate orange petals fluttering down that I didn't notice— 

Ring: “Born carrying hopes”... huh. 

Ring: I, too,—

Ring muttered something while looking pained, but I didn't catch what he said. 

Kate: … Ah, sorry, Ring! I got too distracted admiring the flowers. 

Ring: No, it’s fine. Such seasonal anomalies are a rare sight and the flowers smell nice, so I understand why you stopped to appreciate them. 

While Ring was talking, a strong gust of wind blew and sent a rain of osmanthus flowers coming down on us. 

Ring: This is incredible. They just keep falling…

Kate: You’re right. It’s almost like a flower shower.

Ring: Flower shower…? That sounds interesting. Is it some sort of ritual where you bathe in flowers? 

Kate: During a wedding ceremony, people scatter flower petals over the bride and groom as a way to give the newlyweds their blessings. 

Ring: W-wedding…? B-b-bride and groom…!? 

Ring: D-does that mean… standing in this rain of flower petals right now… we look like we’re getting married…!? 

Kate: Huh? No, that’s not what I… 

Ring: Unacceptable! 

Ring panicked and hurriedly removed his jacket to hold over his head like a makeshift shelter from the “rain”, before pulling me closer to his side under it, holding me by the waist. 

Ring: … Thank goodness. We’re safe now. 

My nose was filled with the smell of the osmanthus flowers mixed with Ring’s deep woody scent. 

My heart was hammering against my chest, and the warmth due to our lack of physical distance made me all the more nervous, but—

More than that, there was something else on my mind. 

Kate: Umm… I’m sorry, Ring.

Ring: What for? 

Kate: I didn’t realize you’d hate the idea so much… I shouldn't have compared this to a flower shower. 

Ring: … No, it’s not you that I hate. 

Ring: One day, we might become enemies, and as a member of Vogel, I can’t get too close to you…

Ring: That aside, you’re kind and an overall good person. 

Ring: When Harrison and Roger had me surrounded in front of the castle today, it made me happy to hear you calling out to me from afar. 

Ring: There’s nothing in it for you, and yet you sincerely helped me to pick a present for Nica. 

Ring: You also stopped me when I was about to give up and buy something weird… all of it makes me happy. 

Ring: If you were my fiancée, I feel like we’d make a wonderful family… I can easily picture it. 

Kate: … 

I could feel my face heating up at the praise I had never heard before. 

Ring: That’s exactly why… it just feels wrong for someone like me to be seen as your fiancé. 

Ring: So just bear with it a little longer, until the petals stop falling. 

(“Someone like me”...) 

Those words made the warmth I felt from being complimented fade away almost instantly. 

I think Ring’s a wonderful person…

The way he spoke so lowly of himself was heartbreaking to witness. 

Kate: You’re a wonderful person too, Ring. No matter what anyone says, I know you are. 

I looked up at him, genuinely wanting him to hear the words coming from the bottom of my heart. 

Kate: You’re wary of Crown because we might one day become Vogel’s enemy.

Kate: Despite that… you went all the way to Crown’s castle just to seek help with picking out a birthday present. 

Kate: You wanted to find something special for Nica, even if it meant putting your suspicions aside. I think that’s wonderful.

Ring: …

Kate: Someone who cherishes the family he has now will surely… cherish the family they create in the future too. 

Kate: So there’s nothing bad or strange about you being my fiancé at all…! 

Ring: Um. 

Kate: Ah. 

Kate: Uhh… sorry. I was just babbling away…! 

Ring: I-I see…

An awkward moment of silence fell between us as we stared at each other, unable to say another word. 

Ring: Robin… 

Right as Ring was about to say something, the wind suddenly stopped.

Ring: … G-good. The rain of petals is over. 

Ring put his jacket back on and stepped away from me.

His warmth was now gone, and somehow I felt a little lonely. 

…

Our day of picking out a present smoothly came to an end…

The next morning, I went to visit Ring at the palace.

Ring: Did you need something from me…? Did you perhaps forget to tell me something yesterday—...

Kate: Nope, I didn't forget anything. I came to tell you something I can only say today. 

Ring: …? 

Kate: Happy birthday, Ring! 

I held out a small package to him. 

Ring: Huh…? Wha—...!?

Kate: Since it’s Nica’s birthday today and you two are twins, I figured it must be your birthday too… am I wrong? 

Ring: You’re not… but I didn't expect to receive a present from you. 

Ring: Th…tha…thanks… Can I open it now?

Kate: Go ahead! … But it’s nothing fancy, so please don’t expect too much. 

Ring opened the package to reveal a small glass jar filled with colourful candies.

Ring: Wow…! The jar is beautiful, and the candies sparkle like jewels… 

Ring: It’s fun to look at, like looking at treasure. 

He lifted the jar up to the sunlight, admiring the way the candies sparkled. 

Kate: Fufu… I’m glad you like it. I picked it out while thinking of you. 

Ring: Thinking of me…?

Kate: You told me yesterday that you had no sense for gifts and didn’t know enough about them to pick a good one, right? 

Ring: Oh, yeah… I did say that. 

Kate: I think that’s how everyone starts out. 

Kate: Just like filling a glass jar with your favourite candies, you gain new experiences and gather things you love little by little every day… 

Kate: That’s how you develop your sense for things and learn more about the world. 

Kate: So… I hope the days you spend in England will be like this jar, filling up with things you love. 

As I spoke, Ring took another look at the jar, taking in the sight of the colourful candies inside. 

Ring: I don’t know if that’s how my days will turn out. But… 

Ring: At the very least… they did turn out like that yesterday and today, all thanks to you. 

Ring took out two pieces of candy, one the same warm orange colour of osmanthus flowers and one a soft lavender colour like the ribbon I was wearing today. 

He placed the orange candy in my palm. 

Ring: … Thank you for celebrating my birthday.

Ring: If you don’t mind… can we eat these candies together? 

Kate: Thank you! I’d love to. 

The sweet candy melted on my tongue, and at the same time, Ring’s gentle smile filled my heart… 

It felt like a tiny piece of jewel-like candy was just added to the jar in my heart. 

[stunie]

Zevie it is I, the maid cafe anon once again coming to you to request more cute(or lewd, it’s your choice like fr) maid cafe content.

Maybe they show up when it’s like a day for a different costume(OH MY GOD A PLAYBOY BUNNY OUTFIT DAY??? A CUTSIE ANIMAL ONESIE DAY??? CHEONGSAM DAY??? MAGICAL GIRL DAY???????) or literally ANYTHING, whatever inspires you.

The only characters I’ll specifically ask for are kiryu, suo, and Kaji if possible!!!!!

ANYWAYS REMEMBER TO TAKE IT EASY AND HAVE A SNACK AND REST MWAH MWAH -🐌

WELCOMMEEE !! u r now snail anon and no longer maid cafe anon !! i hope u and the others r comfy here ໒꒰ྀི ˃ ∩∩ ˂ ꒱ྀི১ <3 i made this sfw <: also pls im gonna share my snack with you (it’s a mango roll cake!)

hayato suo, kiryu mitsuki, & kaji ren x maid cafe!f!reader

sfw. ft. costumes (animal onesies), you call them ‘master’

HAYATO SUO gives you an all-too-warm smile when you’re shyly handing him a menu, tensing when his fingers briefly brush over the paws of your onesie.

“a kitten? how cute,” he teases, hand coming to cheerfully rub at the top of your head. it was only your second week since you’ve started your job here, and yet he’s made it very clear that he’d be paying you a visit every single shift.

a part of you wishes he had never found your cafe’s instagram, where they uploaded each week’s theme on sundays without fail. you can only imagine how ecstatic suo must’ve been when he saw what was scheduled for today— because he was stepping through the door only fifteen minutes into the start of your shift.

“c-can i get you anything else, master..?” you stammer, eyebrows deeply furrowed in embarrassment as you hug the extra menus to your chest. he’s only chuckling at your nerves, back of his hand coming to mask his laugh as you give him your best attempt at a glare. “you’re not supposed to laugh,” you whisper through your teeth, “stop being like that..!”

“oh, sorry,” your shoulders relax a bit when his laughter dies down, and he’s smiling back at you all over again. “then i’ll just have you stay beside me until i’m done with my tea. that won’t be a problem, right?”

KIRYU MITSUKI’s mouth parts open in surprise when you come to serve him his food, cute little bear ears sticking out from the hood as you set down his plate in front of him.

“this is your omelette, master!”

“oh, thank you,” his voice comes out soft, but he’s tugging you by the little bear tail at the back of your outfit as soon as you turn to check on your next table, “but don’t leave just yet.”

your head turns back, gaze shifting back and forth between his hand and his face. “..is something wrong?”

he doesn’t respond.

you sigh when he still doesn’t let go of your tail, not even looking at you as his free hand comes to click at his screen. “wait just a couple more seconds…” he says, scrolling through his apps. “ah..! here it is. okay~”

some of the other visitors are turning their heads to look at you as soon as they hear his chair abruptly scooting backwards, body leaning back a bit to angle his phone’s camera towards you with a content hum.

“k-kiryu!” you huff under your breath when you realize exactly what he’s doing, “that’s so embarrassing..!”

he only chuckles in response. “but you look so cute,” he coos, “smile nice and big for me, okay?”

KAJI REN’s lollipop falls out of his mouth as soon as he sees you dressed up in a bunny onesie, one ear flopping over your face when you do a little bow to greet him and the two standing behind him.

“oh, it’s kaji’s girl working today! what a nice surprise, huh kaji?” you hear enomoto’s voice loud and clear, followed by a loud ‘tch’ from your boyfriend.

those two— enomoto and kusumi— didn’t say a single word about this. he was wondering just exactly what they were snickering about so loudly earlier before they were suddenly at his side to ask if they could stop by your cafe before heading home.

something about a deal on coffee? he can’t believe he actually fell for that.

“oh, kaji!” you gleam, lips tugging into a huge smile. “oops— i meant master. your table is over here. follow me.”

he’s clenching his jaw in place of his lollipop, eyes narrowed into a deep scowl in his attempt to dissipate the blush rising to his cheeks. you looked cute, big ears flopping up and down with each step you take, and you’re practically drowning in the excess fabric.

did they not have your size?

“oh,” enomoto interrupts his train of thought, and he turns to see him and kusumi are suddenly checking their phones, the weather app- specifically. “we gotta leave, actually. we’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

and they’re gone just like that.

[rivendell-poet]

Quick ask

Do you think you could do a hobbit boys (Thorin, dawalin, and Fili mainly) with a short 4’8 human female reader who is often mistaken as a dwarf and they only realize when she can’t under stand the pet names or courting thing the boys do

Not so quick answer, I'm afraid. But of course! I've ended up not mentioning reader's height or gender in this I'm afraid, but height does end up being implied. Thanks so much for requesting anon - and I hope you enjoy it!

*･༓˚✧❝𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « headcanons »

○ Thorin ○ Fíli ○ Kíli ○ Dwalin ○ Bofur ○

GN!Reader | No TWs | Wordcount : 1.2k

𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧

✧ Thorin is a big believer in the old, traditional dwarven way of courting.

✧ (Not just because he’s too scared he doesn’t have the words to properly confess to you, and that he wouldn’t be able to take a rejection that way.)

✧ It starts very small, such a tentative gesture that - if it wasn’t Thorin - even the other dwarves might not realise it’s courting.

✧ You certainly don’t, as you smile up at him before thanking him. Wondering why he’s ducked away so quickly afterwards.

✧ (It’s to hide how red his face is becoming.)

✧ Then you don’t reciprocate, at all. But Thorin just thinks he wasn’t quite obvious enough.

✧ His next gesture is grander, although he presents it slightly more gruffly. Again you can see the care and love that’s gone into it, but you don’t just want to assume it’s romantic.

