#new art this took me for fucking ever

[racheal-rosebella]

Art I made over a few weeks♥️

I kinda wanted to post about them a bit and I love the clothes I myself and them in have a great day you guys

[discjude]

guess my favourite sge chapter challenge (impossible edition). yes i think aric shouldve had long hair he was in that cave for nine whole ass years leave me alone

[anakindoodles]

Inspired by @tranakin-skywalker 's idea of Vader merging with his younger self after dying except is mind and body

[moeblob]

Amazing, take some of the side character demons from Evil Bound.

Vincie is a menace to Chuck and Chuck alone so in Hell, Chuck hexes his hand behind his back so that he isn't grabbed as much (and it's harder to pet him). Chuck is like the most irresponsible older sibling ever to demons though so Kelvin recruits him (as an older sibling vibe) to go help him get his ACTUAL older sibling from Earth. Chuck agrees. And then drags Vincie from Hell with them because no one else wants to babysit him and he refuses to unbind the hex just to re-hex when he returns to Hell.

In Hell, Kelvin actually doesn't appear much different than his human form! Like Kronos, the lines under his eyes are red in Hell but black on earth. Chuck however? In Hell he has wolf-ish ears and has a fur lining his neck (note the neck scars in human form). In addition to that he has four eyes in Hell (note the scars under his eyes in human form). Vincie just has horns in Hell. And! In Hell the hex doesn't have a silly looking "tied up" look, it's invisible unless Vincie strains it with movement and then its red text. But it shifts on earth to be visible.

Vincie's biggest agony for the entirety on earth is "dude it's colder here than in Hell I want a jacket to slip my arms into BUT I CANT BECAUSE IM BOUND".

[haliaiii]

Just finished penacony 👍 (spoilers ?)

[popppyfur]

...Im having thoughts and i need a 2nd opinion.

How long ago do we reckon trolls were caught/eaten/found by bergens? (relative to the great escape for simplicity)

lemme walk you through my thoughts...

we dont know how the tunnels got there, did the trolls dig them? or something else? or were they always there?

When did Peppy decide to use the tunnels? when were they discovered?

How many trolls did the bergens eat. surely at first they must have bean eating HEAPS of trolls daily before realised that they would run out. how long was it until then?

It had to have been long enough that they would have then decided to make trollstice (help cant spell) a yearly tradtion. could it at first have been monthly?

We dont know how many pop trolls there were at first. have their number gone down? by how much? since more being eaten means less babies.

How many queens/kings were at the troll tree? Just peppy? his parents? But that raises the question of wether or not any of the escaped trolls remember a time before the bergens.

-- A brand new, different anon.

GOD you reminded me of when i eventually realized how massively fucked the pop trolls were pre 1st movie. i remember trying to read everything i could that talked about it and staying up til 4 am to do it because holy hell they were being eaten on a yearly basis. IM HOLDING UR HAND AND SHAKING IT REALLY HARD. and im gonna answer this as jumbled as i can bc. its me. the professional yapper.

on that note ! all under read more to spare everyones dashboards

also, i havent really gone through actual specific numbers, my brains just settled on some vague decision that the pop trolls dont pass the hundreds, or five hundreds. that is to say, poppy would probably still try to know everyone by name just bc she would lol. so i hope you guys can just make up imaginary numbers of years too !!

we dont know how the tunnels got there, did the trolls dig them? or something else? or were they always there? When did Peppy decide to use the tunnels? when were they discovered?

ive always kinda assumed that the pop trolls dug it themselves! they knew about it long enough that they bothered to leave behind decoys of themselves after all. im assuming its a part of a long, long long list of attempts to escape, and they finished digging just a bit before the last trollstice. peppy wasnt gonna risk losing any more, especially since poppy herself was gonna be given to gristle

How many trolls did the bergens eat. surely at first they must have bean eating HEAPS of trolls daily before realised that they would run out. how long was it until then? It had to have been long enough that they would have then decided to make trollstice (help cant spell) a yearly tradtion. could it at first have been monthly? We dont know how many pop trolls there were at first. have their number gone down? by how much? since more being eaten means less babies.

i lost the damn reddit post so im gonna make my own screenshot instead LOL

from left to right, classical, techno, pop, funk, country, and the red blob under them; rock with a mix of other trolls

so like. THIS FUCKING DEVASTATED MEEEEEEEEEEEE. assuming theres more classical trolls just off screen, the visible sheer difference in numbers from the pop trolls in comparison to the other tribes (FUNK IS AN OUTLIER HUMOR ME) just. genuinely left me a bit speechless.

and if you go back to the first movie and remember that the entirety of their village fit in branch's bunker not to mention the DAMN POT? it just. really puts itself into perspective. bc that stage was still relatively big, but the pot. the fucking pot. the entirety of pop village

ALL of them. in THERE? isnt that crazy? we can say that some escaped, sure. but just the fact that they couldve gotten wiped out just like that is so. messed up to me man ToT

i dont remember which fic i read it from anymore, but there was a line going how the pops initially outnumbered the other tribes and thats how they were ever able to threaten actually overtaking everyone. and like. YEAH SURE. fuck me up even more like that why dont ya!!!!!

so suffice to say, pop troll population not doing so hot! and all your thoughts is just one domino falling after another. you piece together the pieces and ultimately just ending up with one undeniable answer. they got eaten. simple as that.

How many queens/kings were at the troll tree? Just peppy? his parents? But that raises the question of wether or not any of the escaped trolls remember a time before the bergens.

and ur first question, putting them together for one last godawfully long ramble :]

How long ago do we reckon trolls were caught/eaten/found by bergens? (relative to the great escape for simplicity)

the fact that world tour makes it a point to say that only peppy ever knew of the other tribes makes me lean more onto the assumption that its been... a while? but also like. no one's ever mentioned viva? no one remembers the princess who was old enough to fight bergens and mention that to poppy??? whos to say these guys arent just repressing everything as they always do????????? [ITS HARD TO ARGUE SPECULATIONS HERE BC they had to make plot for the movies to make sense!!! its why it feels so mean to me to just blame everything on peppy LMAO. even if that is the easiest way to make sense of it. I WANT NUANCE DAMMIT]

so for the sake of it. i like to think that theyve been under the bergens' capture long enough that everyone outside of the royal family forgot about the time that they were even free from the bergens. long enough that the royal family could rewrite the scrapbooks to make it seem like it wasnt their fault. that it never was. whether to spare themselves the blame, selfish deniability, or just. give up the hope that there was a single minuscule possibility to have help from the outside.

i said before that i headcanonned peppy holding resentment for them in the belief that no one could ever bother to just check. and thats part of the reason why he doesnt even want to attempt getting to know them, since it probably felt like no one EVER cared except for themselves.

again. im sorry that i dont have a specific number for you though ToT the most i can say is that: its long enough that they forgot.

POST ANSWER ASK RAMBLEEEE

heres a fic that made me ugly cry about this! i think it gives really good answers to your questions!!!!!!! and though it doesnt completely fit with whats 'canon' (when has anything ever) its such a horrifying and deliciously good outlook on how the bergens affected the pop trolls as a whole! cant recommend it enough!! please leave the author kudos and love especially if this is your type of jam!!!

more than anything. the realization of how hard the pop trolls' lives mustve even been prior to the first movie made me have so much fucking love for them even more?? T_T even if it is unhealthy to an outside perspective, they tried to stay positive, and they got through all those yearly eatings thanks to it, no wonder they try to stay within that mindset even after everything. sometimes i wonder if they felt like its all they had

[came-out-of-the-coffin-desisted]

in a world of heavy footprints, be untraceable

(click for details <3)

[artekai]

Look who's stealing whose evil master plan because he's never had a single idea of his own

[bluejaybytes]

It's like 3am and I'm waiting for FRs rollover to end SO! My top 3 art pieces I did this year under the readmore V

These aren't in any particular order, maimly because I'm the worlds biggest indecisive loser and already don't think I can realistically boil it down to ONLY 3 in the first place. SO

This piece was done in January, of my FR dragon Paradox, and I feel is some of the strongest in terms of shape, color, and rendering. Rendering WAS done in large part by my friend (heavymetalmutual), as he did the sketch of it for me, so that aspect isn't something I'd credit to myself. There ARE things I'd want to change, namely, the coloring on the mane is nnnot good. I wanted it to be patterned, but the pattern I chose really just does not fit the aesthetic. Also, some slight issues with the snout could be ironed out

Next, a redraw/redesign of a piece of my OC Lark, with the original from a few years back (and the original ORIGINAL being ANOTHER few years back). While my INTENDED goal here was to mimic the trainer portraits from gen 6, and I don't feel I met that, I think what I DID end up with is very good, as well as a massive improvement over the original. Skarmory took a lot of time and struggle, but I think he came out really nice as well, despite not being included in the original I was redrawing (Though, an old sketch from that drawing DID include Skarmory)

Finally, I genuinely can not pick between basically ALL of my Splatoon OC art from when I entered an autism induced art coma starting late October. I started using new brushes, playing around a lot more with different rendering techniques, seeing how well I could pull off lineless art, and generally just drawing much, MUCH more than my usual output of art. Since I wanted to only include one, I chose the first piece I did from when everything started, this headshot of my OC Basil, though I DO feel of all the busts I did, hers came out the best. Easily, I think, the best use of color from anything this year, the rendering is really good, and I feel genuinely quite proud of a lot of the littler details, like her earbuds around her neck and her glasses. But, again, with only a FEW exceptions, any one of the pieces I've done of my Splatoon OCs starting from late October has an argument for why it should have this spot, I'm very happy with both the quantity AND quality of the work I did

[sorcerous-caress]

I hope you are doing well

Did I- Did I make it seem like I'm going crazy or something? Like yes I am okay, I promise.

