#not as embarrassing as the last one at least

[lightseoul]

TWENTY-SIX (4.3k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. your boyfriend's spending his birthday oceans away from you, and there's absolutely little you can do to celebrate his special day...right? (read on ao3)

c.w. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up, post-ch 431: more, established relationship, lots of cussing AND banter, explicit themes (which i will not describe in great detail for the element of surprise, but know that it's explicit), a little present for my fluff/smut girlies out there <3 (also me)

a/n. happy birthday to the (fictional. sobs) man of my dreams <3 i wanted to whip something special up for his birthday this year, especially since i started writing more seriously last september. since then, i've made so many friends on here primarily over our shared love for katsuki, and it's just been a blast (pun intended). this one kind of got away from me—this was just supposed to be a short drabble, but it ended up the way it did. still, i think it's a great read (if i say so myself), so i hope you enjoy this. once again, happy birthday, kats <3

“and then they fucking—told the waiter that it was my birthday.”

“no.”

bakugou sneers, his grimace just slightly distorted—a digital mosaic of rose-colored pixels. “it was fucking embarrassing.”

you try to imagine the picture of your boyfriend sitting awkwardly as the foreign restaurant’s staffers sang him a happy birthday, and you have to tamp down the smile that’s fighting to encroach on your lips.

“let me guess,” you quip—just loud enough for him to hear you over your phone’s built-in microphone, “it was denki’s idea.”

that grants you an eye roll, which is so animated, it doesn’t even matter that the hotel’s internet connection is so crappy, bakugou’s face morphs into an indistinguishable blob every two minutes or so.

“don’t remind me,” he retorts, “for dunce face’s sake.”

“or what?” you laugh, “are you gonna give him a good ol’ spanking?”

“fuck, no. for all i know, he’s probably getting spanked by ears as we speak.”

from a few feet away from you, a sudden sound akin to that of someone choking on their spit resonates, and you barely catch yourself from reflexively shooting a glare in that very direction. instead, you keep your gaze trained on your screen and on the ash-blonde who’s lying on his stomach with a pillow propped up underneath him, trying not to let the panic show on your face.

you’ve come this far, the last thing you need is for denki to—

“what was that?”

despite yourself, you stiffen. “what was what?”

“that sound,” bakugou points out, straightening up himself. “wait, where did you say you were again?”

“ochako’s,” you lie. she was one of your only friends whose apartment’s walls were almost the same color as the hotel bakugou’s currently staying in. and denki. and jirou.

the very same hotel you’re—

“that sounded like a guy, though,” comes bakugou’s cautious response, and it takes you a second to realize how the situation is looking like to him.

“izuku’s here as well,” you quickly supply, wishing to any divine being out there that he doesn’t ask you to point your camera at either of the couple.

thankfully, he doesn’t. what he does, instead, is furrow his eyebrows in equal parts confusion and disgust.

“they’re listening to our conversation?”

“chill, bro,” you force yourself to chuckle, “we just finished eating as well. we’re all just hanging out in the living room.”

now, if bakugou’s catching on to your deception, he doesn’t show it.

at least, by much.

“huh…”

“…yep.”

another scrutinizing squint. “and you’re sitting on round cheek’s floor because…?”

shit. right.

“i’m just charging my phone,” you fib, and before bakugou can get another word in and catch you in your deceit, you pipe up again.

“actually, it’s getting late, kats. i think i’m gonna head home.”

“but—”

“i’ll message you the plate number, don’t worry.”

at that, bakugou huffs, and you have to swat away the guilt that washes over you at the sight of his disappointment—disappointment that’s palpable despite his obvious attempt at eclipsing it with his worry for your safety.

he doesn’t say anything for another beat, and you take that as your cue to unplug your imaginary charger and lift yourself to your feet.

“well, i should get going,” you announce, just as he blurts something out that you fail to catch.

“…sorry,” you laugh—genuinely this time, “what did you say?”