✧ Everything’s accepted. And then nothing happens. And still nothing happens.

✧ You notice Thorin becoming slightly more withdrawn and decide to complain to Bilbo, muttering about how confusion these dwarves can sometimes be.

✧ ‘These dwarves?’

✧ It’s then Thorin realises that, perhaps, you aren’t a dwarf at all.

✧ Finally, he decides to use his words. Coming up to you, and asking if you’d realise what he was doing.

✧ Both of your cheeks are hot as he explains his intentions to you, and you realise all the things you’ve missed.

✧ As his explanation comes to an end, and you explain you’d truly like to court him - he steps slightly closer.

✧ “I know that all people kiss.”

𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐢

✧ He never thought he’d be one for traditional romance, the pain-staking time courting takes. To get all the details just perfect for the beloved he’d end up falling for.

✧ Fíli had always assumed he’d have a whirlwind romance, and the details wouldn’t matter.

✧ It was true, in a way; you could have done anything for him and he’d beam and blush as if you’d hung the stars for him.

✧ But Fíli is determined to make it perfect for you. Because you deserve nothing less.

✧ So he begins to ask some of the older dwarves on what to do, how to make sure it all goes well.

✧ Fíli‘s getting quite far along, gift almost made for you, when he decides maybe he should ask the hobbit as well.

✧ “You- you thought they were a dwarf?” The incredulous tone of Bilbo makes poor Fíli rethink quite a lot of choices. If he didn’t notice that is he good enough to love you?

✧ Taking pity on the lad, Bilbo offers him a smile. “But anyone, dwarf or not, can see the love you have for them. Do it anyway, you just- might have to explain some of the finer details.”

✧ It’s that advice Fíli ends up taking, asking if he can speak to you in private.

✧ He still does things the dwarven way, at the very start. Waiting until he’s finished - and you’re looking at him with a mixture of hope and confusion.

✧ Then he explains things the best he can, what each gestures means, why he chose each gesture. How specifically he’s decided to show his love for you.

✧ Because you’re absolutely worthy of confession twice.

𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐢

✧ The first to start showing his affections, of course. And he decides the best way to do it is semi-casually.

✧ After all, he can always say he was joking if you don’t reciprocate the feelings. Hope you didn’t notice how pink his cheeks were, along with his smile and the shine in his eyes when he looked at you.

✧ “How are you, amrâl?”

✧ Does it get him some stares from the other dwarves? Yes. Is it worth it when you look at him and then quietly respond? He’s certain it is.

✧ Slowly he gets bolder. Jokingly calling you his betrothed, his star, his sun and moon. Each time you seem slightly less surprised, and slightly more comfortable.

✧ Eventually, he decides that he doesn’t just want to joke around. He wants to properly ask you, to be able to properly court you.

✧ “Amrâl astî.”

✧ There’s a moment where he looks in your face for recognition, and then sees blankness.

✧ Something must be obvious in his expression, because you suddenly seems to understand. And then, almost shyly, ask if he’s just confessed.

✧ It’s then that Kíli suddenly realises you’ve never talked back to him in Khuzdul. That, in some respects, you never quite seemed dwarven.

✧ With you still looking at him, he tries again. The confession is longer this time, if slightly quieter - with a few times he’s not as confident - but there’s still just as much love in it.

✧ Once Kíli finally begins to court you, he also begins to teach you what all his nicknames mean.

𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧

✧ Like Thorin, he’s much more comfortable in sticking with the dwarven traditions as well.

✧ To be able to confess how much you mean to him without having to put it truly into words. To share something intimate, instead of court with a grand, romantic gesture.

✧ Still, Dwalin spends a lot of time perfecting everything. Making sure that this confession will be right for you, right for him. Right for (what he hopes) can become the two of you, together.

✧ Dwalin doesn’t have a lot of small gestures, but rather one bigger one.

✧ One where - even though you’re not a dwarf - you can so easily feel the love through. His devotion is evident in every part, the love he has for you obvious.

✧ You’re silent until he finishes, and then you ask, “This is the confession I’d been hoping for, right?”

✧ There’s some confusion but he confirms it is instantly. And you meet him in an embrace, a gentle kiss.

✧ He’s incredibly soft with you - but there’s still hints of Dwalin as your lips connect. As he smiles when the two of you pull away.

𝐁𝐨𝐟𝐮𝐫

✧ When he first gives you a carving, he doesn’t expect you to see a grand romantic gesture in it - because it isn’t to him, but more of a subtle way. The polite way of informing you ‘my heart might be beating for you, I hope you don’t mind’

✧ Yet it isn’t as grandiose as so many stories he’s heard. And it isn’t a proper courtship gesture. So he doesn’t expect too much.

✧ But, when he places the carving in your hands, you’re in awe. So thankful. So enamoured by the object he’s left a blushing mess.

✧ As you give him a hug he wonders how you can’t feel his heart, hammering away.

✧ Emboldened by this he tries again, putting more effort in this time. And again you seem to appreciate it like no-one has before.

✧ But you still don’t initiate anything romantic.

✧ Perhaps you want to take it slow? So Bofur waits two, three more carvings before deciding to talk to you.

✧ “I… know you haven’t seen my courting gifts as exactly what you wanted. How- how do you want me to say I love you?”

✧ The way your eyes go wide clue him into the fact, perhaps, you didn’t know originally.

✧ Repeating his words back to him, you can feel your mortification as you explain you didn’t know they were courting gifts. How you’d gladly accept them.

✧ That you’d be honoured to court him.

A/N : As you can see by the vagueness, I definitely have a great grasp on dwarven courting techniques. (and would welcome anyone who'd be willing to explain them to me <3)

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan / @wordbunch ✧ wish to be tagged?

✧ @killermarionette / @bespectacledhuman / @howling-medic / @deannie13 / @paigemackenzie0206

✧ @recordofragnarokfan2 / @themuseinthewoods / @satans-bitch / @ferns-fics / @northernwing

[pandapetals]

The Wolverine

You tell Logan about the myth of the Wolverine.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

a/n: Im sad that logan doesn't remember kayla. She deserved better, well both of them did. So i wrote this for her. I did some googling and found in Innu culture they see the wolverine in a few different ways so i took that and ran with it.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

You were curled up in the oversized armchair on the balcony, wrapped in a soft blanket, gazing out over the garden bathed in silvery moonlight. The stars sparkled overhead, scattered across the sky like tiny, far-off promises, casting a gentle glow over everything. Logan sat beside you, his arm draped around your shoulders, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles along your upper arm.

After a comfortable stretch of silence, you let out a quiet sigh, eyes still fixed on the stars. "Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, you know? Studying literature. Maybe I should’ve gone into astronomy instead." You paused, a small smile playing on your lips. "Stars are just so beautiful. There’s so much out there."

Logan chuckled, a low, warm sound that rumbled through his chest. "Oh yeah? So you could spend your days talkin’ about constellations and meteors? Think I’d go crazy, darlin’."

You nudged him playfully. "Oh, because listening to you ramble about ancient battles and military strategies is so riveting."

He smirked, tilting his head down to look at you. "Hey, at least I know how to make it interesting."

You rolled your eyes, leaning into him a little more. "Sure, you do, tough guy." After a moment, you tilted your head back to the sky, the light of the stars casting a soft glow in your eyes. "But, really... I've always wondered. Why Wolverine? I get the whole 'fierce and growly' thing, but it’s oddly specific."

Logan gave you a look, a playful warning in his gaze. "Watch it, sweetheart," he drawled, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked back out over the garden. "Truth is… I’m not sure where it came from. Can’t remember. Might’ve been ‘cause I was a… well, an animal. Felt like one back then, anyway."

You reached over, resting a gentle hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're not an animal, Logan," you said softly, your voice filled with quiet conviction. "You never were."

He let out a faint sigh as if he didn’t fully believe you, though he appreciated the sentiment. "Maybe not," he murmured, his gaze drifting back to the stars. "But it sure felt like it sometimes."

A peaceful silence settled between you, and you leaned your head against his shoulder, watching the stars glitter above. "Did you know," you said softly after a moment, "that in one Innu legend, the wolverine was actually a creator of the world?"

Logan raised an eyebrow, looking down at you with a skeptical smirk. "Now you’re makin’ stuff up."

You laughed, nudging him again. "I swear! It’s true. According to the story, the wolverine built a boat to save the animals from a great flood. Then he told a mink to dive into the water and gather mud, and he used it to create an island. That island eventually became the whole world."

Logan shook his head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "You always gotta turn everything into a story, don’t you?"

You grinned, looking up at him with a twinkle in your eye. "I can’t help it. It’s what I do." You paused, then added, "There’s another story that says the Wolverine tried to steal light from the midnight sky. He fashioned bits of it into the sun, moon, and stars, creating the northern lights. Kind of fitting, don’t you think? A wolverine bringing light to the world."

Logan looked at you, amusement and something deeper flickering in his eyes. "You got quite the imagination, you know that?"

"Comes with the job," you teased, snuggling closer, resting your head on his chest. "But honestly… you bring light to people too, Logan. Even if you don’t see it. You’re gruff, sure, but there’s a big heart under all that scowling."

He huffed, though his chest rumbled with a laugh as his fingers absentmindedly traced circles along your shoulder. "You’re really layin’ it on thick tonight, aren’t ya?"

"Just stating the facts," you replied, looking up at him with a grin. "You’re kind of like the stars. Tough on the outside, but warm and steady when people need you most."

Logan’s gaze softened, and he reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek as he looked down at you. "If that’s how you see me… guess I can’t argue."

You smirked, snuggling back into his chest. "See? Not so bad being the wolverine, is it?"

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Guess not," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "Not if it means sittin’ here with you under these stars."

You looked up at him, eyes twinkling with playful warmth as you took in the way the moonlight softened his rough edges. "Who would’ve thought?" you whispered with a teasing lilt. "That the Wolverine could be more than just a trickster… that he could be gentle, even thoughtful."

Logan let out a low, skeptical chuckle, giving you a look that was both amused and exasperated. "Oh, is that so?" he rumbled, his voice a soft, low vibration beneath your cheek. "Here I thought I was just some ornery old fighter."

You chuckled, reaching up to trace a finger along his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble. "You’re definitely more than that. There’s a lot more to you than the tough-guy act. There’s… heart, kindness." You paused, smirking as you added, "Though the ‘ornery old fighter’ part is pretty accurate."

He let out a mock sigh, though his eyes glimmered with affection. "Don’t push it," he muttered, pulling you closer as he looked down at you, the corners of his mouth twitching in a reluctant smile.

You shifted slightly, resting your chin on his chest so you could look up at him. "You know, in some stories, the wolverine’s not just a trickster. He’s a protector. Fierce, unyielding. The one who keeps everyone safe, no matter what."

Logan’s eyes softened, and he reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek as he gazed down at you. "So you see me as some kinda myth, huh?" he murmured, his voice low, almost vulnerable. "Better be careful, sweetheart. I’m just a man, remember?"

You smiled, covering his hand with yours. "Oh, I know," you whispered, your voice tender. "But you’re my myth, Logan. My hero. The one who showed me what real strength looks like."

For a moment, he looked taken aback, his usual composure slipping as he took in your words. Then, his gaze dropped, as if the weight of your affection was almost too much to bear. "You say all that… but sometimes I still feel like a lost soul," he murmured, his voice rough. "Someone who didn’t know where he belonged."

You cupped his face, guiding his eyes back to yours. "You belong right here," you whispered, your thumb tracing his cheek. "With me. Right where you’re supposed to be."

A soft, genuine smile played on his lips as he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "Damn, darlin’," he muttered, his voice barely more than a rumble. "You’re gonna make me go soft."

You laughed, brushing a gentle kiss against his lips. "Too late for that," you teased, smiling against his mouth. "I think I’ve already uncovered the soft side of the Wolverine."