Well, no. I lied, but I'm not worse than normal. I have always been this deranged. It is not out of the ordinary. Why the concerns now?

But thank you anyways, I hope you're doing well too.

[racheal-rosebella]

New character named Izzia here’s her backstory

TW: DEATH

Izzia had always been fascinated by the supernatural. A young woman from Kyoto, she spent her free time reading about haunted places and urban legends. When she finally saved enough money, she embarked on a solo trip to visit some of Japan's most infamous ghost spots. Her travels took her to abandoned shrines, cursed tunnels, and forgotten villages, each place filling her with both excitement and dread.

Her final destination was an old ryokan, hidden deep within the mountains of Aomori Prefecture. The inn had long been rumored to be haunted, its history shrouded in whispers of missing guests and unspeakable horrors. Locals warned her not to stay overnight, but Izzia was determined.

Upon arriving, she immediately noticed how eerily quiet the place was. The innkeeper—a frail, elderly woman-greeted her with an odd, almost knowing smile. "You shouldn't be here," the woman murmured. "Once you sleep in this ryokan, you never wake up the same."

Brushing off the warning, Izzia settled into her room, a traditional tatami-floored chamber with a low wooden table and a futon already laid out. As night fell, she decided to record her experiences, setting up her camera by the window.

Hours passed.

Then, the scratching began.

At first, it was faint, like nails dragging across paper, but soon it became more distinct— something was scraping against the walls.

Izzia's breath hitched as the sound moved closer, circling her room. The air grew heavy, the temperature dropping sharply.

Then... silence.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips, but before she could move, the shoji door slid open-on its own.

A shadow loomed in the doorway. Not human. Not entirely.

Izzia wanted to scream, but her voice caught in her throat. The entity rushed toward her, its arms stretching unnaturally long. Clawed fingers latched onto her flesh, their touch ice-cold. The last thing she saw was its face

-twisted, grotesque, its mouth gaping open as if to consume her whole.

By the time the innkeeper entered the room the next morning, Izzia was gone. Well, most of her.

Blood stained the tatami mats. Her pink kimono lay in shreds, scorched at the edges.

One of her arms had been wrenched from its socket, left to dangle grotesquely from the ceiling beam. Her torso was slashed open, her ribs cracked apart as if something had been gnawing at her insides. Strangely, her face remained untouched-except for her eyes, which were missing, leaving only dark, gaping sockets.

The camera continued recording. The footage? Static.

Izzia's spirit lingers in the ryokan, her presence forever trapped between this world and the next. Some say her ghost appears before new guests, her charred, broken body floating just above the futon, reaching out... waiting for the next unfortunate soul to join her.

Basic Information

• Full Name: Izzia Nakamura

• Age at Death: 22 years old

• Nationality: Japanese

• Hometown: Kyoto, Japan

• Occupation: University student (Majoring in Folklore and Paranormal Studies)

• Interests: Ghost hunting, urban legends, photography, solo travel, and traditional Japanese culture

Quirks in Life:

• Always carried a lucky omamori charm from a Kyoto shrine, believing it would protect her from spirits. Ironically, she lost it the night she died.

• Took a polaroid photo at every haunted place she visited, keeping them in a scrapbook labeled “Yūrei Encounters.” The last photo she took at the ryokan was blank except for a smudged black handprint.

• Had a nervous habit of tapping her fingers against objects when she was deep in thought.

• Refused to sleep with the lights completely off, always keeping a small lantern or candle burning beside her bed.

• Loved cherry blossom-themed sweets and would always bring some on her trips. A half-eaten sakura mochi was found near her body.

• Hummed old Japanese lullabies whenever she felt uneasy, something she picked up from her grandmother.

Quirks in Death:

• Still hums the same lullaby when her spirit manifests, but in a distorted, eerie tone.

• Taps on wooden surfaces three times before appearing, mimicking her old habit.

• Leaves the scent of cherry blossoms in the air before a sighting, a twisted echo of her love for sakura treats.

• Objects move subtly around her presence—tatami mats shift, futons wrinkle as if someone just sat on them.

• Writes warnings on foggy mirrors or windows, sometimes in Japanese, sometimes in broken English. Messages like “Don’t sleep here” or “It’s watching.”

• Her ghost sometimes flickers between her burned, damaged form and how she looked in life, as if trapped between two realities.

Here are some of Izzia’s favorite things, both in life and remnants of them in death:

Favorites in Life:

• Color: Soft pink (reflected in her kimono and her love for cherry blossoms).

• Food: Sakura mochi and dango (she always carried some on her trips).

• Drink: Matcha tea with honey.

• Season: Spring, because of the cherry blossoms and the eerie beauty of misty mornings.

• Flower: Cherry blossoms (sakura)—she often pressed fallen petals into her travel journal.

• Music: Traditional Japanese folk songs and eerie ambient music.

• Hobby: Collecting small trinkets from haunted locations, like old charms or broken dolls.

• Animal: Owls—she believed they were spiritual protectors.

• Book Genre: Japanese ghost stories (kaidan) and folklore.

• Place: Old temples and abandoned shrines, where history and the supernatural blended.

• Clothing: Preferred traditional yukatas or kimono-style outfits, believing they connected her to the spirits she sought.

Lingering Attachments in Death:

Even in the afterlife, echoes of her favorite things remain:

• The scent of cherry blossoms lingers in haunted spaces before she appears.

• A faint sound of rustling silk can be heard, as if her kimono is still moving.

• Guests at the ryokan sometimes find a single pressed sakura petal on their pillows after experiencing paranormal activity.

• If matcha tea is left out overnight, it may be mysteriously sipped, leaving faint lipstick marks.

• Occasionally, an owl will perch near the ryokan’s window at night, as if watching for her.

Anyway that’s it :3

[grimeshound]

HWANG INHO NSFW HCS …

cw: 18+, age gap, daddy kink (inho being fatherly …), intox kink, somno, dirty talk, general filth.

a/n: i’m so sorry this came out way too long & messy ,, long & messy…?!?! , may have some typos. i was writing an inho fic but while writing & coming up with possible ideas, i may have gone a little overboard with the hcs… whoops. anyways head full of inho

—-

• has mastered the art of juggling praising and degrading down to a T. when he has you pinned down fucking you stupid, expect to be hearing the filthiest remarks against your ear.

“that’s my pretty girl, so fucking dirty.”

“just a dumb little fleshlight for me to fill, hmm? so, so good. all for me.”

• he calls you his baby, his sweet girl, his angel, & of course, sweetheart.

• possessive is inho’s middle name. but really, is this shocking news?

• inho never would’ve thought himself to have a daddy kink. not like he wasn’t open to the idea, moreso he never thought he’d get the chance to try it. but ever since you came into his life, you gave him the perfect opportunity.

• he took notice of how much his fatherly nature had you wrapped around his finger. you couldn’t help it, really. the way he’s so protective of you, so patient and caring. the day he called himself daddy in bed, you came so hard you could’ve sworn you were on the brink of blacking out.

“my pretty girl just needed daddy to fuck her right, huh? it’s okay, baby. i’ve got you.” he’d murmur, low groans escaping past parted lips as his thrusts turn sloppier, more frantic and messy at the sound of your moans.

• forced intox kink … i will die on this hill. something about seeing you all dumb & drunk, mind clouded after taking a swig of alcohol gets him hot and bothered.

• somnophiliac. he’ll try his best to be gentle at first to not wake you up, but he can’t help getting lost in the pleasure, pounding himself deeper and deeper until your eyes flutter open.

• the times he uses your mouth, you’re woken up by the sensation of being choked, your airway getting tighter and tighter. tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you frantically grip onto him, gasping for air. he’ll just shush you, hands still pressed firmly against both sides of your head as he fucks your throat.

“shh, it’s okay, baby. s’just daddy… go back to bed, angel.”

• on the topic of choking, inho can’t get enough of it. wrapping his hand around your neck during sex, the choked moans that come from you never fails to make his cock twitch. it drives him up a wall.

• he’d never say it outright, but your age gap makes him so fucking hard. just talking about it with him could serve as foreplay, really. he tries to be sneaky with it, mentioning it in passing.

• he mentions how his age is getting to him, or how young and pretty you are, how he’s “practically old enough to be your father,”. you’d say it’s sick, the only problem being you find it equally as hot.

• for someone of his age, he fucks like a madman. you may be the younger one, but sometimes you find yourself huffing trying to keep up with him. he does most of the work, tells you to just “sit pretty and take it.”, but the times when he’s all tired out and still hard? he’ll lay back on the bed, dark eyes fixed on you as he motions for you to ride him. “get yourself off on daddy’s cock, pretty girl.”

and really, how could you turn that offer down?