“just—” he starts, voice lowered into a hushed whisper, suddenly appearing shy. “can we—i don’t know—call again when you get home?”

you hesitate, then remember that if things work out the way you planned them, you wouldn’t have to worry about the idea of it. still, you keep up the concerned act. “sure, kats, but don’t you have an early start tomorrow?”

“yeah,” he replies, “but another thirty minutes or so wouldn’t hurt.”

you can’t help it—you smile at that. bakugou seems to flush at the sight of you grinning knowingly, bringing up a scarred hand to rub at his face—a habit you’ve noticed he does whenever he feels embarrassed.

and, because you know telling him you miss him too would only fuel his embarrassment even further, you instead bite your tongue and wish him another happy birthday, but not before promising him you’d call as soon as you’re in bed and settled in your pajamas.

you wait for the tell-tale chime of a video call ending to go off before you dare to heave a sigh of relief.

the clamoring ensues in an instant.

“who knew bakugou was such a lover boy?”

from where she’s lounging on her suite’s expansive sofa, jirou flashes you a teasing smirk.

“excuse me,” denki exclaims from the queen-sized bed, “are we just going to breeze past the way he insulted me?”

you’ve got half a mind to comment on how you’d bet good money he’s already been pegged by the hearing hero, but decide against it—you still needed both of their help, after all. so instead, you bite your tongue, and gesture to the refrigerator.

“we don’t have much time, so we better get moving.”

“right.”

“o-kay.”

fortunately, it doesn’t take you a while to get things ready. denki manages to get the balloons inflated in record time, while jirou’s got the cake and champagne all set as you got changed into a much more flattering dress and touched up on your makeup. by the time you’re supposed to have arrived at your apartment unit way back in japan, the three of you are standing by the entrance of the musician’s hotel room, birthday paraphernalia placed in a fancy-looking cart you borrowed from reception, the air around you buzzing with nervous anticipation.

you check your watch for the umpteenth time, before looking back up to the two. “are you sure you guys don’t want to surprise him with me?”

jirou shakes her head. “nah, we already celebrated with him during dinner. we ought to give you guys some privacy to celebrate on your own.”

“yeah,” denki adds, “plus, i don’t want to be there in case things get nasty real fast.”

“denki!”

“dude!”

“what?” the electric hero cries, “kacchan can make sex jokes while i can’t?”

“you need to work on your timing, dipshit,” comes jirou’s reprimand, to which denki only pouts petulantly.

“well, i should get going,” you begin, reaching out to open the door. “he should be waiting for me to call by now.”

the two whisper their well wishes as you carefully roll the cart through the space, and you manage to mouth a quick thank you just before they quietly shut the slab of wood behind you.

you wait in the hallway for a second for denki to come out of the room and go back to his own, but that never comes.

well, then. you guess they’re not set on beating the allegations, either.

once you’re sure denki’s not coming out anytime soon, you take a shaky breath. meticulously, you let your eyes trail the row of doors that line the hallway, before they land on the number jirou supplied you with earlier today while you were still at the airport. pushing the cart that contains the lit cake and champagne—and even the dark orange balloons marking his age—right up to the doorway, you take another wobbly inhale.

suddenly, and in the face of finally seeing your boyfriend after over a month of being literally oceans apart, the exhaustion of travelling for hours dissipates from your system, leaving you almost shaking in nothing but excitement.

and you were about to lift your hand to knock on the door—really, you were—when, to your horror and without any warning, the door flings open, and you find yourself face to face with no other than the birthday boy himself.

you can only blink at the man who’s frozen midway through the passageway, his pretty face mirroring the utterly bewildered expression you’re sure you’re sporting right now.

you manage to gather your bearings first, the sole thing you can muster being: “…surprise?”

now, in the split second of thinking time this situation has granted you, you figured he’d likely curse in disbelief, maybe ask you what the fuck you’re doing here, but what you didn’t expect was for him to stand—unmoving—for a couple more seconds, before unceremoniously lifting you into a bone-crushing hug.