He rolled his eyes, but his hand found yours, his rough fingers intertwining with yours as he brought your hand to his lips. He pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles, his gaze warm and unguarded. "You really make people question my reputation, you know that?" he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, am I ruining your whole 'grumpy lone wolf' image?" you teased, grinning up at him.

Logan pretended to be annoyed, though his eyes sparkled with affection. "Damn right, you are," he replied, his voice a low murmur. "Can’t go anywhere without folks thinkin’ I’m a softy now."

You leaned in, your face close to his, your smile teasing. "Well, maybe you are.”

He let out a low chuckle, pulling you even closer, his arm secure around you. "You’re lucky you’re cute," he muttered, his thumb brushing over your hand. "Otherwise, I might actually be annoyed."

You looked up at him, your heart full, and whispered, "I think you’re cute too, even if you try to hide it."

He groaned, tipping his head back. "There goes my whole reputation," he said, but when he looked back down at you, his gaze was filled with warmth, something so genuine that it made your heart skip a beat.

You squeezed his hand, giving him a playful smile. "Good.” You grinned, closing the small distance between you and kissing him, slow and sweet, letting the world fall away. When you finally pulled back, he was looking at you with a smile so genuine it made your heart skip.

"Happy?" he asked, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hand.

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder as you both gazed out at the stars. "Always, with you."

[thehorsewaslee]

Lily of the valley

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WC: 7.9K

Warnings; Female reader, No reader body/race descriptions (if any pls lmk)A little ooc. NO USE OF Y/N. English is not my first language. Sn*w is here a little more than I would like. Btw every time I make fun of him I’m targeting his description in the book, not just throwing strays at the actor I promise. Actually, 90% of the characters I picture are from the book. (I haven’t seen the movie.) 

Summary; 3 months in district 12 can change a lot about a man, ask Sejanus. Covey!reader. Fluff but the ending isn’t nice lol mb. 

A/N: EDIT!! 27/04: I changed the ending lol

Idk if this is unpopular but pk!Sejanus>>>>Capitol!Sejanus. Buzzcut included. I SAID WHAT I SAID

The Covey’s performance truly was a must-see sight, bringing life to an otherwise desolate country. He wondered how different the capitol would be if they had something like them, so full of passion and pretend freedom, capable of making even the most prideful of miners get up to swing some. His spot from the back by Coryo gave him a full view of the attendants as well as the stage, the colourful outfits swirling around giving the eye a show to go with the tunes. In Coryo’s deference, Lucy Gray was a fantastic singer, he could see why he’d leave everything behind to listen to her voice, not that either of them really had a choice. At least one of them was benefiting from the next twenty or so years. Though he found the two of them a strange pair; she was his polar opposite, but who is he to judge? 

A boisterous round of applause erupted as the band each took their bows, signaling the end of their set. He gave them a few loud whistles of approval, bringing his hands together with the rest of the crowd. He looked a little sheepish, standing next to his friend who was only applauding softly. 

Even in joy, there’s a code of conduct… he thinks, rolling his eyes inwardly.

Even if this isn’t his district, he felt right at home. There were no rules here, no specific expectations or watchful judgy eyes. It was pure, rowdy, unfiltered feelings for the eyes to witness. They were much more alike than the capitol would wish for them to know, from the very first to the very last district. He observed a few drunk men sway together to an old miner’s tune, arms around one another for support as some other guys drummed on stools. He had a half mind to join them, but he wasn’t an exceptional singer. Not that they were, either, but he was contempt just watching them attempt to dance. 

Lucy Gray made her way through the sweaty bodies that parted for her presence, picking off a few wildflowers from adoring fans as she had her sights sent on the only blond head in the crowd. Hot on her trail, one of the younger members of the team had been desperately clawing at her skirt in an attempt to get her attention, but it came to no fruition, the brunette was determined to reach her fling. An attempt at an introduction was made, but Lucy Gray clearly had her mind set on getting Coryo alone, barely allowing a quick name exchange before she swept him away, leaving Sejanus alone with the younger girl. He crossed his arms awkwardly, leaning on the wall as he exchanged a look with the kid; his of boredom and hers of exasperation. She studied his figure, narrowing her eyes at his buzzed hair, taking a moment to make the connection. 

“Do you know him?” She peeped, sighing a little at the end as she pointed over to where Coryo and Lucy Gray disappeared. 

“We’re…friends.” He shrugged a little. 

“You’re a peacekeeper too?” It was more of a statement than a question, his haircut already outing him. 

“I guess.”

“Like him? From the capitol?”

“Is this an interrogation, ma’am?” He smiled down at her, causing her to giggle a little, breaking her serious demeanor. 

“I’m Maude Ivory,” She stuck her hand up for him to shake. 

“Sejanus Plinth.” He gave her little palm a firm, gentle shake. 

“Can I ask you a favour? I would ask what’s his name, but Lucy Gray is a bit caught up with him right now…” she trailed off, pouting a little. 

“Anything for you,” He tugged at his pants, crouching down to meet her eye to eye.  

A smile bloomed on her face, she brought a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Our cousin, she’s being held for some petty accusation, she’s been there ever since Lucy Gray got reaped!” Her words all but spilled out, the issue having clearly been weighing on her mind. “I just want to make sure she’s okay! If you can tell her that Lucy Gray is back, and if you could maybe get her anything to eat- or any help- or tell them she’s innocent- or- ”

“Slow down, slow down,” He soothed, arms gesturing in front of him. “Can you give me a name?”

At the end of their exchange, your name hung loosely on his tongue as he strolled back the short distance to his quarters. The town was quiet, busted cobblestone made for an uncomfortable path as he thought of his little exchange with the girl. Petty crime, she said, he wondered what that really was. From his short time here, he’d gathered that most peacekeepers were pretty easy going, often only here for temporary placement and definitely eager to get out of the slums. Whatever it is you did, must’ve been significant enough to warrant an arrest. It was late, but his curiosity was eating away at him, plus the security at this hour would likely be a bit more lenient. 

He asked the sergeant by the cell block about your details, earning a skeptical look from him. Ultimately, he pointed him in the right direction, and Sejanus took a small serving of his ma’s cookies to offer to you. 

The block contained a pathetic grand total of 4 cells and 1 temporary holding cell, each being a small room with a surprisingly sturdy metal door, only a small opening at eye level to allow him to look in, as well as one by the bottom for food. He tiptoed over to cell number 3, knocking on the door which caused a loud sound to echo into the room. He could have just opened the small window, but his ma raised him better. He heard quiet shuffling from inside. It was late, he must’ve woken you up. 

“Can’t help ya if I can’t see ya,” You groaned, voice laced with sleep. “Genius,” you muttered that last part, but he heard you, and opened the barrier between you two just in time to catch your eye roll. He could only see the top half of your face, the rest of the room behind you was pitch black, making it a miracle that you were even able to find the door. 

“Maude Ivory sent me,” He whispered, wasting no time. At that, your eyes softened and he felt more at ease. “Cookie?”

He clumsily pushed one through the narrow hole not meant for such an exchange. You accepted it with grace, narrowing your eyes at him skeptically. You were pretty good with faces, even just half of ones, but his was unfamiliar. You made the connection between that and the fact that you heard some of the older peacekeepers grumbling about new recruit training. 

“You new?”

He smiled, and you could tell by the way his eyes narrowed. “That obvious?”

You chuckled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You doubt that he was there to flirt, like some of the others are, taking advantage of your inability to walk away. After all, he mentioned your cousin. 

“What did she say?”

“What?” He had been lost in thought. “Oh! Lucy Gray is back, she’s alive and well.”

The breath had been knocked out of your lungs and you struggled to keep your thoughts in check. “Are- are you sure? You ain’t messin’ with me?”

“Nope, saw her perform just an hour ago.”

“Oh my-” The relief that washed over you was overwhelming. You spent the last who knows how long in this cell, heart aching at her departure. Every cell in your body believed that she’d be dead, that they’d send her back in a box. You spent your days in this cell mourning her. Your cousin was back. Your head rested on the cool metal of the door as you tried to blink away the tears of relief. 

“She also wanted to know if you were okay.”

“Yes! Yes I’m fine.” You were a bit enthusiastic, feeling oddly out of breath. “Thank you, you have no idea how much all this means to me, thank you.”

Pride bloomed in his chest, really feeling like he was already making a difference. He nodded his head in appreciation, almost walking away before…well he just had to know.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“What are you in for?”

You giggled, “Well if I told you, I’d be admitting it, won’t I? Nice try though.”

“That wasn’t my intention I-”

“I know. Don’t sweat it.”

He sighed, stepping away from your door to head back to his bunk, before you called him back.

“You’re supposed to pull the shutter closed.”

“Right.” He scurried back, eyes locked with yours as he hesitated with the task. 

“Thank you again. Have a goodnight.”

You said it so sweetly, it almost made him freeze in place, desperate to hear you speak more. You were covey, of course you sounded like music. 

“You too,” He begrudgingly pulled it closed, losing sight of you.

…

He could clearly see why the covey would spend their time out here, a gentle breeze rustling the grass served as a great soundtrack for such a view. He felt a little sheepish, tagging along Coryo and his girlfriend, but he really had nothing better to do. He had never really been this immersed in wildlife before, the feeling was quite refreshing. The sun out there was a lot more forgiving than in the capitol, being more of a gentle kiss than a scorching slap. He opted not to swim this time around, seeing as the couple was practically eating each others faces off in the water, so he didn't want to intervene. 

He took a spot close enough to the water, but far enough so that he was still hidden in the tall grass. The ground was quite rough on his back, but not unwelcome. He shut his eyes, his hands resting behind his freshly buzzed head. The sounds of splashing water along with dancing leaves were slowly lulling him into a quiet afternoon nap.

Oh, he could get used to this. 

He felt all his worries begin slipping away, all the thoughts of what his life had abruptly come to fading out with the birdsong. Maybe he had been raised a city boy, but he wasn’t doing too bad with nature for the time being. Guilt had attempted to sneak into his mind at the thought of his ma, alone in the capitol, but she’d understand, she always did. Especially if she’d seen this place. 

For the first time in his life, Sejanus felt his shoulders release their tension fully at the thought of being a no-body. He’s not the traitor they said he was in 2, not the district scum they said he was in the capitol, either. Here, he was just Sejanus. No expectations were upon him anymore to act a certain way or bite his tongue from talking back. 

He was just about to fall asleep when a figure blocked the sun’s rays from his face, dripping a few water droplets onto him, one landing directly into his open eyes. 

Maude Ivory. 

He sat up suddenly, squinting his eye from both the bright light and the lakewater that had begun burning his sclera. 

“Didya find her?” She leaned down to him. 

“Yes, ma’am. She said she was fine.”

“Do you know when she’ll be out?”

He shrugged, “They won’t tell me these things. I doubt they knew, anyway. What is she bein’ held for?”

Maude Ivory bit her lip, looking around as if trying to detect if anyone had been listening in. She plopped down by his side. “Someone snuck into the mayor’s house, left a bunch of mice in there. They think it was her.”

He leaned in closer, “Was it?”

Her brows shot up, eyes widening, then narrowing in suspicion. “I don’t know, depends on who’s askin’”

He chuckled, “S’ js’ me, Maude Ivory.”

She turned her head to where Lucy Gray and snow were, once again, doing things that should not be done in front of the general public. She made a face at them, not that they were aware. 

“I don’t like your friend.” She turned back to him, hands playing with some daisies by her foot. “Don’t trust him.” She grumbled as her hands began making a flower crown from muscle memory. 

“You can trust me, though.” He cocked his head at her, only wanting to know out of curiosity. 

She looked up at him with admiration, nodding softly. 

“Okay…I’m tellin on her.” That earned a gasp from her as her eyes widened frantically. “I’ kiddin’, m’ kiddin! Bad joke on my part, sorry.”