[inkskinned]

you found out today that a phrase you have used before was coined by an abusive man. this felt like getting your teeth taken out. it made you sick and sad and tired, but not surprised.

bad people tell you to be careful when you talk badly of bad men, that it could "ruin" a life. you had your life ruined by a bad man, not that it ever matters to them. your real life having real consequences is not valued as highly as the potential of his future.

this has always been a frustrating little mathematics problem for you. you've missed school and had to call out sick at work and had panic attacks that lasted for weeks. it stole sleep and food and friends from you. you cried in public, fucked your relationships up. and the whole time: your present has never mattered so much as the great what if! of his future. like - one life (your life) is already ruined, should we really ruin two?

so you live with the consequences and he doesn't, and that's just like, something you need therapy for. you once discussed this with one of your friends over coffee. she chewed the wooden stirrer, looked off into the distance. "once i became a victim, everything that happens to me afterward is automatically less interesting in the eyes of the general public. it is always about him. he changed my identity. to survivor. to statistic. meanwhile this whole time - i am a person."

you learned in college that three out of five of your favorite artists and authors were actually abusive assholes. these days, you are no longer surprised. oh, is that what was happening behind closed doors? of course it was, he was a "genius," and she was just a girl. you are talking about him in art history, so obviously his career was absolutely ruined, for eternity. that's what happens, right? they strike your name from the record and refuse to remember you? nobody really knows her name, but hey. that's what you get for being close to celebrity.

you got into an argument about it, which was a bad argument, because it made you cry. he said what, you want us to just ignore all the things this man did because he made a few women uncomfortable? and you'd balled your fists up and choked on it. later, in bed, you agonized over the response you'd been trying to articulate but never found the right moment to deploy: you are ignoring what any person could do if they weren't being fucking abused. maybe her talents far exceeded his and she was just never allowed to fucking use them. maybe we only see genius in white men because they purposefully fucking squash and silence any other people with talent.

but you'd cried about it instead of saying that, because you are the cost. you are the talent and potential that he took. you used to be brave and smart and clever and unafraid. like a lich, he stole years of your life.

quiet on set made you sad and sick and tired, but not surprised. unfortunately, one of the things he said was true: an entire network of people allowed it to continue. this is not news to you, because you have seen entire networks of people make the same fucking excuses when the same thing or-worse happened to you. and your particular story isn't even in hollywood. it was just a guy. it was still difficult getting people to stand up for you.

you and your friend wait in line for your coffee. like a standup joke, one man turns to the other and says "can't wait for every bitch to come crawling out of the woodwork complaining about harassment. it's another metoo." and you think - oh, that's the network. your boss tucks her hair back and whispers that while your skirt is cute, you're giving the boys the wrong idea. that's the network. when you'd told your "friend" about what happened, she'd said oh you must have misunderstood, that would never happen. and that's the network.

you woke up this morning panting, because years later you still have panic attacks. oh, it's not a network, actually, it's a web. and you, little moth: are you still surprised you're caught in it?

[iholdwhatican]

reunions

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

read part 2 here!

length: 3.8k

tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; surprise visit from patrick ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension

summary: you want to make your husband's birthday special, so you invite his attractive, charming, estranged childhood best friend in the hopes that they'll make amends. surely nothing will go wrong, right?

author's note: i can't stop thinking about them i am so ill. this is the first of presumably many challengers works. and yes i did make a new blog just for this, don't judge me. this is a drabble that was stuck in my head but I do have more for it should it be wanted! preferably something that leaves you sandwiched in between them :3

originally posted by iholdwhatican

You told yourself this whole thing happened out of the goodness of your heart. You’d just wanted to be a good wife and make your husband’s birthday the best it could possibly be. Because Art Donaldson was the most amazing person you’d ever known, and he loved you, and he deserved the world. There was nothing off limits when it came to him, no line you wouldn’t cross. 

You knew how much Patrick had meant to him, how much he missed his best friend. Your cheeks hurt from how wide the stories made you smile, how happy he sounded when he recounted the things he’d gotten into with the eccentric tennis player. And you knew how sad Art was that they didn’t talk anymore. 

So what better time to remedy that than for his birthday? That was a wonderful surprise, right? Right?

Upon meeting Patrick Zweig, your first thought was how the hell this man got along so well with your Art. Not to say he was a bad person, but he was just so… much. He was cocky, indomitable, the kind of person that knew what he wanted and what he was worth and wouldn’t settle for anything less. He was a force not to be reckoned with, no matter what. He was also unbelievably charming (and not bad on the eyes, which you would never admit), and you hated the way his sweet-talking got under your skin. 

He asked you how Art was. You told him he was fine. Retired, now. Making the most of a quiet life. You’d just celebrated 3 years of married life. He asked to see wedding photos and you didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes at missing the event. You happily obliged. It was the most romantic day of your life, after all. 

And you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Patrick missed him too. You could mend the broken bridge between them, and your husband would be thrilled. He’d reward you for your good work. 

You asked Patrick to come to Art’s party. To make contact again. To come back into his world. He only hesitated for a moment, asked if Art knew and was okay with it. 

The lie slipped off your tongue easily. Of course, he’s wanted this for a long time. It’s a surprise, but a most welcome one. You didn’t have details on what happened between them- only knew of a falling out while Art was in college- but it couldn’t be that bad. Anything could be overcome, right? 

Patrick accepted and you hoped the lump in your throat was from excitement and not dread. You thanked him for meeting you, told him you’d forward him the details, and went back to your husband. 

The day of the party came, and you were so nervous you could hardly take it. You’d spent the last couple of days working yourself into a frenzy, convinced that this reunion was a terrible idea and your husband would hate you. You had no right to bring an estranged friend back into his life, on his birthday no less. And without saying a word to him. 

God, what the hell was wrong with you? 

You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and downed your third glass of water. It did nothing to soothe the dryness in your throat. Or the pounding of your heart. You wondered how fucked you’d be at the party if you took a Xanax right now. Or five. 

Just then, Art peeked his head into the kitchen, donning a sweet smile when he spotted you. He looked as handsome as ever, sporting a well-fitting polo shirt and khakis. His hair was growing out again, starting to show those boyish curls you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He made his way over to you, wedding band sparkling on his finger, and your heart melted. 

You loved him so much. Had you ruined his birthday with your stupid meddling? Maybe even ruined your marriage? 

“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted, sliding a hand around your waist and kissing your head. It was a familiar gesture, a normal one. He loved touching you, keeping you close. You loved it just as much, “The cake was just delivered. You went way overboard, as usual.” 

You pretended you weren’t overcome with dread and cupped his cheek, “Shut up. There’s no such thing as overboard. You deserve this, okay? You deserve to be celebrated.” 

Please, please don’t be mad at me for inviting him. For bringing him into our world. Please still love me. I did it for you. I’d do anything for you.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled- in that perfect way you adored so much. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time on your lips. It was gentle and caring and everything you were to each other. It made you want to cry. Art was everything. All you wanted was to give him the same. 

The doorbell rang, breaking you two out of the moment, and your husband pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Well,” He spoke, looking at you like there was nothing else in the world, “That must be our first guest.” 

You hummed happily, “Guess it’s time to celebrate you, Birthday Boy. Shall we?” 

“We shall.” He teased, doing a mock bow as he offered you his hand. You took it, laughing, and the two of you made your way to the front door. 

You took a deep breath and tried not to focus on the unhappy way your stomach was churning. 

The first hour of the party went by with a pleasant lack of reunions-turned-altercations. Patrick had yet to show his face, and you wondered if he might not come at all. Part of you was relieved at the idea, while the other couldn’t help but be frustrated. 

He said he would come. What if the surprise didn’t end up being a bad thing? How would you know if he never showed? 

God, you needed a cigarette. 

You’d spent the entirety of the party so far glued to Art’s side, being his doting wife as you made conversation with everyone. Your eyes continued to stray to the door, looking for a certain dark-haired man. Every single time, you were disappointed. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. From what you’d heard, Patrick wasn’t really someone who could be counted on a lot. 

Maybe this whole thing was just a big mistake. And maybe the part of you that truly felt let down at not getting to see him again was something you should never, never look into. 

You patted Art’s chest and stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna check on the food. I’ll be back.” 

He nodded, smiled, and pressed a kiss to your temple. His arm released its grip on you and he continued his conversation with an old Stanford buddy without missing a beat. He was fucking incredible. At everything. You were crazy about him. 

The food didn’t actually need to be checked on. The caterer was high-quality, and they knew better than to fuck up one of your events for your husband. You had full trust in them- you honestly just needed a breather. This whole night had felt like a cold fist clenched around your heart. 

Instead, you grabbed yourself a large glass of wine and made your way to the patio to enjoy some cool night air. 

The area was blessedly empty, allowing you to slip out of the hostess facade. You were more than happy to do it, especially when celebrating Art, but the circumstances tonight were making it much harder than usual. Which was, of course, entirely your own fault. Way to go, you! Knocked it out of the park tonight, didn’t you? 

You sighed, leaned against the railing, and took a long gulp of your drink. The weather was slightly chilly, and it felt amazing against your heated skin. Already, you were finding it easier to breathe. And think, for that matter. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the party, Mrs. Donaldson?” A familiar, spine-tingling voice spoke, breaking you out of your peaceful moment. 

You whirled around, eyes landing on Patrick fucking Zweig leaning against the wall of your house. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, his hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. They went well with the button-up shirt he wore, a stark contrast from the shorts and hoodie he’d had on when you first met. He looked good- really good. Enough to make a pit grow in your stomach. 

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You blurted out, thankful that the darkness was shrouding your red face. His face was just barely illuminated by the orange glow of the cigarette, and you watched as he looked you up and down, “Also, how’d you get back here? I didn’t see you walk into the house.” 

Patrick kicked off the wall and walked over to you, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. His curls fell over his forehead, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush them out of the way- the same way you always did to Art. You swallowed deeply. What the hell was wrong with you? 

“I told you I’d come, didn’t I?” He responded matter-of-factly, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. The smell made you nostalgic. You and Art had made a pact years ago to quit together, but God did you miss it sometimes. You licked your lips and tried (and failed) not to stare, “I snuck in through the back. Thought it’d be less messy that way.” 

You had no idea how he’d been able to get back here, but you decided you weren’t gonna ask. It didn’t matter in the long run, anyway. Besides, he was probably right. You had no idea how Art was gonna react, and it was smart to have it happen in an isolated area. 

“Probably smart.” You muttered, taking another swig of the wine. The feeling of his eyes stayed on you, burning into your skin, but you didn’t meet his gaze. You didn’t want to think too hard on why. 

“He doesn’t know you reached out to me.” It wasn’t a question, but you responded to Patrick’s words regardless. He’d find out eventually. 

“No.” The admittance came out with a heavy breath, like you were releasing the weight that had been on you all night. In a way, you were. You ran a hand over your forehead, “I don’t know what happened between you two, he doesn’t talk about it. But I just- I’m terrified he’ll hate me for bringing you.” 