“katsuki!” you squeal, looping your arms around his neck and your legs around his body, holding on for dear life. “put me down!”

bakugou only squeezes you tighter in response, and you have no choice but to cling onto him for a beat longer, until he effortlessly puts you back on your feet, that same unbelieving look still painted across his features.

“what the—”

“—fuck am i doing here?” you finish for him, and he nods, scoffing out an astounded laugh.

you gesture to the cart beside you, and you make a swift mental note that the candle’s gonna go out anytime soon. “i wanted to surprise you for your birthday.”

and before he can say something in response, you jut in. “quick, make a wish and blow before it goes out.”

to your confusion, bakugou doesn’t even spare the cake a glance, gaze fixed on you.

“don’t have to.”

you frown. “what? hurry up, kats, it’s gonna—”

“i said,” he interjects, pulling you closer by your waist, and your hands shoot up to plant themselves against his chest, “i don’t have to.”

looking up at him, you gulp. “w-why?”

a smirk. “because you’re already here, dumbass.”

that's all the foreboding you’re given before you’re seized into a scathing kiss, and you barely manage to bite back a groan at the simultaneously foreign yet familiar feeling of bakugou’s lips against yours, even more so as he presses himself further against you, deepening the kiss. you let your hands snake up to bakugou’s neck as you feel his caress your sides, and you have to fight to ignore the shot of arousal that courses through you the moment his tongue breaches your mouth’s entrance, exploring it so hungrily like he hasn’t done so a million times before.

you probably stand there stuck to each other for a couple of minutes when a particularly hard bite on your lower lip lurches you back to reality—the reality that you’re very much still in a public space and that the last thing bakugou needs is to reach headlines for being seen aggressively making out with his girlfriend.

and so with much reluctance, you take a step back, and another when bakugou moves to chase your lips, before he finally gets the message and lets his arms drop to his sides, albeit somewhat begrudgingly.

you take the opportunity to chance another glance at the cake, and sure enough, the candle is already dead.

“we can just cut out the parts where the wax melted,” bakugou suggests when you don’t say anything for a minute, and you look back at him and smile, nodding.

neither of you says another word for a beat, resorting to just staring at each other with your mouths pulled taut into goofy grins.

it’s bakugou, though, who breaks the silence.

“you’re so fucking pretty.”

you flush, although you snort to hide your fluster. “i can’t be surprising my boyfriend looking like a hot mess, now, can i?”

“you can, you know,” bakugou replies without missing a beat, gesturing you inside, “and i’ll still think you look fucking pretty.”

you punch him in the arm as you file into his suite, which he takes in stride before pushing the cart in step behind you.

“since when did you become such a smooth talker?”

at that, bakugou laughs that gruff laugh of his as he closes the door and turns to regard you. “well, sue me for flirting with my girlfriend.”

“stupid,” you chuckle as you shake your head in amusement, before tossing him the sincerest smile you can muster. “i missed you, kats.”

before you know it, bakugou’s back on you in an instant, wrapping his arms around your torso almost too tightly, although you can’t find it in you to mind. “i missed you, too, baby.”

“were you in jirou’s room the entire time?” he asks after a moment of just standing there, limbs interconnected.

“yeah, they helped me keep the entire thing under wraps.”

“huh,” bakugou muses, rubbing absentminded circles on your waist. “didn’t know they were damn good actors. i had no idea.”

you grin. “i’ll take that as a win.”

a pause.

“you being here certainly is.”

you let out an exaggerated groan, pushing the man away and walking towards the foot of his bed, plopping yourself down onto the firm mattress. the motherfucker only laughs at you, although he’s quick to trail behind you and sit himself in the spot right next to you, not sparing you a modicum of distance.

“you know,” you start, side-eyeing the pro-hero as you take off your heels, “if you keep this up, i’m gonna start thinking you really missed me.”