She let out a sigh of relief, slapping his thigh with all her might before she got up to place the crown on his head. He couldn’t help the stupid smile that made it’s way onto his face.

“Wanna swim?”

“Was actually hoping I could just-”

“Lucy Gray!” Your voice boomed across the clearing, having spotted her in the water. You ran with all the energy you had in you to where she was as she swam back up to the wooden pathway into the water. You two met in a crushing hug, having previously thought her surely dead. The force of your run knocked you both off balance, landing you an impromptu dip in the lake, despite the fact that you were fully clothed. 

Maude Ivory grabbed his hand with excitement, “Cmon!”

Lucy Gray resurfaced first, being helped back up by Coryo. Without giving it much thought, he crouched down, extending a strong hand out to you. 

“Need a hand?”

You took him up on his offer, your dress making your movements a lot more sluggish. Plus, your muscles ached from sleeping in that dingy cell for about 2 weeks. 

He stood off to the side, Coryo joining him, as they observed your heartwarming reunion. 

“I thought you’d be dead!”

“I told you to have a little faith in me.”

“You talked to Jessup’s family?”

“No-I…couldn’t bring myself to.”

“S’ alright, I’ll go. How was the capitol?” You giggled mockingly, as if you were asking your cousin about some vacation she’d been on.

“Nothin’ fancy-”

“How did you even survive?”

At that question, Lucy Gray moved aside to allow you to look at the blonde, who stood smart- but shirtless, and his much, much finer, taller friend. Their haircuts stood out to you, recognising them as ones that belonged to-

Peacekeepers. 

Lucy Gray had brought two peacekeepers along to the Covey’s spot. 

Now, you were no stranger to buttering soldiers up, but this was a bit out of line. A lot out of line actually. Lucy gray put her arms around the blond’s shoulders, a dopey smile on her lips as they made love eyes at each other. Sejanus bit back his smile as he watched your expression change from confusion to pure disgust, with no attempt at hiding it. 

“This is Coriolanus, he helped me win.” 

Anus stuck his hand out to you for a formal introduction, a futile attempt at winning you over. You looked between his hand, Lucy gray’s face and the rest of him. 

“Lucy gray, may I talk to you- for a minute. Over there?” You pointed to a tree far enough away. 

Sejanus watched from afar as you tore into her, arms flailing around with a shocked face. 

“This will not end well.” Maude Ivory peeped from his side, facepalming, which made him giggle a little. “She really doesn’t get along with peacekeepers.”

“Is she your cousin, Maude Ivory?” Coryo asked, hand fiddling with his dog tag. 

“We’re all cousins, just not by blood, anyway.”

“A peacekeeper? Are you serious? Do you want to hang, Lucy Gray?”

“It ain’t like that- he’s from the capitol-”

“They all are! You ain’t helping your case!”

The argument only dragged on, both sides  holding onto their opinions with force. Eventually, you parted ways, with Lucy Gray returning to Coryo, and you turning to find your way back home. Most of your clothes were still a little damp, and even though it was the middle of summer, you ought to change out of them soon, lest you catch a cold. 

Maude Ivory, once again, pulled Sejanus along, citing that you had not gotten the chance to talk to him yet. 

“Wait up!” She called out, causing you to stop and turn around. When they finally caught up to you, she took a moment to catch her breath before introducing you two. 

“...This is Sejanus.”

You gave him a tight lipped nod, still uneasy and wary of his presence.

“He’s the one that spoke to you yesterday! I told him I wanted to get some news to you and he helped me.”

You straightened up at the reveal, “Oh! It’s you!” You recognised his eyes, “That was an awfully kind thing of you to do. Thank you once more…officer.” 

He mirrored your position of clasped hands behind your back, smiling at the title. 

“Please don’t call me that. Sejanus is fine.”

He had such a dizzying smile, so genuine for someone stationed here for the capitol, his eyes barely showing, that it made you lose your train of thought for a second. 

“Right. Thank you, Sejanus.”

“Any time, consider me at your service.”

You looked down shyly, bottom lip tucked behind your teeth so that you don’t giggle like an idiot, while he took the chance to observe you. Surely there must be something in the water here, because, in all his years of life, he’d never seen-

“Eugh!” Maude Ivory fake gagged at the two of you, causing you to shoot her a pointed look. 

“Right,” You sighed. “I best be goin’ now.” You shot him one final smile before he watched you disappear between the trees. 

He made his way back to his spot, catching a glimpse of the other couple still enjoying the water.

“I think she likes you.” Maude Ivory sing-songed.

“Really? What makes you think that?”

“She did the thing where she-” She mimicked your movements of looking away and biting your lip, before ending her performance with an exaggerated eye-roll. “Plus, you’re just her type, so.”

“Really, and what is that?”

“Tall, dark, handsome. Kind. ‘Sad eyes’, whatever that means.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“No.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

….

He used to dance with his ma in the kitchen on nights where both of them were overwhelmed. He’d spent the better part of a year trying to get his brain to put the steps and the beat together, finding it difficult to keep up. Eventually, he was able to nail it down beautifully, keeping the district swing dance tradition alive in him. The one his ma taught him was a little different, but it was close enough to the point where he could always guess the next move as he tapped his foot along to the music from the back of the hob. It was a wedding, or a celebration of some union, so the people were dressed in their best suites, making the night truly one he would remember. 

“Care for a dance, officer?”

He hadn’t noticed your presence that night, much less your approach to where he was  posted. Last he saw you, you were fresh out of detention, now your face seemed a lot brighter, the colour having returned to it. You looked well rested, too, wearing an outfit similar in fashion to what the covey would typically wear. 

“Thought I asked you not to call me that.” He raised a teasing brow, looking down at you. 

“Right. Care for a dance, Sejanus?”

“M’ afraid I’ll step on your toes.” He wasn’t really, he didn’t know why he said that. But what he didn’t expect was, 

“S’alright, don’t need 'em for much anyway!” 

You grabbed his hand, pulling him onto the dancefloor, he used the same hand to pull you flush into him, his other finding its way to your side and you narrowed your eyes at him skeptically, having a funny feeling that he wasn’t being truthful about his skills. 

When the next musical bridge began, you began to move in tandem with steps you were familiar with, surprised to see him not only keeping up, but also leading you through. You moved to the music, stepping apart to clap before joining each other once more. You were so lost in the rush, barely noticing as the crowd cleared the floor, leaving only the two of you. The beats got faster, but so did your steps. There was a permanent smile on your lips as you etched your brows together in concentration, Sejanus just barely breaking a sweat. At the familiar final crescendo, he twisted your arms across your body, pulling you flush against his chest, keeping you there for a beat before letting go of one hand and pushing you away into a twirl. You were just about registering what was happening when he snaked his free arm around you, ending the number with a dip. 

You both stayed in this position for a second, only to be applauded by the audience you hadn’t realised had formed. You stood back up, a little awkwardly smoothing your dress down and fixing your jewellery, letting go of his hand in the process. The clapping didn’t stop, so, in true covey fashion, you grabbed his hand once more, nodding at him to take a bow with you. 

The noise finally dwindled down as the couples got ready to say their vows and end the night, crowds reforming around the two of you. You held his gaze, biting your lip in playful disbelief. He was panting a little, a proud look on his face. He was about to say something, when Coryo pulled on his shoulder jokingly, forcing him to look at him, but Sejanus looked right back to where you were, finding your figure retreating to the Hob’s exit. Coryo was rambling about something he was too dazed to figure out, mind set on following you. So, he wordlessly picked his friend’s hand off him and set off behind you. 

The air outside was refreshing, the amount of sweaty bodies in the place had made it borderline humid, along with the brewing drinks. Sejanus had broken out into a light jog, finding no sign of you in the immediate vicinity of the exit, steps only illuminated by pure moonlight. But due to the lack of light pollution in the district, it made everything clear as day. He furrowed his brows, confused at your absence, before he took a few more steps to find you leaning on the side of the building, tucked away from the exit’s proximity. His face softened, the lovestruck smile finding its way back onto his lips. 

“You alright?” He treaded the short steps towards you carefully. 

“Yeah,” you let out a short, breathy laugh. “M’fine, just needed some air.” 

He nodded reassuringly, taking his spot next to you, leaning back on the wall with his hands behind his back. You looked up at him, tongue in cheek as you scrunched your nose. 

“So much for steppin’ on my toes.” You rolled your eyes. “They teach you that at your academy?” 

“No- uh…Used to dance with my ma, she taught me.”

“Your…ma?”

He nodded and you narrowed your eyes at him again.

“I can’t figure you out, Sejanus.”

He chuckled, “I’m from 2, born and raised.”

“No kiddin?” Your brows shot up, everything suddenly making sense. Namely the sheer differences between him and his friend. 

“Yeah. Moved to the capitol when I was 8, then I spent the rest of the time there with my ma an-”

“Wait, wait, wait.” You stood up straighter, “What do you mean moved to the capitol?”

“We- My father, bought a place there and we finished some paper work and we moved.” He sounded unsure, scared that he’d accidentally reveal who exactly he was, unsure if the Plinth name had ever crossed your path. It would ruin the life he’d pictured for himself here. 

“That…must’ve costed a fortune…”

“It did.”

You whistled, ending the tune with a pop. “Didn’t even know you could do that…”

The air between you felt heavy as you mulled over the weight of his words. “And your friend, mr. forecast, he district born?”

“Forecast-oh I get it, cause Snow.” He snorted, “No, purebred Capitol.”

“Knew it.” You grimaced. “And how’d you two end up here?”

“Well,” he rubbed his chin. “I snuck into the hunger games’ arena.”

“Why?”

“We had to mentor some of the tributes for our final academy project and something happened with my tribute-he was my friend. They…Never mind, long story short is, I wanted to give him a proper district farewell and it got me in trouble. I knew it would, js didn’t care.”

“A rebel.”

He sucked on his teeth, “That’s a naughty word.”

You giggled. 

“So this is your punishment? Peacekeeping?”

“Yup, for the next 20 or so years.”

“Wow,”

“Yeah.”

“You’re properly stuck with us. Don’t worry, we’ll put you to good use. Maybe you can even perform with those quick feet of yours.”

He laughed, looking down to his shoes awkwardly. 

“And how are you liking 12?”

He took a deep breath in, hands finding their way to his hips as he puffed his chest out. 

“S’ nice. Been a while since I’ve listened to music, so that’s a plus. They’ve got lots of pretty girls here, too.”

You looked over to him from the side, “Oh yeah?”

He turned to fully face you, stepping in front of you and cocking his head. “Yeah.” He shot you a quick wink. It caught you off guard, causing you to look away into the distance so that you don’t make a fool out of yourself. He watched you struggle to keep a smile at bay, lips quivering with giddy as you bit and tugged them back into place. You fake coughed in order to compose yourself, looking back into his welcoming eyes.

“Well, we are happy to have you here, Sejanus. S’ nice to see someone who can dance so well, you ought to give folks classes.”

“I’ll need a partner for that.”

You sighed playfully, “I’ll try to find someone willing to sacrifice their nights to dance with you, officer. But it might be difficult.” You shrugged. 

“My apologies, I meant I’ll need one specific partner for that.”

“Oh yeah, who’dya have in mind?”

Sejanus swallowed thickly, feeling the rush course through his veins. He’d been emboldened by the animosity he had in the district, placing a tender hand at you side as he pushed you back into the wall a little, abruptly crashing his lips onto yours. 

It was a welcome surprise, really. Hesitating for a moment before you moved your lips with his. Soft music was still pouring out of the hob, the gentle night’s glow making the scene something straight out of a movie. His hands came up to keep you in place as yours cupped his cheek, stroking your thumb against his skin lightly. 

“Where have you- oh?”