Why the hell were you pouring your heart out to this stranger? What was it about him that drew you in so much and made you want to bring down your walls? How was this charming man already under your skin from one damn meeting? And how the fuck were you supposed to explain any of this to your husband, his estranged best friend? 

You needed another drink. Or ten. 

“You really love him.” Again, not a question. But you answered. You had to. 

“More than anything else in this world.” 

Patrick offered you his half-smoked cigarette and you took it without thinking. The sting of the smoke in your lungs was like coming home. It was so good it almost made you cry. But lots of things made you want to cry right now. You could taste mint on the cigarette, like he’d been chewing gum before lighting up. The same kind Art always chewed. 

It made something flip in your stomach. 

“Well, from what I can tell, you’re pretty great. Super caring, based on how far you went in an attempt to make him happy. Shit, you tracked me down, which is a feat in itself. And you’re gorgeous, obviously. I’m surmising that you’re basically the whole package.” He spoke calmly, as if every one of those words didn’t make your heart jump into your throat. You chugged your drink to use it as an excuse for your rosy cheeks, “So I don’t think there’s any way he could hate you. Even for inviting me here.” 

You were speechless for five long seconds as he took the cigarette back and inhaled. Then you finally got your brain to stop lagging, “You don’t even know me.” 

“I know enough.” He countered, continuing the pass back and forth of the cigarette, “And I know Art. He wouldn’t marry someone beneath him. The fucker somehow always gets the ones way out of his league.” 

You didn’t comment, but you knew what Patrick was referring to. Tashi Duncan. The now pro-tennis player that he’d had a thing with back in the day. You didn’t know the details, but you knew she was a point of contention between the two men. 

Honestly, you tried not to think about Tashi. She was gorgeous, super talented, and an overall seemingly great person. Art had passed up on that for you, and it got to your head a lot. You wondered if he regretted it. Or at least wondered what his life could’ve been like. 

You didn’t think you were out of his league. In fact, you thought the opposite. Not that you needed to tell Patrick that. Your insecurity and jealousy issues could stay yours alone. 

“Well, I don’t know about that.” You murmured.

The cigarette began to dim as you took the last drag, flicking it off the balcony and down into the grass below. With both the alcohol and nicotine gone, you started to think you probably needed to get back to the party. Your husband would be looking for you, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting. You just had to figure out how Patrick would fit into the equation. 

“If you weren’t taken, I’d be trying to charm the fuck out of you right now.” 

The statement caught you completely off guard. You looked over at him, eyes wide, and tried to keep your cool at the sexy smirk on his face. God, he was so fucking attractive. 

You blinked once, twice, a third time, “What?” 

His smile grew at your flustered state, “I have great taste in women, and I’d flirt with you if I could. So I’m saying you’re definitely a catch. And totally out of Art’s league.” 

You licked your lips. Subconsciously, “I’m pretty sure that was flirting.” 

“Was it?” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, “Oops.” 

You ran your finger over the rim of your wine glass, trying to think of something to say. You came up empty. You were married- to this man’s childhood best friend. To the love of your life. He shouldn’t be flirting with you. And you definitely shouldn’t be enjoying it. 

“There you are! I was starting to worry.” Art’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned around to watch him making his way to you with a smile. Then he spotted Patrick and his smile dropped as his face filled with recognition, “You- what the hell are you doing here?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain and mediate the situation, but the dark-haired man beat you to it. 

“Your pretty little wife invited me.” He said, which was probably the worst thing he probably could’ve chosen. You internally buried your face in your hands. 

Art’s jaw clenched and his eyes lit up. It took you a moment to realize that the expression was anger. Honestly, it took you by surprise. It was extremely rare to see him angry, and never was it directed at you. And though he was looking at Patrick, you were terrified that in this instance it was. 

“Let me explain.” You immediately choked out, clutching your empty wine glass like a lifeline, “I really just thought that-” 

“She thought you missed me and wanted us to reconnect. As a birthday surprise. Isn’t that sweet?” Patrick butted in, throwing an arm over your shoulders. Art looked ready to murder someone (probably the tennis player holding you), “I doubt it was easy contacting me, but she managed. All for you.” 

You laughed nervously, ducking your head, “Well, that’s not-” 

“Let go of her.” Art demanded. His voice was cold and dangerous. Possessive. It made something twitch in your core. Oh, you liked that. 

The brunette didn’t hesitate to do as he was told, holding his hands up in surrender, “My bad, man. I just feel like we’re already such close friends from hanging out together. Don’t you think so?” 

The last part was directed at you, and Patrick nudged you. You gave him an incredulous look. 

The charming, sweet man you’d just been talking to was gone. He was replaced by a cocky, near-disrespectful antagonist who was trying to egg your husband into some kind of altercation. And he was using you as the bait. 

You couldn’t lie that you were frustrated, but it did feel a bit nice to be in an almost tug-of-war between the two men. You liked being an object of affection or desire. 

“You should head inside, baby.” Art spoke to you, though his furious gaze never left Patrick, “Our guests will wonder where the hosts went. I’m gonna talk to Patrick for a minute.” 

You’d be damned if you told him no. Even though this situation felt like a mess that was definitely all your fault. Damn you for inviting Patrick. Damn him for being so captivating. And damn Art for loving you so much that the sight of another man touching you made him see red. This entire thing was like a whirlwind. 

“Okay…” You whispered, moving towards your husband and the house. You gave Patrick a small smile, hoping to convey your thoughts to him. Please don’t hurt him- he’s my world. Then you stopped at Art’s side and placed a hand on his bicep, “I’m sorry if this was a bad idea. I just wanted to make your birthday special, is all. I didn’t mean to fuck it up.” 

He finally looked at you, just long enough to give you a loving smile and a shake of his head, “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m so proud of you for doing all this for me. Don’t worry.” 

Then he kissed you, only to stop and pull away, “Is that- were you smoking with Patrick?” 

You sucked on your teeth and nodded, “Yes, a little. I’m sorry. I just-” 

But then he was kissing you again, hard and needy. Like he wanted to fuck you right then and there. Your face burned bright red, and you could feel Patrick’s eyes on the two of you. Art had never acted like this in all the time you knew him. But right now, within thirty seconds of being around his old friend, he was putting on a show to prove that you were his. 

You belonged to him. And he wanted Patrick to know it. 

You really, really fucking liked this. 

When he pulled away, you felt dizzy. From both the kiss and the wine you’d downed. You barely had time to take a breath before he was lightly patting your cheek and sending you inside. You managed to take a look at the two men before rejoining the party. They just stared at each other, like they were in a standoff. 

It was unbelievably hot. 

As you went back to your guests, lips still tingling, only one thought was coming to you. 

You wondered how long you could keep Patrick around, just to see what it would do to your precious husband. 

[moonlight-prose]

angel of the morning

a/n: about a month ago i got an idea for a threesome fic and well it has lived in the back of my head since then. and normally i wouldn't write smut with wade, but this one actually made me feral. thankfully the promptober list this year gave me the perfect opportunity to bring it to life. so i give you a filthy and fun fic brought to you not from the execs at disney, cause let's be honest this would kill them on sight.

logan promptober: day nine - deadpool

summary: wade has a proposition to offer: he will sit quietly (a complete lie) as logan shows him how fucking you properly is done. only it's not up to logan...it's up to you. his sweet angel of the morning.

word count: 3.4k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader x wade wilson

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MDNI 18+ ONLY!!, threesome activities, voyeurism, bondage, wade wilson breaks the fourth wall, oral (m receiving), gags, coming untouched, p in v sex, fingering, cumplay, squirting, logan is rough with the pussy, gratuitous descriptions of filthy acts, biting, unedited + unbetad.

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME SERIES MASTERLIST

"Think of it as a learning opportunity peanut." A glass shattered on impact - ricocheting off the wall and lodged into Wade's chest. Neither the pain nor the blood could get him to stop talking though. "Possibly a way to work out those Hulk-like anger issues."

"No," Logan snapped, itching to rip the voice box out of Wade's throat. Maybe then he'd get an hour tops of silence as the fucker healed.

"You won't even ask her?" he whined. Truly the entire thing reeked of desperation. Wade knew how pathetic he looked right at this moment; whether he cared was an entirely different story.

"Shut the fuck–"

"Ask me what?"

They looked like two deer caught in headlights mere seconds before death. Wade's lips curled into a smile bright enough to rival the sunlight that poured in through the open window. Logan however looked as if he witnessed a ghost climbing out of the shitty painted walls to your right. You stopped inches away from the shards of glass that lined the floor—your eyebrows raised in disbelief at the sight.

How they both wound up in your apartment still remained a mystery to you. Logan went home before you even fell asleep, promising to return with your usual Sunday breakfast from Rosemary's. You came to the conclusion—given the food on the table—that Wade must have followed him. Intent on being a third wheel. Again.

"N-Nothing," Logan replied, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson.

You grinned, eyes trailing down to his jeans that sat snug on his hips. "Are you sure?"

"Sweet angel of the morning can I proposition you for a moment? Don't worry I'm not selling you a car. Although I could." Wade poured coffee into your new favorite mug—a tiny painting of Wolverine sat neatly on the front. "This is more of a learning experience."

"Learning what exactly?" You took the mug with a smile, entirely aware of Logan's eyes tracking your every step.

He thought you were going to run; you leaned into his side to prove you would stay. Whatever question Wade was intent on asking, it clearly touched a nerve. One you had to fix before another mishap occurred in your relationship. Logan wasn't the greatest at communication, but you could make up for his lack of talking in a language he understood well enough. Physical touch.

"Have you ever studied the art—nay the science—of a threesome?"

You choked on your coffee.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be enough of a warning for Wade to stop speaking. "There's classes dedicated to its research. I'd be a teacher, but have you met your boy toy over there? He's been alive for two hundred years. There's no way he's not danced the twisters tango."

"Twisters...tango?" Logan's hand patted your upper back as you forced the words out through a choked rasp.

"Twice the fun, three times the knot." He smiled, stepping so face you barely had a chance to stand upright before he was looking down, his finger tipping your chin gently. "Something tells me you'd be an expert."

"Get the fuck off her," Logan snapped, silver flashing in your peripheral.

You gripped his wrist in an attempt to stop the bloodshed from going even further. Cleaning broken glass from your floor was one thing. Scrubbing Wade's blood out of the carpet near your couch was another thing entirely.

The air around you grew tense as Logan's hand fell to your hip in a silent claim you felt curl at the base of your spine. Wade's smile never wavered, even as you felt your mouth dry. The offer circled in your head with a quickness that left you dizzy and gasping for breath. A threesome wasn't the most outlandish of propositions—hell your ex boyfriend had even asked at one point in your relationship.

But a threesome with both of them. Men who never faltered, never grew tired. Keeping up with Logan took the majority of your energy some nights—his insatiable need to have you became an overwhelming trait you grew to crave. Yet the thought of Wade joining in on that. The blood rushed to your head at the very concept, your heart ramming against your chest with each breath.

Logan tensed which gave you the answer you were looking for.

He wasn't worried about his own feelings. He merely wanted you to feel safe. There would never be another day you were put in harm's way because of something he caused. This was simply another one of those moments; a time where the choice remained entirely up to you.

"Drop it mouth–"

"How exactly would it happen?"

They froze, mouths gaping and eyes fixed on your inquiring face. What must have started out as a joke - something for Wade to relentlessly tease Logan over—became something else entirely. Before you could laugh it off, push past whatever awkwardness lingered in the air. Wade's smile returned—eyes alight in a type of joy you'd only seen come from him watching The Great British Bake Off.

Or cocaine.

"So glad you asked angel."

"God this feels like a teacher student porno. Except instead of me getting bent over a desk for being a bad boy I get to watch the teachers fuck." Wade practically leapt out of his skin as Logan tied the knot around his wrists. Pulling until a ring of white formed around the skin. He'd lose feeling in his hands, but something told you that remained part of the appeal. "Do I get to ask questions? In case there's a test?"

You smiled, sitting on the chair stuffed in the corner of your room. "I don't think the professor would like that, Wade."

A soft snarl emanated from Logan's chest, his hands chest heaving with each shift as he did his best not to look at you directly. The bulge on his jeans remained evident enough of what he thought of this. How he had to resist tearing through your clothes to get to what lay beneath.

Logan and self control never went hand in hand. Yet he held on by the skin of his teeth in order to help you settle into a familiar state of comfort. You silently thanked him for that - your nerves jumping with every second that passed.

"You're not gonna fuckin' talk," Logan replied gruffly, pulling out a spare leather belt he kept in your drawer for when he stayed over. "You wanted a learnin' experience. So that's what this is."

"But how am I supposed to learn if I can't–"

The belt went into his mouth harshly, yanking his head back as Logan pulled it closed with surprising speed. You began to wonder if he had done this before. Gagged someone with the efficiency of a pro who partook in sexual activities far more adventurous than what you'd been giving him. Maybe that's what this was all about. Dipping your toe in the waters to see if this experience was meant for you.

His thumb smoothing your furrowed brows pulled you from your thoughts. "You can say no honey. Don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Logan–"

He shook his head, dropping to his knees before you. "If you say no I'll heat up the breakfast and Wade can put on a movie. Yeah?"

"And if I say yes?" you breathed.

"Then we take it as slow as you want."

The answer lay on the tip of your tongue, begging to be put out into the world. So you pulled him in for a kiss. Your fingers dug into his hair as you licked behind his teeth with a soft moan - the ache from last night building once more in the crevices and curves of your body. Wade echoed your sounds with a few of his own, body writhing to get closer to the edge of the bed. Logan however consumed you entirely.

He rose to his feet, hand cupping your chin to keep you in place. Spit trailed down your chin and for a moment you felt the urge to wipe it away. To clean your body in case that's not what he desired at this time. He cut you off with a growl, licking at the wet smear of spit before letting it fall back on your tongue. His thumb dragging the rest down the length of your throat.

"I want you fuckin' messy honey," he muttered. "Gotta show off my pretty little thing."

A gasp pierced the air, your body jolting at the command. This was familiar to you. Logan leading the dance as you trailed along with the hopes he'd see how good you could be. How much you longed to please him. Somehow the aspect of your relationship flipped when it came to sex. He was no longer tentative or worried there was a chance you might find him repulsive.

When it came to this Logan understood your love for him held no ands, ifs, or buts.

You'd never let him touch you if you didn't love him—that remained clear in his mind. It allowed him the chance to breathe.

"How about we give him a better view."

Whimpering out your unintelligible response, you let him move you with ease. He took the chair, spreading his legs wide for you to prop yourself on his thighs. Tugging at the t-shirt you slept in with a soft grunt he pulled it up and over your head—the softness of your skin on full display. He could practically feel you dripping onto your inner thighs, coating your body in that familiar tangy sweetness.

The thought made him dizzy—his fingers digging sharply into your hips. A stunted groan echoed from the bed, Wade's eyes flicking madly from your breasts to the shiny slick that covered your pussy. His cock strained against his gray sweatpants, a stain leaking into the fabric and turning it a shade darker. If his hands weren't tied Logan had no doubt he'd be fisting his cock to the sight of you naked and wanting.

And what a fucking sight that would be. Seeing this mouthy asshole finally grow quiet just from a mere glimpse at your body.

"What do you think honey? Should we free him?" Logan pointedly looked at Wade's groin—his chin hooking onto your shoulder as his hands slid along your thighs.

You whined, your ass pushing back into his hard cock. "He looks like he needs it, baby."

"Be a good girl and pull it out. Wanna see how wet he is."

"Okay."

Sliding off him, you dropped to your hands and knees, crawling the short distance towards Wade who looked ready to cum right then and there. He sucked in a broken gasp, his hips bucking up into nothing when your hands gripped the edge of his sweats. Your lips dragging along his clothed shoulder—fingers tugging down the waistband until it hung around his knees.

"Oh," you sighed, eyes fixed on the ruddy length of his red and purple cock. It practically dripped like a fucking faucet—spilling onto what sparse hair stuck to the base.

Blistering heat filled your body at the sight of his cock throbbing in your face, the length of it sticky and shiny. Wade never mentioned how much he wanted you. Or perhaps it was the fact that both you and Logan were giving him the show of a lifetime. Indulging him in a fantasy that felt like his imagination came to life.

"Give it a lick," Logan said. "Tell me how he tastes."

Hesitation was nowhere to be found in your body; the thrill of being told what to do shot through your stomach. Wade's eyes rolled back into his head when your mouth closed around the tip, suckling him in between hollowed cheeks—your tongue sliding through the slit.

A choked moan broke free around the belt, spit flying down his throat. You met his noise with one of your own, slick smearing across your thighs, your pussy fluttering at the salty tang of him spread across your tongue.

"That's enough."

You sat back on your heels—eyes meeting Wade's bleary gaze. The both of you were torn to shreds from the inside out. Pieces dispersed in a mess on the floor. Only for Logan to gather what remained—intent on putting you back together.

"C'mere honey," he huffed, gathering you back in his arms.

Logan's touch was relentless. Quick strokes along your bare thighs as you settled in his lap—teeth nipping along the line of your shoulder until pain bloomed beneath the pleasure. Each press of his hands made you melt into his chest, back pressing to his bare chest. The warmth of his arms became something you latched onto.

A constant source of comfort, of a promise to never let you sink below the waters.

You spread your legs over his thighs slowly in a show of revealing your pussy to the man across from you—his eyes practically glued to your pulsing hole. How it fluttered each time Logan sunk his teeth in. How you could feel it leak enough slick to drink down. You wanted to guide his face closer, see if he would like a taste, but Logan had other ideas.

The echo of his belt undoing seared a hole in your chest. Your body vibrated with anticipation—heart hammering a quick timed beat that left you breathless. He pushed you up, the slide of his cock pushing through your glistening lips drew a soft moan to the surface. Your fingers were a tight grip on the sides of the chair, and for a moment you felt a numbing sensation trickle into the palms of your hands.

"She's needy for it huh," Logan boasted, tapping the head against your clit to watch you jump. "So ready to be fucked."

You whined, loud enough to echo off the walls. "P-Please."

"So polite." His hand gripped your hips and in a swift thrust he pushed past your entrance, filling you until your mouth dropped in a pitiful moan. "And fuckin' tight. Don't tell me you like being watched."

A gasp tore from your throat, hips pushing back to take him right down to the base. The burning stretch only helped to drive you even higher. Wade's moans were a muffled chorus in the background, an audience member enjoying his free show. And for a brief moment you opened your eyes to find his gaze.

Tears streamed down his cheeks—agony glistening in his blown out pupils. But it was his cock that grabbed your attention. Purple and strained and aching for someone to touch him. Saliva filled your mouth, a high moan slipping past your parted lips.

"I knew it," Logan grunted, grinding up into you. "My dirty girl. Look at him. He's begging for it."

"L-Logan."

"Give your old man a kiss." He gripped your chin roughly, dragging your lips to his as his tongue invaded your mouth. Sucking the taste of Wade off your tongue with a hoarse moan.

He let you set your own pace, settling back into the chair to give you space and keep you steady. With stunted movements you lifted yourself off his cock and sat back down. A sharp cry bouncing off the walls, each thrust forcing the head of his cock right up against your walls. The slap of skin mixed with Wade's sounds—the wet squelch of your pussy sucking Logan back in echoed filthily in the room.