You pulled apart suddenly to find Lucy Gray standing with a very shocked expression on her face, eyebrows practically touching her hairline with how high they were. A sly smirk made it’s way onto her face as she cocked her head at the two of you, caught red handed. You cleared your throat, fixing the sides of your dress that were still warm from where he’d kept his hands.

“Coriolanus was askin if I saw where his friend went. Said they need to be headin back. And I needed to find where you went, cause I needed a hand with the instruments, cause we also need to be headin back.”

“Alright,” It was difficult to find your voice, breath having been knocked clean out of your lungs just moments earlier, so it only came out as a little peep. 

You walked past her awkwardly as Sejanus followed in step, shooting her a sweet smile as she turned to watch you walk back in. Inside, you found that the others had already put most of the stuff away, allowing you to leave the place together almost immediately. Coriolanus was conversing with Sejanus, which meant you couldn’t pull his attention to bid him goodnight without your cousin noticing again, so you bargained with the idea of maybe stopping by their training yard sometime this week.

….

Bang! Bullseye. 

He remembers when he first fully learned how to handle a gun, scurrying off to show all his friends his new talent. It was, of course, very impressive, even back then. For as long as he could remember, he could feel that the gun was an extension of him, only because he was so familiar with it. 

Now, however, he wished that he could just miss. Even when he tried to; it looked way too calculated for it to be his natural aim. He knew it sounded stupid. 

Oh look at me I’m Sejanus and I’m so sad because I’m just way too good at shooting things right oh woe is me. 

He could practically hear Coriolanus’ seething by his side, struggling to land a single shot. But all he really wanted to be was a medic. It was no secret, in fact everyone knew, that Sejanus Plinth was a lover and not a fighter. And he never will be. But on the plus side, it got him in with Commander Hoff pretty quick, which meant he could take most training days off. 

He didn’t want to only see you when he’s trailing behind Coryo, which is why he opted to hang back that day, find you on his own terms. He asked about date spots around the base, but, being 90% men who are seconds away from putting a bullet in their own skulls, turned up with mostly nothing. The only piece of info he got was that there was a girl that works at the bakery, maybe she could help him. So he decided he’d be using that evening to explore the town a bit, stopping first by the candy shop to grab a few bags of gumdrops, the next spot being the cosy little bakery that was cast in a warm yellow light. 

The door jingled open with a short tune, the warmth of the ovens inevitably hitting him in the face. He’s sure that comes as a relief during winter, but during this hot month it only made his clothes feel sticky. The place was old, exposed brick all around with a wooden countertop opposite to the door. There was no display or anything of the sort, you had to use your imagination, but the smell of freshly baked goods helped. It was cozy, and reminded him of his ma’s baking. He waited for a good minute in silence due to the lack of an attending to take his requests. He felt a little stupid, coming here with the ulterior motive of dating advice. Eventually, someone walked out with their head in a small notebook as they scribbled something. 

Of course. The girl in the bakery shop was you. Now he looked even more stupid. 

You hadn’t noticed him yet, muttering a ‘one second..’ with your brows furrowed as you fit some calculations in your mind. When you finally looked up at him, the smile found its way back to you. 

“Sejanus! Hi! What’re you doin’ here?”

“Thought I’d come to try any of the local delicacies,”

You giggled, “so what can I getcha?”

“What would you recommend?”

You bit your lip, looking quickly off to the side to check that no one was there. 

“Well, I’m not supposed to offer it, but I just made a batch of muffins, fresh out the oven. Hold on.”

He was a little confused, watching as you disappeared into the kitchen and came back shortly with a steaming hot chocolate muffin, handing it to him in a brown paper bag. 

“Anythin’ else you recommend?”

“Well…no. We mostly just make bread here, there’s not a high demand for treats.” 

“Alright, what do I owe ya?”

“Hm? Oh! Nothin’, it’s on the house.”

“I can’t accept that,” 

“Well, I’m not supposed to be sellin’ them anyway, so I can’t ask for money on something that wasn’t for sale.”

“How come?”

“They’re for the mayor, he’s hostin’ a dinner or somethin’ tonight. They’re one of the only folk that could afford these things.” 

“So you’re giving me someone else’s property?” 

“No, silly. We always make extra, for tastin’. Baker’s dozen.”

“So this one is yours?”

“Uhh..” you shrugged. “I guess.” 

“Please, I can’t-”

“You’re goin to get me in trouble, Sejanus.” 

He sighed, watching your giddy face. What was he even here for? Oh. Right. Date ideas. 

Well, it seemed counterintuitive to ask you like this, might as well just ask you out properly. 

“What time do you finish work?” 

You checked your empty wrist. “Well, we close in an hour, but I’ve got to leave in 30 minutes to make the delivery. Afterwards I’m done.” 

“I can wait 30 minutes. Then we can split the muffin!” 

You chuckled, dropping your head before straightening up suddenly at the sound of your boss walking in. She was a petite old woman, but had the bite of a wild dog, running the little bake shop like the military. 

“Can we help you?” She raised a brow at him. 

“Oh, he just wanted somethin’ sweet-”

“And you told him we’re fresh out, right?” Her tone was angry, accusatory. 

“Of course. What could I have even offered him.” 

Sejanus held back a smile at your aversion to the woman. 

He cleared his throat, “Well, I’ll be on my way.” He grabbed a bill from his pocket, stuffing it into the near empty tip jar. The woman was unamused, a questioning look on her face as he retreated slowly. 

“You’ve got…great employees…”

Your hand came up to cover your face to attempt to stifle your laughter at his actions as you shook your head. 

It was 30 short minutes later that you exited the shop with the boxes in your hands. You didn’t really expect him to have actually waited for you, but there he was, crouched on your steps. 

“You didn’t have to wait for me,”

“I know,”

He got up, immediately grabbing the boxes out of your hands as you led the way to the mayor’s house, promising that you’ll stop by a nice spot to share the muffin later. 

“I thought the covey didn’t work?”

“Not all of us, just those old enough. Singin’ n’ dancin’ doesn’t always pay the bills.”

“Hm.”

“Did you come to the bakery for me?”

“What? Oh. No.” He chuckled. “Was actually askin’ around about where a fella could take his girl out on a date, they pointed me to ask the girl in the bake shop.” 

“His girl? Don’t recall you askin’.” You bumped into him. 

He didn’t reply, keeping his eyes straight ahead to avoid embarrassment. 

“Well, if you’re still lookin for answers, I’d say a great first date would be swing dancin’ at the hob, that’s what most folks do anyway. Though, it’s a rare event, you’d have to wait till it happens again.” 

He laughed. “Well, what if he wanted to do somethin’ sooner?”

“Well then, you two could go swimmin’, or have a picnic in the meadow. Maybe you she could cook you a nice meal. I’d recommend you just ask her, but what do I know?” You crossed your arms over your chest. He dropped his head down, admitting defeat. 

You’d finally reached the mayor’s house, taking the goods from his hands and handing them over. The man gave you two a skeptical look, unhappy that the likes of the Covey were mixing in with the peacekeepers. He was especially disgruntled that you were the one making his delivery, considering he wasn’t especially fond of you, so he gave no tip, citing that he’ll make the transaction with the bakery’s owner. 

Sejanus watched the whole interaction in discomfort, it reminded him of how they’d treat him, well, everywhere. But he tried to push that thought away to allow himself to enjoy the night. He followed after you in silence as you led him past the seam, but only by a little, to a willow tree atop a hill that overlooked a valley. It was peaceful, not that district 12 was loud, but you two were alone here. Secluded in plain sight. You sat side-by-side as he split the Muffin, handing the bigger half over to you. You took a small bite, wanting to savour every crumb of it, all but moaning at your work.

“I’ve really outdone myself, limited resources an’ all. But then again, when do I not.”

“It’s great to see it hasn’t affected your humility,”

“I know. I’m so humble, it should be studied.”

You two chuckled and you watched him eat the rest of his share in silence. He had tried not to be so bashful under your gaze, like you were trying to read him, inside out, but it proved difficult. 

“Tell me about 2,” You cocked your head. 

His brows shot up momentarily, then he let out a sigh. How much could he tell you about his home without slipping in the fact that his family-his father had a hand in the capitol’s victory. 

Would you still look at him the same? If you knew that they handed weapons over more than voluntarily, would it matter?

“It was like here, kind people. Less nature.”

“Oddly vague for a description of your home, dontcha think?” You sensed his unease. “Nevermind, tell me on your own terms.”

“No- It’s just-”

“It’s ok, really. Tell me about your ma?”

He felt his shoulders relax. 

You two stayed there until the sun began to make it’s presence known over the horizon, talking about everything and nothing. He ended up napping with his head in your lap as you sang softly, unwilling to shake him awake for duty. You knew you needed to, otherwise, he’d get scolded, but he just looked so peaceful, all his previous troubles and worries. You could tell he was going to be trouble on your heart, a man far sweeter than the world would let him. 

And you kissed him awake anyway. 

…

Almost 3 months later.

…

Bang!

Your form had improved greatly since you’d started practicing, all thanks to your amazing teacher, or so he called himself. It was just another thing to keep you two busy, a fun activity you enjoyed together. While you were hesitant at first, seeing as he snuck his gun out to show you, but you came around. It was actually more entertaining than you’d like to admit, though you only shot stationary targets, cans and other pieces of trash. Usually, he’d sit back with a proud smile, watching the contrast between your clothes and the weapon. He’d get up after a while, lazily grabbing the firearm from you to show off, earning a kiss for every bullseye. 

Bullseye. 

He hated that.

Today, however, his eyes are glued to the ground, brows etched with sadness as he remained deep in thought. On other occasions, he would’ve been thinking about his future, what he wants for his life here, but today he’s thinking about that letter. 

Back to the Capitol. Coryo is going back to the Capitol. 

And he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much, but maybe the comfort of having a familiar face here being taken away made him uneasy. It made him second guess everything, not that he had the option to go back, but he was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he’s unlikely to see his ma for a long long time. He had already pictured a life for himself here when he got on that train months ago; a nice girl, a family, a small house by the clinic he worked at- will work at, and it was all coming nicely. Hell, just the image of you was enough to root him in 12 for good, but his friend’s departure was hitting him more than he would like to admit. 

His head shot up at the sound of your tsk, finding you struggling with reloading the gun. He wasn’t stupid, he’d seen you do it a dozen times over without his help, you were only pretending to struggle so that he could get up to help you, snake his arms around you and shoot straight with your back flush against his chest. What a minx. 

But he’d humour you anyway. 

He gently took the gun from your hands, resetting the cartilages before shooting the last three standing targets, one shot after the other. 

Bullseye. 

You grabbed his chin, bringing your lips to his in three short pecks. His eyes shut subconsciously, savouring your final few kisses. 

“What’s goin’ on, pretty boy?”

He blushed, chuckling before turning his attention back to his fingers fiddling with the gun. “Nothin, js’ thinkin’.”

He repositioned himself, trying to find anything to aim at. 

“This about your friend?”

He stiffened, hands dropping from their position with the gun.

“Yeah.”

He looked at you and you tilted your head slightly.

“Wanna go with him?”

“No,” He chuckled. “Not that I can, anyway. I’m stuck here.”

You pouted, “We that bad?”

“No! That’s not what I meant. It’s js that-” He sighed, repositioning himself with the gun. “He was my only friend. I know that we weren’t really friends, but he was the only decent person back in the capitol. Aside from my ma, I didn’t have anyone there. It’s just that, he was present in the life I pictured for myself here, and now he’s leavin’, makes me wonder if stayin’ here is right for me.”

Bang!

Bullseye.

“And don’t get me wrong, I love it here! I love…you.”

Bang!

Bullseye.

“My head’s js not right.” He sighed, dropping the gun back down. You stepped closer to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Can you buy your way back?”

“...Probably.”

“Then? What’s keepin’ you here?”