A sinful euphony of sex that had your toes curling and chest heaving.

Wade's eyes flicked between where the two of you were connected and the bounce of your breasts. The harsh thrusts began to force his cock to jolt—precum pouring into his lap and staining the sheets below. He'd never get tired of this sight. You entirely lost in chasing your pleasure as Logan watched proudly below.

"I-It's hard," you gasped, thighs trembling with each shift.

Logan tutted under his breath. "I know honey. Let me finish for you."

You weren't prepared for the ruthless pace he set. His hands became a vice-like grip on your hips with each pound of his cock into you, the sounds you made nowhere near anything you'd heard before. He fucked you without mercy. Every thrust punctuated with a biting growl—his cock slamming repeatedly into that perfect spot along your walls.

Nails ripped at the chair's arms, your body a shaking mess in his hold, and you could barely see straight in front of you. Wrenching your eyes open, you focused on Wade—your mouth forming a permanent shriek of Logan's name that closer you got to shattering. You watched him struggle to free his hands. His body trembling on the edge of the bed.

"Bet he can't fuck you like this," Logan spit, his teeth bared in a snarl. "Watch and fuckin' learn mouth."

"Logan!" you sobbed, the hot swell of tears spilling rapidly down your cheeks. "I'm gonna. Oh f-fuck–"

"Yeah you are." He yanked you back, his teeth setting into the skin of your shoulder, forming another ringed mark that would serve as a reminder to who you belonged to. A mark of his claim imprinted in your flesh.

The swift slap to your clit wrenched a choked sob from your throat, your eyes rolling back with the second hit. You held onto the edge by the skin of your teeth, your hands moving to grip his wrist. Breath became obsolete with each move and with a harsh third slap you broke with a garbled moan of his name. A wet gush splattered against your thigh, your body shaking viscerally in his tight hold as he came with a broken whine.

The harsh thrusts forced another wave of searing bliss through your body, a second stream of cum spilling onto the hardwood floors. Your eyes were blurred with tears, mouth sucking in sharp gasps, but Wade's pain muffled cry drew your attention back to the present moment.

His hips bucked up into nothing, eyes rolled back and spit drooling down his shirt. The veins of his neck were strained with each shift of his body—for a moment you worried he would choke. Until he came with a muddled shout, cum shooting up to his torso and splashing beneath his chin. The mere sight of it had you clenching down around Logan - your mouth parted in complete awe.

"Shit," Logan gasped, eyes wide and cheeks flushed crimson.

"C-Can I?"

He tapped your thigh. "Go on honey."

On shaky legs you practically fell to the floor and dragged yourself towards Wade. Your mouth immediately swallowing his cock with a hazy sigh—tongue licking up the heady taste of his cum. It slid down your throat, warmed the insides of your body. And Wade looked down at you with eyes full of adoration. A sight you'd never seen him wear in your presence.

Logan shuffled to his feet, quickly moving to undo the restraints. Only for Wade's hands to press against your head—shoving his softened cock down your throat with a soft fuck.

"You guys would make a fucking fortune on Only Fans," he grunted, another spurt of warmth spilling into your mouth.

Logan growled. "Count yourself lucky mouth. She may not want this again."

You grinned, pulling off to press a messy kiss to the still leaking tip. "This was fun." Your voice was hoarse, body covered in a sheen of sweat, yet they regarded you with an emotion you felt weigh heavy at the base of your chest.

A feeling you never believed might occur in your life.

"Logan?" The warmth of his hand spread down to your chest when he cupped your face, swiping at the mess on your lips. "How about that breakfast?"

"Anythin' for you honey," he vowed.

"You guys ever seen the movie Oklahoma?" Wade butted in, his forehead knocking gently against yours before Logan pulled you to your feet.

You laughed, dizzy from the high that still coursed through your veins. A flannel was draped over your shoulders, fingers working to button them up before he got frustrated.

"Might inspire a second round of teacher, teacher, student."

A breathy giggle was muffled against Logan's lips in a swift kiss. "Isn't that musical?"

"It's not just a musical sweet angel. It's a lifestyle. Literally for some people who live in well...Oklahoma."

Logan groaned, dragging you behind him in an attempt to stop the conversation short. You merely called over your shoulder in response. Wade stumbled after you buck naked—his shirt and sweats discarded on the floor in favor of giving the world a view yet to be forgotten. You eyed his chest with a smile, even as Logan palmed your ass to bring you closer.

"Play it." You grinned, hand sliding down to cup Logan through his jeans. "We'll see what happens."

"For fucks sake."

note: i don't even know if this is good. but i hope y'all enjoyed it. drink some water!

[msbigredmachine]

Handsy (Roman Reigns)

When the OTC asks for help and you oblige him, he’s very happy to return the favor. 

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Shy!Black fem OC

Warnings: Smut, fluff, possessiveness...the usual, lol

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: This is the first of a number of "Possessive" one shots lined up. Hope you enjoy them. Looking forward to all your amazing feedback! 😁

Song inspos are below:

A work of art. You could stare at him all day.

Sure, you came off like a voyeur sometimes, but the view was too glorious to pass up. Observing (not stalking) him from his little designated space next to a couple of equipment crates in the bowels of the arena. Working with the wrestlers as Talent Assistant entailed long hours and not-so-glamorous moments, but it was all worth it simply because you got to see the Roman Reigns up close and personal.

You always had a front row seat to the occasion, being in charge of his itinerary, and that included his wardrobe. Bringing over his ring gear, new Bloodline merch or a tech fleece for him to wear before slinking away to allow him some privacy. Yet tonight was different as this was his first match back in months and you couldn’t help but hang back, keen to witness his majesty up front, keen to see him in action again.

Just see him.

“You gon’ stand there and watch me all night, pretty girl?”

The rumble of his deep voice startled you out of your daydream. The big man himself was inching towards you, his hair down and damp, his rippling muscles and the intricate tribal tattoos gleaming beneath the backstage lights. His black cargo pants were tucked into his red and black boots and he looked ready for war, the ensemble somehow magnifying the power of the man. The Adonis. The…god.

Shaking your head sharply, you fidgeted with your horn rimmed glasses as you struggled to regain your bearings. “I’m…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. Umm…are your gloves okay? I made sure to get the specs right.” It was almost suffocating to be in his presence at times.

“They’re fine.” His gaze bored into you, a knowing smirk tugging his lips as he put them on, the long digits of his fingers wiggling and teasing. You had to tear your eyes away as you imagined just what those fingers could do and where you wanted them...

You recalled the earlier days when he would address you only in passing, inquiring about an assignment or a quick update on something you were working on…the butterflies fluttering in your stomach whenever he spoke to you. Ever perceptive, Roman picked up on your nervousness and went out of his way to flirt with you while somehow maintaining the utmost professionalism. It was like he knew you were crushing on him and was rubbing it in your face. As familiarity grew, the tone of your interactions began to shift. Friendlier, lighter exchanges as you got used to him and his natural charisma. 

Then, the nicknames started trickling in. Pretty girl. Sweetheart. Beautiful. You could feel your walls—literally and figuratively—crumbling, and it always took an insurmountable effort to build them back up. His six-month hiatus was a reprieve of sorts as you tried to sort out your feelings for him in his absence. Yet, said absence made your heart grow fonder. You thought about him every day and you wondered, quite unwisely, if he thought about you too.

“Like what you see, baby girl?”

The new nickname forced you back down to earth, and it was then you saw he was now standing right in front of you. Bringing your gaze level with his broad, glistening chest. Fuck. “Umm...Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was asking if you could help me out with this.”

Glancing down at the hand he extended, your eyes widened. A bottle of baby oil was in his grasp. You raised your eyebrow, defying the terror that surged through you at the mere thought of putting your hands on his body. “Isn’t that the trainer’s job?” you asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“It is. But tonight, I prefer a more…gentle touch,” Roman suggested, chuckling at your wary expression. “You’re so innocent. It’s cute. But don’t worry, I won’t bite,” he winked.

He was enjoying this; enjoying the reaction he was evoking from you and taking pleasure in messing with your sanity. But your mama didn’t raise no punk bitch. You were strong. You could do this without spontaneously combusting.

Taking the bottle from him, you slowly applied some oil to your hands and rubbed your palms together to warm it up. Moving behind him, you started with his shoulders and with gentle pressure ran your hands along his neck, down his back, rubbing in rhythmic strokes along his spine. Your fingers gently massaged the honed, taut muscles, easing out any tension you could feel there. As you moved to his lower back, you winced when your hands accidentally slipped down his pants, grazing his backside. "Shit. I’m-I’m sorry," you rushed, grateful that he couldn’t see you.

"You’re fine. Keep goin’," he said with gritted teeth, his tone significantly deeper. Rougher. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, a nervous cough escaping your throat as you squeezed some more oil onto your palms. “Turn around,” you instructed him, your voice surprisingly steady despite your shot nerves. As your hands glided up his chest, you did your best to focus on your task and avoid any other mistake. You oiled up his arms and his abs, ignoring the tiny little sounds you could hear in the back of his throat, ignoring his burning gaze on you.

"Your hands are like magic, sweetheart," Roman murmured appreciatively, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. You felt your breath hitch as your fingers worked over the tension in his hard muscles, each touch leaving you more breathless than the last. Despite the storm of emotions building inside you, you managed to finish with steady hands.

“All done,” you said softly, stepping back to create some much-needed distance.

“You did great. Thanks.”

His praise made your heart swell with a mix of pride and something more dangerous. “You’re welcome,” you replied, your voice quieter as your gaze lingered on him. “Your tattoos are beautiful… your skin is beautiful.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, emboldened by the intimacy of the moment.

Roman’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Kissed by the sun, I’ve been told. Though I wouldn’t mind being kissed by someone else…” His hand reached out, his thumb brushing lightly across your bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the gentle contact, your mind reeling. “Roman, we… we can’t,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, betraying the internal conflict raging within you.

“Why not?” His tone was calm but insistent, his dark eyes searching yours. “We both know there’s something here. I feel it, and I know you do too.”

You bit your lip, hesitating. If only it were that simple. “Because… we’re at work,” you replied, trying to summon a rational argument despite your racing heart. “We shouldn’t…fraternize. And…” You hesitated again, your voice faltering as the words hung in the air. “I might have a man…”

The rebuttal that accompanied his snicker was smooth as silk. “And he still won’t be a fraction of the man I am. Besides, I know for a fact that you don’t have a man.” His haughty stare remained on you. “One thing I always do, baby, is my research on things I’m interested in.”

Was there a counter for that? You weren't sure. And even if there was, it would have been hard to find with the way he was staring you down, his head cocked to the side, tongue darting salaciously over his bottom lip. Goodness…

“Let me return the favor,” he said.

Oh fuck. You played dumb. “What?” 

“I enjoyed your massage. A lot. It’s only fair I give you one too. Not here, though. After the show, somewhere more private. You got a ride to the next town?”

You shook your head. “Well, not yet, but I was going to ask Jade and Bianca if I could-”

“Scrap it. You’re coming with me,” he cut you off. “I got somewhere much more comfortable than some itty-bitty car.”

Jade never went in ‘itty-bitty cars’, but you were sure Roman wasn’t trying to hear it. The moment stretched out, a lifetime of tension and unsaid words. You’d been on his bus once, and not unaccompanied. This would be wayyyy different.

Roman closed the last of the space between you, and pulled you into his chest. Big and rock solid and tempting. All of him. Including the bulge that pressed against your lower belly that made you lightheaded. His hand came up to gently cradle the side of your face. 

“I’ll be good. I promise.” His thumb brushed your cheek, and you wanted to hate how your skin tingled beneath his touch, how easily your resolve crumbled. You really did.

But right now, there was nothing in the world that you wanted more.

“Okay…”

------------------------

Roman’s hands were a wonderful contradiction: strong yet surprisingly soft, their warmth matching the cozy temperature of his bedroom on the bus. The electricity of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you hated how easily you succumbed to it. You wanted to resent the ease with which he disarmed you, your body surrendering before your mind could catch up—but the truth was, you didn’t care. Not in this moment.

The soft glow of scented candles illuminated the space, their aroma blending with the soothing notes of Force MD’s 'Tender Love'. The old-school melody was a familiar comfort, a gentle background to the scene unfolding. Draped in nothing but your panties on his plush king bed, you felt utterly exposed yet oddly safe. Roman's promise to help you relax was fulfilled tenfold as his skilled hands worked magic with warm essential oils, massaging away every ounce of your tension.

You struggled to stay still as his hands ventured lower, his palms kneading the soft, plump skin of your butt with deliberate care. The sensation set your skin aflame, and despite your best efforts, a quiet, unbidden moan escaped your lips. He chuckled at this, his touch remaining gentle yet commanding as he boldly gripped both cheeks and wiggled them together, the waves making him groan his approval under his breath. As he turned you on your back, your eyes met, the flicker of heat in his gaze unmistakable. For a brief moment, embarrassment threatened to creep in, but the desire surging through you washed it away.

Taking charge, you pulled his head down to brush your lips together—tentative at first, testing the waters, but quickly growing more certain. The kiss deepened, melting away any hesitation that had lingered between you. His taste, the warmth of his lips, and the press of his oil-slicked hands against your skin were overwhelming.

As his fingers skimmed the underside of your breasts, a shiver ran through you. Instinctively, your hands found their way to his broad back, pulling him closer, earning a soft, breathy groan from him. The sound sent a thrill through you, a small grin playing on your lips. But the grin quickly dissolved into a moan as his mouth found your nipple, igniting sensations that left you breathless.

“So soft,” Roman murmured, his lips teasing the sensitive peak. The gentle suckles along with the firm kneading of your breast left you trembling in his confident grasp. He released your nipple with a wet, audible pop, trailing kisses down your body with a reverence that made you feel worshiped.

His fingers traced a path along your skin, their touch featherlight but insistent, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he reached your thighs, his mouth followed suit, pressing kisses to the tender flesh. You flinched when his teeth grazed the sensitive spot near your core, a teasing bite that made you gasp. Every nerve in your body hummed with anticipation, leaving no room for second-guessing. All that mattered was him, and the way his touch unraveled you so completely.

“Roman…”

“Hmm, baby? Should I stop?”

The mere thought of him bringing this divine pleasure to a halt brought tears to your eyes. “N-no.”

“I know you don’t want me to. It feels good.” Sitting back on his heels, he peeled your thong down your legs, tossing it into his open suitcase landing among his clothes. Something told you you would never get it back. “I’ve been waiting on this since I first laid eyes on you…I think about you a lot, ya know…”

You bit your lip, shaken by the electricity that crackled at his words, at the rush of this erotic moment. There was definitely no turning back now, and you could only look on as he wrapped his arms around your thighs and buried his face between them. A startled moan burst from you, clutching his hair to steady yourself as his tongue caressed your flesh. Long, fat and warm, it lashed around and around inside you, his lips pulling and sucking, the sloppy slurps filling the room with your gasps and moans pitching higher. 

“Oh, damn…” you whined, attempting to regain the upper hand in this trap you ensnared yourself in. “You said…you said you’d be good…”

Roman’s eyes flitted to yours, wide with feigned innocence. “Oh, I’m not? Lemme try this then…”

By the time you realized what he was talking about, you were too late. “Wait! That’s not what I mea-…Ohhhh!” He had spread your thighs wider, French-kissing your folds with those soft lips, his expansive mouth widening to lick you all up. His head moved up and down, his strong jaw working every inch and every crevice. Heat bloomed through your body, making your lower half squirm and twist from sensations you’d only read about in erotic novels. "Shit...." 

"You like that, baby? Like me eating this pretty ass pussy?" Roman hummed against your core, his voice knowing and arrogant. 

You would have given an articulate answer if you could think straight, but right now moans and whines and whimpers were the only languages you could speak. You felt your pussy pulse on his tongue as he made you feel high, your arms sprawled out on the bed as your orgasm and your body temperature climbed until you felt like you were overdosing from pleasure. 

“You taste incredible, baby. I want you to come in my mouth.” 

His commanding voice, his moans against your pussy, the rapid speed of his licks, had your eyes watering. Your body couldn't control itself as it detonated, releasing inside his mouth, his triumphant moan vibrating against the sensitive bundle of nerves causing you to groan out loud again as he caught your nut effortlessly with long, lazy laps of his tongue, licking you up until you were all emptied out. 

"Oh my god..." you gasped, your eyelids fluttering from the shock of such a powerful climax. "You made me come so hard," you breathed, collapsing on the pillow.

Releasing your thighs, Roman wiped his mouth, his chest glazed with oil and beard gleaming with your juices. “Pretty pussy that tastes this good? I’m in trouble, baby,” he sighed happily, like he’d just feasted on the most delicious gourmet meal.

You could feel the tension kick into high gear, knowing full well what was coming next. You shifted nervously, your hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

Ever attentive, Roman noticed your change in demeanor. "You good?" he asked, his voice low and soothing, searching your eyes with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering away to avoid the weight of his. "Sorry I'm just...a little nervous," you admitted.

His head tilted curiously as he gave you a long, pensive look, a hint of amusement in them. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“No.” Your cheeks burned, yet, feeling obligated to elaborate, you pressed on. “But…I’ve only ever done it once. In college. It was…alright.” The less said about that, the better. He definitely didn’t make her come this hard with just his mouth.

Roman’s brow lifted slightly, his smile morphing into something wicked and possessive. “Once? Only once?” He kissed his teeth, the sound reverberating through your body. His hand slid up your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles on your over-sensitized skin as he reached inside the bedside drawer. “Baby girl, I’m ‘bout to ruin you for anyone else.”

The confidence in his voice was intoxicating, and yet there was no arrogance - just a fact that he could and would do exactly what he said he could do. You couldn’t take your eyes off him as he tossed the condom on the bed in front of him, eyes widening as he slowly shed his boxers like it was some kind of grand unveiling, and boy, was it a spectacle. 

You gasped softly when you finally saw him, too long and too thick, rising menacingly from a neatly trimmed nest of dark silky curls. “I…oh my…”

Roman chuckled darkly at your stunned expression, rolling the Trojan down his length. "Don't panic, baby girl. I'ma make it all fit."

His mouth found yours again as his hands slung your thighs around his waist. The movement brushed his wide thick tip against your core, and your head tilted back as he nuzzled the groove of your neck, placing a wet kiss there.

“Roman,” you gasped, trying to summon some kind of resistance. But he silenced you again with another kiss, his voice low and commanding.

“Stop overthinking, I can feel you tensing up,” he murmured, “Just feel me. Feel us.”

And you did. His touch, his kiss, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world—it consumed you.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

You nodded, breathless.

“Then stop worrying,” he said, “Because right now, I’m only thinking about one thing. You. And how good you feel.” He shifted closer, slowly pushing his thick dick inside you. His arms and chest flexed around you, the tendons and muscles rippling and dancing as you reflexively lifted your hips against his, sliding him deeper into you, the initial discomfort of his thick length gradually easing away.

“Shiiit…” 

“I got you,” he assured you, hissing at the feel of your pussy fluttering around his length as it reached your hilt. “Damn, baby, you sure you’re not a virgin?”

“No…you’re just…big,” you pointed out matter-of-factly.