His eyes shot down to your lips momentarily. “Lotsa things.”

You giggled, “Then why the worry?”

You pressed your thumb into his forehead, smoothing the wrinkles there. 

“You’ll figure it out Sejanus, we both will.” You began circling him teasingly. “Maybe folks will take you up on those dance lessons, maybe you’ll make it as a medic. Maybe we find us a nice house by the seam and you put those arms of yours to good work, build us a home. With your pay and my tips, we would be barely gettin’ by, but, who knows? Maybe at some point we’ll add a third, start a garden in our slice of land so we could keep up with the demand.”

He pulled you in, a dopey smile on his face. That life, those promises you were making, they meant the world to him. He’d always wanted to be the family man, especially some place where his kids wouldn’t have to suffer through the same childhood he did. And the way you said it all so sweetly, had he not already been committed to staying here, your words alone would’ve convinced him. 

But then again, 

“And our third? What if the hunger games is still goin’? If they get reaped?”

He could tell you were not taking him seriously by the way you feigned being deep in thought, before an idea seemingly struck you. 

“Simple, we add a fourth!” You bit you siling lip as he shook his head. “You’re worryin’ about somethin’ that seems ages away!”

He took off the dog tag they gave him when he just got here, throwing it over your neck before pulling you in from it for another kiss. He sighed against you, all his troubles melting away at your taste. 

“Okay, fine. Whatever you say, gorgeous.”

You packed your little picnic up, walking back to the house hand in hand.

“I wanted to send my ma a photo of us, is there a camera we could use?”

“I think we’ve got one in a closet somewhere, but it’s rickety and likely broken. You can check with the merchants if someone knows how to fix em’. Or we could get Barb Azure to paint us instead! She’s as good as a camera, hell, she’s even better!”

“Yeah, that sounds nice. ”

A comfortable silence came over you two once more as he replayed your conversation like a fool in love. 

“I only want girls.” He said abruptly. “I don’t want to have a boy, I don’t wanna turn out like my father.”

“I love your enthusiasm, but you’re not getting either until I’ve got a ring to show for it.”

He laughed a little, stopping you by your hands and pulling you in. 

“Yea, ma’am. On it.”

“Sejanus?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” You whispered into his skin, it set his soul on fire.

“I love you more.”

…

A/N2: YAPPING AHEAD!!

Yes ik I said I need to study, yes I wrote this anyway. 

Ok fr fr if I don’t lock in this week I’m going to regret it so I’m deleting tumblr (!) until 24/4, and I will be back immediately after my exam either to gloat or cry, we’ll see how it goes 😌 I love you all smsm take care <33

There’s a scrapped fluff ending for this btw. Wonder who scrapped it….

[bnhaobservation]

Were really Tenko’s choices not his own?

AFO ‘Yowai mama tsuyoku arou nado ā orokana Shimura Tenko. Omae wa ima made nani hitotsu erande nado inai noni.’’ AFO「弱いまま強くあろうなどああ愚かな志村転弧。おまえは今まで何一つ選んでなどいないのに。」’ AFO “Though you've become strong, you remain weak. Ahh, foolish Shimura Tenko. Even though until now you haven't chosen anything.’ [Chap. 418]

This is what AFO said to Tomura/Tenko at the end of chapter 418 and of course it sparked discussion because what is this supposed to mean? Of course Tomura/Tenko chose plenty of things, he had free will, hadn’t he? His body wasn’t always controlled by AFO, Tomura/Tenko took plenty of decisions or is this an attempt to take accountability from him?

To discuss this and what AFO really means I’m going to talk to you about something else.

Ever hear about informed consent?

When the hospital needs you to agree to undergo a certain treatment they don’t just need your consent, they need your INFORMED consent.

The informed consent process is an ethical and legal requirement for medical treatment. It ensures that you understand your diagnosis and your treatment options and agree to have specific medical treatment. This process involves ongoing and clear conversations between you and your healthcare provider. These conversations often lead to your decision to give (or not) consent for treatment. Informed consent protects your autonomy and your legal rights as a patient. Informed consent protects your ability to make your own decisions about medical treatment. It also protects your legal right to ask questions about recommended treatments.

And yeah, it also helps your healthcare provider but, for this discussion I’ll focus on what it does for you.

Basically, your decision to say ‘yes’ if you weren’t informed, is legally considered void of value. It doesn’t matter you freely said ‘yes’ if you weren’t informed your consent is not enough.

You might also have heard if you’re a minor even though you decide to give consent to some things, that consent holds no value.

Now you might wonder, where does this lead us?

Tomura/Tenko is not a minor nor he has to undergo under some medical procedure.

The mechanism behind decisions, behind choosing something, is always the same. We choose according to the information we have. Freedom of will isn’t the most important factor deciding our choices, it’s information and they dictate our choices to the point some can predict them.

We inform our decisions and opinions through experiences, be they personal or made just by observing others, through what people teach us be they our parents or our teachers or people we trust, through confronting with others be it in discussions or in arguments.

If you tell me I have to choose between eating a pear and an apple I’ll choose the apple because I know I hate pears but I like apples. This is my INFORMED decision.

If you however were to tell me the apple is poisoned I wouldn’t eat it because I don’t want to die, and this would also be my INFORMED decision.

If you were to lie to me and tell me the apple is perfectly safe to eat when it’s not, I would go back on eating the apple and this would be my INFORMED decision… and it would obviously suck because the information I was given was false.

In Tomura/Tenko’s case, what AFO is saying, is he’s behind each information about how the world work that Tomura/Tenko received.

He got his hands on Tenko when the latter was 5 but even before that age he began shaping the world around him, the experiences Tenko would make. When he took Tenko he told him to call him ‘sensei’ (先生). The English version translated it as “master” as it is a word with many translations but the more common translation is “teacher” which would fit more with how Tomura/Tenko asks him what will he teach him.

AFO taught Tomura/Tenko how he had to see and interpret the world, how he had to see and interpret himself and his feelings, how he had to see and interpret the others. He kept on filling Tomura/Tenko with information that were aimed at influencing Tomura/Tenko’s beliefs, perceptions, will.

AFO taught him that he had an impulse to destroy, that the itch is DUE TO IT instead than due to the abuse he was suffering in his home. That he shouldn't endure abuse or he'll be the only one to suffer, that coscience, morale, ethics are lies, fabrications.

Tomura/Tenko was a small kid, thanks to the trauma he forgot most of his past, which includes the teaching and experiences he had before, and AFO took care to keep always alive the trauma inside him.

Tomura/Tenko was mostly kept isolated, having solely the company of AFO, of Garaki and of Kurogiri. They were his source of ‘reliable’ information as he trusted them… only they were clearly not reliable.

But, you might say, what about the internet?

Tomura/Tenko has no net friends. AFO took care to give him a certain view of the world, so that every information Tomura/Tenko would receive through the web would be influenced by such view. Tomura/Tenko has no reason to doubt AFO, as far as he knows he’s his savior and caretaker and he has no one else.

If AFO tells him the net lies when it says All Might is a good person, that it’s wrong to destroy things, that it’s wrong to murder, why should Tomura/Tenko doubt AFO? Where are ‘reliable’ information telling him what AFO says is a lie, when the other people around him who take care of him (Garaki and Kurogiri) agree with AFO? Why should he trust the net, the people who abandoned him, over the people who’re so nice and caring toward him?

And the more time Tomura/Tenko is left in this world in which AFO is his main source of information the more those information become part of him, influence his perception of the world, his personality.

Remember when All Might first saw him and called him a ‘man-child’? It wasn’t a completely wrong definition, since Tomura/Tenko wasn’t really allowed to mentally grow by interacting with others who were his equal and presented different opinions and wills.

It's not he didn't have Quirk counselling what stilled his growth, it's not he didn't want to grow or something and that took advantage of the fact he had too much power which made him spoiled...

...what the Heroes didn't consider, mostly because they didn't really care WHY TOMURA/TENKO IS LIKE THAT was that it was trauma and manipulation that made him like that. Tomura/Tenko experienced the world and the battles through roleplay games not through real interactions.

AFO was always around him, shaping him, telling him he can do what he wants and that everything was for him and Tomura/Tenko has no reason to believe he was lying, has no reason to think his words though.

Tomura/Tenko decides, but as his choices are all informed by AFO and AFO lies to him, his choices are all dictated by wrong info and manipulated in a certain direction. Even if he's told he can do what he wants his choices aren’t really ‘free’ because he doesn’t really know what he’s choosing and what he’s rejecting, because he’s not informed correctly.

Yes, inside him there’s his own persona, he’s not a complete will-less doll, but this matters little when all the information he receives are manipulated and he has not the means to realize it and AFO knows it. He’s a master manipulator, he knows how to give Tomura/Tenko the belief he’s choosing of his own free will when it’s AFO who put such ideas and beliefs in his head.

Tomura/Tenko is 20 when he is first sent against All Might and can interact with people with a diametrically opposite mind setting compared to AFO.

Still Tomura/Tenko’s first confrontation with All Might is easy for him to dismiss, AFO raised him thinking Heroes and especially All Might are a certain type of people, so All Might’s words are easy to dismiss like empty rhetoric and pretty words (remember? one of the first things he was taught is that coscience, moral, ethics are fabrications that allow people [aka Heroes] to run the world smoothly) and All Might clearly didn’t act in such a way it would positively impress Tomura/Tenko.

Tomura/Tenko views him as a representative of state-sponsored violence and All Might can’t prove him wrong because… he has to use violence to protect everyone.

Tomura/Tenko wasn’t taught to care about the nobility of the mean, for him use of violence makes Villains and Heroes alike and yet they’re split in two groups… but most of what Tomura/Tenko says is something that’s not really coming from him but from AFO’s indoctrination. They aren’t really HIS ideals yet, even All Might realizes so.

What Tomura/Tenko has in that moment is hate for All Might and society. When Stain will force him to tell him which is his conviction, this is what Tomura/Tenko says, not all the rest. He hates All Might and society.

AFO’s indoctrination was meant to manipulate him into believing why he hates them, but the truth is what Midoriya will nail at the end, society and All Might didn’t save him when he was an innocent child, not yet a Villain, and left him miserable. His father, AFO, they all told him this happened because Heroes and society are fundamentally bad. Due to this teaching Tomura/Tenko hates them with a passion, because he feels victimized by them. They’re the cause of his misery.

Stain’s words are harder to ignore as Stain is no Hero and Kurogiri wanted them to join forces and yet Stain attacked him… but then let him live. All of sudden someone who’s not a Hero makes something unpredictable. Tomura/Tenko tried to compete with him and loses, everyone is impressed by Stain and not by him and makes wrong assumptions on them. Touya and Himiko comes to him but he doesn’t understand their behavior. Ultimately he talks with Midoriya.

The talk doesn’t dramatically change him, it merely helps him to reframe everything in a familiar contest. It’s All Might’s fault, he decides, and this is what AFO taught him, but he doesn’t realize he’s parroting what his master taught him.

Ironically, his talk with Midoriya actually helps him to internalize, to interiorized what AFO taught him, because now HE HAD TO PONDER OVER THE SITUATION AND CONFRONT WITH SOMEONE ELSE, which is the first step to makes ideas your own as now they would come from you… but since he tackles that confrontation using the tons of info AFO poured into him and Midoriya is just a kid who makes wrong assumptions of him… well, the result ends up being that now Tomura/Tenko doesn’t just merely absorb AFO’s information but embraces them as if they were his own ideas.

This is what AFO wanted when he said there’s no point in simply telling Tomura/Tenko  an answer but that he needs to reach the conclusion himself.

In a way it’s a test to see if all the wrong information he has given him for years now really live inside him and have become his own. AFO knows that now that Tomura/Tenko is a man, albeit one kept immature, if he has succeeded in influencing him then it would be difficult to completely change his mind after 15 years of manipulations.

He’s not wrong, to completely change Tomura/Tenko’s mind would be difficult… but it isn’t impossible to partially change it, especially since Tomura/Tenko will then keep on interacting with the League… and won’t interact anymore with AFO so that AFO won’t manage anymore to teach him how to interpret his experiences.

In this new contest free of AFO the little of Tomura/Tenko’s original personality kind of come back to life, the League become precious friends he wants to protect. Ironically Tomura/Tenko, who hates Heroes because they abandoned him, want to be a Hero for the League. He doesn’t want to be their master or their ruler, all things AFO wants to be, Tomura/Tenko wants to be a Hero.

AFO used to say everything is all for him but now Tomura/Tenko wants everything to be for his companions, when he’ll submit Re-Destro he’ll ask suchi for them because they wanted it, he won’t force Touya to do what he doesn’t want to do, he promises he won’t destroy what Himiko loves, he let Shuuichi get angry at him.

Tomura is taking some choices that don’t come from AFO and could have taken more if he were to be given more time as he already wanted to be different from AFO and AFO’s attempt to take over his body as well as the revelation he manipulated him likely would have pushed Tomura/Tenko to reconsider everything he knew that influenced his mind and his decisions.

However plenty of what he chooses through the story come from AFO, from how he had taught him to see and feel the world, from the experiences he forced him to go through. We see it in the first war. AFO fed Kotarou’s resentment for Nana, which lead to Tenko’s abuse, AFO made sure Tomura/Tenko wandered for the city while no one helped him and when Tomura/Tenko faces the Heroes he quotes what he learned from that experience, that Heroes hurt their families to save strangers, that society is trash he says as he thinks back at how no one helped him. Society would always reject him, he says strong of his experiences which were manipulated by AFO. AFO taught him he has to free his violent impulses his wish for destruction that whatever tells him the contrary is a lie fabricated by society (chap. 237). Tomura wants to destroy because that’s how AFO taught him he has to fight the pain inside himself. Because he thinks his decaying Quirk is a reflection of his own personality, of his own role. He’s born to destroy… and this idea, as well as his Quirk… well they both come from AFO (and society, to be honest, as society tended to judge people’s personalities tied with their Quirk).

So, where this leaves us?

Tomura/Tenko did make some small choices that didn’t come from AFO… but too much of him come from AFO to the point if AFO had never meddled with his life he would have likely grown into a completely different person, with a completely different set of experiences and information that would inform his decisions.

As we don’t know which experiences and information he would have had, we can’t tell who he would have become (for example AFO gave him the decay Quirk and this influenced him into thinking he’s born to destroy but we don’t know which was his original Quirk. If he were to have a Quirk which also destroyed, he could have come to the same conclusion). Maybe he would have turned into a Hero, maybe he would have turned into an ordinary person, maybe he would have turned into an even worse Villain. Wondering over this is material for fanfics not for meta.

What remains true though is that way too many of present Tomura/Tenko’s important choices come from AFO, from what AFO taught him, that he shaped so much of his persona and actions that what AFO says about Tomura/Tenko never choosing anything is only partially incorrect at the end of the story and probably completely true at the start of it.

So yeah, as unpleasant as it is there’s a huge part of truth in AFO’s words… but it could have turned into a lie had Tomura/Tenko been given more time because, first he was freed of AFO’s influence and free to interact with others and second because AFO revealed his game and made clear he wanted to take over Tomura/Tenko’s body so he wasn’t the caring and disinterested benefactor he painted himself to be for 20 years and Tomura/Tenko didn’t have to take his words as reliable anymore.

A complete turn over would have probably been hard without a positive influence in his life, but for sure Tomura/Tenko would have been free to revaluate all he’d been taught by AFO and judge it again through the lenses of those new info.

But well, in the end he died so we’ll never learn what he could have done, which is just sad.

So is Tomura/Tenko innocent because manipulated?

There’s a part of the world population that think that inborn in humans there’s still the ability to choose between right and wrong even if they’re manipulated… and in real life it’s extremely hard to establish how much manipulated can be a person and how much it was due to them. Many don’t want to think that you can take a perfectly normal child and turn him into a serial killer through carefully raising him as such.

Discussing about this would be a minefield that would require psychological and educational degrees and probably would still see experts arguing because we can’t really test this theory and check if a baby is perfectly psychologically healthy and then try to raise him as a psychopath, and repeat the experience until we’ve enough data to judge, can we?

Real life cases weren’t cases which were carefully observed from start to end as an experiment would require so they leave the door open to speculation.

Long story short… this meta isn’t here to tell you if a real person can be raised and manipulated that much all his choices come from another and he’s unable to take them for himself.

This is a meta to tell you that from what we know and what we could observe Tomura/Tenko was manipulated from young age and that the majority of his life choices, especially the ones that lead him to become a Villain, were due to this.

Not that it would have made any difference in the BNHA world where Aoyama, a teen acting under duress, is viewed as a terrible Villain because, when threatened to be killed and have his parents killed if he weren’t to comply with AFO’s wishes, he choose to comply.

[yandere-yearnings]

It Comes On Red Dragons (Male Yandere!Mafia Boss x GN!Reader)

feat. Laurent Sanchez

♡ oneshot, approx. 1.6k words

♡ post-specific warnings: mentions of blood and injury

♡ a/n: the promised christmas fic requested in this ask, i hope you enjoy it nonnie!! i'm super glad laurent is getting love, can you tell he's my favourite haha😭🩷 i had a lot of fun w/ this,, i might just make a part two next year. unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

“Take your pick.” Clover’s shoulder nudges yours as she walks past you to the balcony. You catch her eyes and melt a little at the gentleness in the amethyst. On the bed, there’s a few outfits splayed out for your choosing, tailored to a custom-fit that you’ve quickly come to learn is a formality specifically adopted by this mafia. You recalled hearing it was a teaching of the former head, one’s garment was one’s pride — or something of the sort.

The sheets on the mattress crinkled when you sat down, thumbing through layers of silk and satin, trying to make a choice between the cherry reds and chartreuse that stole your attention away from all the other various shades surrounding. Every piece was impeccable. Every piece was made especially for you, so whatever you settled on, you were sure to look good; that’s what Laurent had told you before he’d rushed out.

Three hours to the start of the party, and he still hadn’t returned.

Through frosted glass, you watched Clover’s silhouette lean out and shout muffled directions to the men below. Laughter floated up and the tones fell into one another, a symphony far from the nature of its source. Fabric wrinkled under your palm, you looked down, clenched your teeth and decided you’d just go for this one. What was the point of putting your energy into something you weren’t sure would even be seen by the person you wanted it to be?

When you stood, it was the mirror on the other side of the room that stared back at you. Trefoil-woven, solid dragons carved into a golden frame, so grand you instantly lost your reflection in it. Swallowed up in the quiver of your bottom lip, and the sting that no amount of blinking could soothe. Nails leaving angry red scratches in their wake whilst you stripped, putting on the clothes for the occasion was wrapping back the chains around your heart you were not supposed to let loosen. You had been told time and time again, if you continued to wait with flowers you would inevitably be bringing them to a grave. Even then, it wasn’t something you could help — being worried — you felt you had the right to be.

Behind you, Clover clears her throat, closing the sliding doors with her back turned to them. There’s a light dusting of snow dispersed in her neatly styled curls, half-melted, looking like glitter when she tilted her head at you. “You’re tense,” she assessed, advancing to you and smoothing out a crease on your sleeve, “still afraid?”

Her demeanour was ever graceful, and you took it in like it could ease your nerves. Wondering how Clover could remain as calm and unperturbed as always when her best friend was out there, when she’d watched him leave and knew his life would be hanging up as the largest target on the front lines. You supposed the uneasiness that was eating you up inside was something she had long been desensitised to. Somewhere, you were envious. If only you could have as much control as she did.

“I just…” your gaze fell to the patterned rug beneath your feet, and you licked your dry lips, “heard the gunshots.”

“Ah.” Clover returns your concern with a rare expression, akin to surprise. “The music’s not loud enough.”

You raised a brow. “You were trying to drown them out?”

“No,” she answers swiftly, “I was trying to make good use of the far-too expensive speaker system we had installed for tonight. This is Juan’s fault. Mariah Carey should’ve had everyone’s ears bleeding out by now.”

For the first time since noon had rolled around, you found yourself cracking a smile. “You’re not gonna chew him out, are you?” You followed Clover out to the landing where she tipped her head over the balustrade in search of the man in question. “I’m starting to think Juan might quit at this rate.”

“Please,” Clover dismissed the comment with a wave, “he likes Laurent too much to even consider it. Oh— speak of the devil.”

“What, did you find him already?” the laughter in your tone died when you finally caught sight of who Clover was pointing at. Rather than a frazzled Juan who you were expecting to see, it was Laurent — clutching his side and greeting the members on the lower floor with a smile as he entered the building with his entourage. 

You’d run down the stairs so fast, Clover hadn’t even finished taking a headcount.

“Laurent!” Out of breath, your fingers grasping at his shoulders to pull him to his full height, then for leverage when your focus zeroed in on the blood seeping through the torn fibres of his suit.

“It’s nice to see you too,” his clean hand cupped your face, voice airy when he leaned closer to you, dimples making themselves known. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m alright. It’s just a graze.”

Chest falling, throat tight, reaching out to touch him and hearing him hitch on an inhale. “Don’t lie to me.” You bit your lip. “Don’t fucking—”

Laurent took your wrist. “If it’s more than that, I will still live,” he said, and brought it up to leave a kiss that smeared his lips in his own tinge of red, “we have some talented guys. Álvaro is always happy to see me.”

“I am not.” A tired voice cuts in, and you turn your head to see the mafia’s most trusted — and feared — doctor shining a torch into another member’s eye. “What? A chariot won’t fall out of the fucking sky for either of you,” he sighs as you remain rooted in the entryway, “haul ass to the med wing, I’m behind you.”

♡♡♡

You’d never seen tenderness on an angry man, but contrary to his own complaints, Álvaro had patched Laurent up meticulously. Thankfully, no one had been gravely injured on the job, and as much as your heart remained surging over Laurent’s wound, it had been largely nonfatal. He was lying down shirtless, trying to get you to concentrate on him rather than the injury — calling out your name, increasingly apologetic each second you went without responding.

“We’re so lucky it wasn’t a major evolution,” you sighed finally, when you’d snapped to, and stifled laughter had your sights turning to glare at the cause of your distress. “What?”

“I think—” Laurent curled away from you, and you almost mistook it for pain before he finished his sentence, giggling, “I think you meant avulsion.”

“Wow,” your brows rose in disbelief, “who died and made you medical professional? Actually, who’s fault do you think it is that everything Álvaro said went through one ear?”

Knuckle wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye, he answered: “mine,” and then apologised softly. Genuinity that could not be mistaken pooled in the way he reached out for you, in warm skin and a pulse you never wanted to feel change pace. “Hey,” Laurent whispered, “don’t you wanna go join the party?”

“Not unless Santa himself comes and drags me away on his sleigh,” you huffed. “I’ll stay by you, can’t have you getting lonely here while everyone enjoys themselves, can we?”

“Are they?” he perked; had you cradling his face from the magnetism of his sincerity.

“Of course they are.” There was no doubt about it. Beyond the walls, Christmas festivities were in full swing amongst the members. It was almost strange, to hear Jingle Bell Rock being sung as loudly as it was by the mafia of all groups, yet, you supposed this was what Laurent worked so hard for. Any sacrifice for these small securities, so that under his roof, everyone could return to their roots — simply people trying to survive amongst people. You admired that.

Carding through his hair, soft brown locks kissing back at your fingertips, you tracked the tension deliquesce and run off his shoulders easy. “Anyway,” Laurent lurches when you skim over the reddened skin peeking from his bandages. His dragon has colour bursting from it now, it looks alive. “There goes our outfit coordination plan.”