He smiled wide at that, and then moved in earnest, hitting hard and deep, his sheer power and his pulsing heat ramping up the pleasure ravaging your body and compelling you to hide your face in his shoulder to muffle your moans. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered soothingly, kissing you softly, growling in your ear, “I can feel you, all tight and dripping. Fuckin’ incredible.” Grabbing your right leg and hooking it over his shoulder, he powered deeper inside of you, glancing down at his long, thick shaft spreading you wide. You had a clear view of that big-ass dick plunging into you, making you feel every single inch. Each time he slid in deep, your pussy made this crude, squelching sound while squeezing him, causing your head to rock back into the pillow with a loud moan. “Aww, fuck, Roman…” 

Roman’s hand found your chin and steered your face back to him, his sturdy grip enough to make your heart pound in tune with his pounding strokes. “You’re mine now,” he murmured, kissing you again, whispering against your mouth, “Anytime I want it, anywhere, you give it to me, you understand me?”

“Yes,” you managed, drunk on the myriad of sensations he was literally fucking into you. It hurt too good, maybe too much, his big dick seemingly rearranging your insides, forcing you to push at his abs to make him slow down. But Roman wasn’t having it, gently grabbing your neck to pin you down, fucking his dick into you until tears sprang to your eyes. He turned your body sideways, trapping your lower leg between both of his and holding the other one down before burying himself back inside your heat. Slipping inside you was much easier now, that pussy was leaking. Gleefully, he watched your ass cheeks ripple against his strong pelvis every time it smacked against you, the sounds of your wet pussy permeating the air. 

“I wanna feel you nut on this dick…let go, baby, come for me,” Roman said, his voice a command and a plea in one sexy package.

“Unnnh my god…” Your eyes rolled in the back of your head feeling him switch it up by winding his hips, his dick in the back of your pussy, dragging throaty, high-pitched noises out of you. Waves of sinful, primal heat bloomed into an explosion that had you cursing to the heavens and shaking beneath him. You never knew you could experience such indescribable ecstasy. This was Heaven, it had to be, to feel this euphoric, this rapturous. Or maybe it was just Roman Reigns and the magic he clearly possessed, plunging you headlong under his spell. 

Roman watched you undulate with a cocky, borderline evil smile, licking his lips as he reached for your breast, squeezing and kneading in his palm. "Mmm, that’s my good girl, you look so beautiful, baby…So fuckin’ good." He didn't stop, didn't slow down, clutching handfuls of your soft ass as he stroked in and out of you with increasing aggression. “Gimme another one, baby, come on,” he ordered, smacking your ass, a husky groan and curse emitting from him as right on cue, your walls clamped around him yet again, as you squealed and shook and squirted on his dick, gushing all over his sheets. 

“That’s it, that’s exactly what I wanted…” He bit his bottom lip, his hands braced on your thigh and ass like an anchor as he felt his control start to slip. “Fuck…Where you want my cum, babe? In you or on you?”

You clung to the pillow for dear life, moaning weakly as his thrusts became messier and choppier, making it difficult to think straight. “On…on me,” you whimpered.

Your pussy throbbed and quivered around his dick, the sensory assault shattering the OTC into a thousand shards. Guttural groans spilled from his lips as he pulled out with a harsh grunt, ripping the condom off. You shivered as you watched him stroke endless ropes of his seed on your ass, the milkiness contrasting almost beautifully with your rich melanin skin. The sight should probably have repelled you, but never have you been more turned on. Roman kept his pulsing member pinned between your bodies as he dipped down to kiss you, your heavy breaths evening out as you lapped and sucked on each other’s mouths.

“Hol’ on, let me rub my cum all over you,” he said, pulling back to let his large hands smear his sticky mess all over your ass cheeks, massaging you just like he did earlier. The care and gentleness in his caresses mixed with the nastiness of the act was shockingly arousing to you.

“Mm-hmm. Witcho sexy ass,” he smiled at his handiwork and finished with a light smack of your ass. He lay down beside you and gathered you in his arms, his body warm and solid against yours. 

“You okay?” His voice was a soothing rumble, a contrast to the intensity of moments before. "Was it too much?"

“Not at all. It was...amazing,” you admitted, your head resting on his chest as his heartbeat thudded steadily against your ear. “This feels really nice.”

He tilted his head, gazing down at you. “What does?”

“You, holding me like this.” Your voice was soft, almost shy. “You're cuddlier than you look.” The words spilled out before you could stop them, and you quickly glanced up, worried he might take them the wrong way.

But instead, his lips curved into a small, teasing smile, and he kissed your forehead tenderly. “Cuddly, huh?” His hand brushed over your back, grounding and protective. “Guess I’ll take that.”

Your cheeks warmed, but before you could reply, his voice dropped, rich and husky, sending a shiver through you. “Get some sleep, baby. I ain’t done with you yet.” His lips pressed to yours as he added, his tone full of wicked promise, “I’m gonna wake your pretty ass up and fuck you all over again.”

------------------------

It was probably the quietest you’d ever gotten dressed up. Not wanting to risk making any noise, you skipped showering, choosing to wipe yourself down instead pending when you got to the arena. One quick peek into the bedroom showed Roman was still fast asleep. Good. All the better to make your escape.

Gathering your belongings, you crept to the front of the bus. The driver was kind enough to tell you the name of the town you were currently in. It was still a couple of hours to your destination, but you hoped to find a rental car service, or a bus, maybe a Lyft if you could. Anything to make sure you were out of Roman Reigns’ hair before he woke up and discarded you himself and acted like last night never happened.

It was going to be extremely difficult to forget though…to get over the feeling of his big, strong, talented hands on you, using your body all night, that skillful tongue of his that made your eyes water…his big ass di-…

Yeah. Your mental well-being and productivity levels advised strongly against dwelling on that part of him.

You also couldn’t deny how beautiful it all was. His care and attentiveness, making sure you were feeling as good as he was…The softness in his pretty eyes as he took you again and again…Okay, perhaps you were overthinking the emotions. Even you were not that naïve to believe you were the only woman he’d been intimate with on this bus, in that same bed. Said and done the same things to them. You were not that special. The last thing you wanted was to be embarrassed for looking for what wasn’t there, and, as you checked your watch for the time, for overstaying your welcome.

“Any particular reason you’re sneakin’ outta here?"

His deep voice cut through the stillness, sharp and commanding, freezing you mid-step. You spun around, your pulse skyrocketing as your eyes landed on him. Standing at the other end of the bus, he looked like something out of a dream—or maybe a very specific kind of nightmare. Broad shoulders. Sculpted chest. Marble-hewn muscles. That towel slung low on his hips, hinting at more than you dared to look at directly.

You swallowed hard, the words getting stuck in your throat before you managed, "I didn’t want things to be awkward."

"Awkward?" he repeated, advancing toward you like a predator closing in on its prey. "You think you can just walk away from me after the night we had and call it awkward?"

He loomed over you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. The scent of him—whiffs of cologne and sweat and massage oil—wrapped around you, reigniting every memory of what had transpired hours earlier.

"I know what this was," you said, trying to sound confident even as your voice wavered. "It was just a one-night stand. I’m not expecting anything else."

A grin spread across his face, slow and taunting. "Is that what you think?" The towel shifted slightly as he leaned closer. "You’re mine now, baby girl. I made that real clear last night. Or did I not do enough to convince you?"

Your breath hitched as heat crawled up your neck. He wasn’t just talking about his words. No, your body still remembered each and every way he’d claimed you, left you gasping and begging and sore down there. And now here he was, making it clear he wasn’t letting you go so easily.

"I—I thought..." you stammered, your bravado faltering under his intense gaze.

"Thought what? That I don’t mean what I say?" His hand slid to your waist, the warmth of his palm seeping through your thin shirt. "Baby, when I say you’re mine, I mean that shit. When I want something, I get it. And I want you."

Your heart stuttered at the unexpected softness in his voice. This was Roman Reigns, the stoic, untouchable force of nature you worked for. And yet, here he was, looking at you as though you were the most important thing in the world. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hide the way your fingers trembled. 

“Roman, I can’t—I can’t lose this job,” you reached for another excuse. “I worked too hard to get here. People already talk, and now this? It’ll only make things worse.”

Your verbal monologue was stopped by his hand cupping your chin, tilting your face so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. They burned with a quiet intensity, unshakable.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and steady, the kind of tone that silenced crowds in an instant. “I’m the face of WWE. You think anyone will come for you without dealing with me first? You think I’d let them? That’s not how this works.” He cupped your cheek, the gesture soothing, even as his words made your pulse race. “I protect what’s mine. Always.”

Your breath hitched, the conviction in his voice making it impossible to look away. Still, doubt clawed at you. “But what if—”

“No ‘what ifs’,” he interrupted firmly, but not unkindly. “You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone. You’re here because you’re damn good at what you do. And as long as I’m breathing, no one’s touching you. Not for this. Not for anything.”

His words settled over you like a shield, equal parts infuriating and reassuring. You wanted to argue, to push back, but deep down, a part of you believed him. Trusted him. And maybe…maybe that scared you even more than the risk.

So, against all logic, against every instinct screaming at you to keep this professional, you felt yourself nodding. “Okay.”

"Good girl," he said, his smirk widening. "Now, let’s get one thing straight. You don’t walk away from me, ever. Got it?"

You nodded again, your voice failing you completely.

"Good," he said, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. "Now, there’s a nice little breakfast diner a couple blocks away that I’m gonna take you to after. But first, come shower with me. It seems I’ve got some things I need to remind you of."

And just like that, the suitcase you’d been clutching slipped from your grasp as Roman took your hand and led you toward the back of the bus—and toward a future you would never have seen coming in a million years...but you liked, anyway.

THE END

------------------------

So glad this is finally out. Took me nearly 2 years, lol.

How was it? The smut is a lot, I know 😬 But I often try to ensure there's a story behind it.

Please leave comments! I love comments 😁😙😊

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