“We can still do that.”

“Yeah,” you snicker, gesturing to yourself, “let me just take this off and we can both match.”

“Why is that the first place your mind goes?” sitting up with a chuckle, he shakes his head. “I’ll go change. We should spend the night celebrating with everyone.”

Trailing behind him needlessly with the intention of, likely unsuccessfully, catching him if he fell, you found yourselves stopped at the doorway in little time, exchanging looks. Outside, there was quiet shuffling and a not-so-quiet clash of badly hushed profanities. Some of the voices you could recognise instantly; Juan’s ever apprehensive commentary undercut by a group dismissal, Diego’s snickering and a tired sound of bewilderment from Clover. From your peripheral, you caught Laurent’s eyes crinkle, hiding brilliant emerald as he let his weight rest on the frame, waiting in patience for the crowd to disperse on the other side. 

“They never let up, do they?” Laurent’s expression was entirely endeared when he opened the door at last, staring up at the mistletoe that hung overhead, and then at you.

“I like that about them,” you confessed, drawing closer, “works in my favour.”

Your lips touched, delicate, unknotting all the agonising thoughts bundled up inside of you. Careful where you rested your palm, the pads of your fingers brushed up against gauze and you let it be. Taught your heart that it could hold its silence — that all it was is that your gift this Christmas came on red dragons.

[katerinaaqu]

Hello :) firstly I wanted to say that I love your analyses and I love all the information and knowledge you’re able to give us, thank you soo much for that.

Secondly since you know so much especially about the odyssey and Odysseus and I’ve recently seen a post where you explained the calypso situation I wanted to ask if you’ve made such an in-depth analysis on the Circe situation? I’m convinced the whole thing wasn’t consensual but there are always ppl saying stuff like “what Hermes said isn’t important” “Circe was at his mercy when she asked him to do the deed with him so he tricked her into doing it” “Odysseus was invulnerable to her powers so that means he wasn’t in danger meaning he willingly slept with her” and since I haven’t read the odyssey in a while I wanted to ask you .

Tysm for your time and I hope you have a wonderful day

Hello and you are very sweet! I really feel happy you do enjoy them and I am also grateful to receive comments and thoughts from you under my work 🙏 it always means so much when people get interested in the ancient texts much more when they honor me with their trust on tye matter.

I believe you are referring to my latest answer then where I re-analyzed the Calypso matter.

OF COURSE I can! I would be happy and delighted to especially since their relationship is so complicated and fascinating to begin with. The way in which it evolves in a very interesting degree and the way both characters share common traits is also fascinating. Circe is called also wily or with tricks which also seems to correspond to the essence of Odysseus himself. A power couple no doubt. But indeed so misunderstood by the media and their interpretations.

So here goes sorry if this is long:

I find it so interesting how far selective interpretation goes 🤔 😆 I find it interesting that indeed there are people out there that read the passage where Hermes SPECIFICALLY mentions how Odysseus has no choice and say that "oh it doesn't matter really!" Hahaha so to be more precise the passage goes as such;

Then you shall not refuse the goddess's bed if you want her to release your comrades, and she shall offer entertainment to you

(Translation by me)

The passage is clear. Hermes tells Odysseus he has no choice but to accept the bed of Circe's if he wants to save his men and see them again in human form. I find it quite interesting that people ignore that or they claim it is unimportant to the plot. This is literally the reason why Odysseus is there. What is more I find the notion of the moly immunity funny because Circe was not a force to be reckoned with only with her magic. In fact Homer also writes afterwards;

However make her swear a sacred and great oath that she will have nothing else bad in store for you so that she won't hurt or unman you when she has you stripped naked.

(Translation by me)

Hermes clearly states that Circe does not need to turn him into an animal to be dangerous. In fact as someone else said before me, it almost seems like Circe might as well kill or castrate him while she has him naked and vulnerable. Hermes clearly states that Odysseus is not safe even if he is immune to her power at that specific moment. It also shows that Circe could harm him at every moment and the only reasons she didn't were this promise that he extracted from her and perhaps her own feelings for him (curiosity or other). Throughout the passage Odysseus was speaking on the fear he was feeling even from moment number one;

And she opened the fine doors calling me in and I followed her with a heavy and grieving heart

(Translation by me)

Odysseus was literally frightened. All the time. As he said he had a grieving heart (ἀκαχήμενος ἦτορ) and he continued to be distrustful of her and afraid even if he had extracted that oath from her.

However my heart could not be pleased for I was distracted as my mind was always thinking on dark thoughts

(Translation by me)

I adore how Homer uses the word ἀλλοφρονέων (=to think differently, to be distracted) but the word αλλόφρων also used in modern Greek to speak on someone who is mad or crazy and is also used as a phrase to indicate someone who is not just worried but someone crazy in fear. Odysseus has extracted the promise, he has accepted the attentive care of Circe and her handmaidens in the bath and he is now sat before a real feast and he is crazy in fear and doubt. His continuous sense of anxiety is obvious in the passage. So to say that Odysseus was just fine and that the whole adventure with Circe was a breeze and that he was safe against her just because he had eaten the Moly at that time seems to me funny since every part of the passage shows how he was afraid. What was more, there is no guarantee that the Moly would protect him forever from Circe's magic not to mention that as we said before, even without her magic Circe had plenty of aces up her sleeve starting from her animal entourage till a potent knife at the time that she had Odysseus under her mercy (thus the need for a promise on her part).

Also even if we say that Moly would keep him immune forever, what about his men? His men had not consumed Moly and it was obvious that the only reason that Odysseus was there was to rescue his men. What guarantee did he have that Circe wouldn't enchant his men again if he misbehaved? Quite frankly as I said above, Circe's likeness for his boldness or potentially his mind plus the oath he extracted from her seems to be the only thing that prevents Circe from using his men as hostages once more. Quite frankly the whole adventure with Circe was a very big hostage business. Odysseus was thinking on his men's safety (not to mention the rest of them waiting by the ship) apart from his own and as you see he was already very much afraid as it was.

I also find it interesting that the reason why Circe seems to be getting Odysseus immediately to her bed is that she knew he would come. Just like Polyphemus knew by a prophet that Odysseus would blind him (although she didn't know the nature of the person that would blind him) Circe says that she knew from Hermes that a certain Odysseus would arrive at her isle on his way back from Troy. So in one way someone to say that Circe was out of options seems at least funny as a notion. It seems that she knew who was coming she just didn't seem to know the conditions that would bring him there.

Now was Odysseus attracted to her?

In my opinion there is no doubt about it as he describes how beautiful Circe was. Would he consider to sleep with her if it weren't of Hermes's advice? In my opinion no. Odysseus would absolutely be finding Circe attractive given her beauty and her divine nature, which is no surprise there but finding attraction to one person and act on it are two different things. In my humble opinion I do not think that Odysseus would act according to that attraction. Would he be curious on the experience with an immortal goddess? Absolutely. He is a naturally curious person and he wants to gain knowledge from other experiences in his life. Would he act up that one? Again I think not.

The reason why I think so is that the essences of loyalty in marriage are not as cut and clean as we usually think of in modern times. True if we judge from Hera myths, it was not preferable for a man to have extramarital affairs but it was generally tolerated. Agamemnon speaks on the affairs he had and many others had affairs. Odysseus would have no reason to hide his actual attraction towards Circe (and he doesn't given how he does speak on her very warmly eventually). Throughout his narration he mentions many things negative about himself including but not restricted to; the conquest and enslavement of Ismarus, his mistake to insult God Poseidon, self-destructive thoughts, feeling of fear towards Circe or Calypso, his moments of sadness and isolation etc. All of these things would be considered embarrassing or even diminishing for him. Why would he hide affairs at a world that was more tolerant towards the affairs and instead say all these others that would make a king or a warrior embarrassed?

Now there is an interesting question of course as to why did Odysseus remain there for a year?

It is indeed food for thought to think about it because once his men were back to human form in theory he could leave right? That in my opinion is not cut and clean like that. For once he had to wait until his men were back to good health and spirits to travel and he might as well take advantage of Circe's hospitality to refill their batteries. However there is also the moment where in the Odyssey his men arrive personally and scold him that he forgot about their country and their homeland for the arms of Circe. So one can think indeed; did Odysseus indeed forget himself?

In my opinion it is possible. His men are not the only ones who wanted to refill their batteries. So was Odysseus. In fact he has MUCH MORE in his plate than the average human already. He has already been at war, he has the war crimes on his mind anyways and he has also witnessed most of his men dying in horrifying ways (Cicones, Polyphemus, Laestrigonians etc) and he has just witnessed the results of his actions as well with the Curse of Polyphemus and the way that the sack of Aeolus fiasco happened. Odysseus already was suffering a lot. Regardless of the fact that he was always afraid of her, the hospitality she offered was very much needed. He could rest and enjoy some safety of dry land for a change after everything he had been through and Circe kept her promise and was a very good hostess to them. Odysseus too needed that break. It is possible that he forgot himself at the care of Circe and quite frankly Circe seems to be also wishing to keep Odysseus by her side so she does seem to make it as easy as possible for him to stay.

So Odysseus enjoying some nice rest after so long, even in the arms of a goddess that scares him makes it cheating? In my opinion no. What is more it seems that the fear of Odysseus was always apparent. It seems that he was avoiding requesting from Circe to let them go the whole time. It almost felt like he was putting the whole thing off out of fear for her anger and refusal. He almost seemed to be gathering off the guts to tell her. When his men straight out demanded it he didn't seem to have a choice but to comply. So it shows how scared he was when he literally BEGGED Circe to let them go by falling on her knees.

And then I climbed onto Circe's beautiful bed and hugging her knees I begged her to set us free with a cry.

(Translation by me)

So basically Odysseus felt helpless before her and he had to do the employing ritual to her (you can see my other post about this ritual) so that he would be sure that Circe wouldn't refuse him or be angry at him. That same fear continued later for when he came back from the Underworld, he preferred to stay by the ships. He was literally brought back in by Circe herself who gave him some advice.

But while most part of the text in the Odyssey indeed implies the lack of free will or lack of options etc someone would think why would Odysseus be considered a cheater in the hands of Circe?

I think the answer lies to the general idea that many people have that we should consider Odysseus as an unreliable narrator and that all the details he lists are lies to cover his cheating.

Although as a logic seems to be very generalized, and it COULD hold some water in regards to some details, I still am not convinced as mention above that Odysseus is lying here. For starters he was already very emotional when speaking to the Phaeakes and an emotional Odysseus is the most honest Odysseus (we saw his emotions betraying him with Polyphemus, with his revelation with the Phaeakes or later with Penelope). Odysseus was already in a very strong emotional state so I do not think his narration is inherently doubtful. What is more, he does seem to have so many details in his narration about himself that are not positive about himself. He would have no reason to hide the specific one. And Odysseus mentions how Circe never had his heart before (see also my other answer here). I cannot find much of a reason for him to lie about that when he has literally admitted everything else that could paint him in an unpleasant light (especially his hubris with Polyphemus).

So to sum up yes I think he was being forced. His men were held hostage and he had to save them. Circe was never helpless regardless of the situation and she had many different ways to kill him if she wanted to. Would he be curious anyways? Absolutely. Would he act according to that curiosity? In that case I think not. He does say so himself and his imprisonment in Calypso's island in his narrative was supported by other characters and the poet so why would he lie for Circe either. One can definitely think about his emotions and how strong they would be about Circe but I think regardless of that, he wouldn't have necessarily act towards that curiosity given how his psychological state was originally

But I guess this is everyone's guess.

I hope this helps. It definitely it is up to you what you want to interpret and I will be happy to offer more passages inside the future reblogs and such! ^_^