“i’m fucked, then,” he retorts, “because i ain’t beating any of your allegations.”

you laugh again. “speaking of not beating any allegations, denki’s in jirou’s room right now.”

“what did i fucking tell you?”

“i know, i know. i just didn’t think they’d be so brazen about hooking up. they’re not even trying to hide it.”

bakugou sniggers, taking your hand in his. “should’ve made a bet with you.”

“you say that as if you’d take a single yen from me,” you rebut, to which he can only shrug, unable to argue with your point.

“enough about them, though,” you say a moment later, your hand still being massaged by bakugou. “what do you want to do?”

and when he only stares at you blankly: “for the rest of your birthday?”

“oh, right.”

you huff, lightly bumping your shoulder with his. “i mean, if you wanna go rest up, then we can do that, too.”

“quit being huffy,” bakugou chastises, “there is something i want to do.”

“really? what is it?”

bakugou lifts his gaze from where your hands are intertwined to meet yours, and one look is enough to tell you what he’s thinking.

you instantly feel yourself flame. “really? aren’t you too tired to do it?”

“nah,” he grins, “i was gonna jack off before sleeping, anyway.”

you snort. “of course, you were.”

“what?” he says defensively. “it helps me sleep better, especially after a long day of work.”

you study his face for another second, before nodding and moving to stand up, although you don’t get to go far because of bakugou’s hold on you.

“where are you going?”

“i have a hair tie in my purse,” you answer, “let me just go grab it.”

you try to step away again, but bakugou’s grip only tightens. you glance back at him, confused. “what?”

“who said i wanted you to suck me off?”

you frown. “aren’t you still tired, though? let me make you feel good, that way you can just lie in bed and take it.”

at that, bakugou shakes his head, pulling you back to him. despite yourself, you let yourself be dragged into the space between his legs, your hands placed on his shoulders while his take residence on your hips.

bakugou creens to look up at you, a serious expression etched on his features. “as fucking appealing as that sounds, that’s not what i want to do right now.”

“this thing i want to do—” he continues when you signal at him to keep going, “—is…new.”

“n-new?”

“yeah. new as in we’ve never tried it before, but i’ve been thinking about it, ever since shitty dunce face planted the idea in my head our first day here.”

you swallow. “first day?”

he nods. “it’s got something to do with—” his line of vision shifts towards something behind you, “—that.”

you look back behind you, and you’ve to stop yourself from gasping when your eyes land on it.

or rather, on the image of you and bakugou.

you whip your head to look at the man, unable to hide the shock on your face. “y-you want to do it—in front of—”

“the mirror, yeah,” he croaks, sounding like he’s trying to mask his own uncertainty, and yet, there’s no denying the determination in his voice. “only if you want to do it, too, of course.”

“yeah, no, of course,” you quickly say, “i-i want to. it’s just—frankly, i never thought of it before.”

“me too,” bakugou admits, “well, up until we arrived here and denki commented on how big the floor-length mirrors were.”

“…so naturally you thought of us having sex in front of it?”

that grants you a pinch at your side, and you squeak—more in astonishment than in pain.

“you forget that it’s my birthday, you fucking tease.”

“sorry, sorry,” you laugh, “i’m done. that was the last one.”

“that better be,” he warns, although it has no real bite to it.

“…so,” you try again after a lull, “how’d you wanna go about it?”

“here,” he gestures to the small space between his legs, “you can sit with your back turned towards me.”

“uh, sure.”

just as was instructed, you turn on your bare feet until you’re facing the mirror, and slowly sit yourself on the edge of the bed and in front of bakugou, although you’re not even fully perched against him yet, before you feel something stiff prod against your back.

you don’t get to comment on it, though, because he beats you to it.

“i know,” he huffs, seemingly self-conscious, not meeting the reflection of your eyes. “i don’t know why it’s turning me on this much, either.”

at that, you place a hand on the arm that’s circled your waist, and the other on one of his thighs, just as you flash him the most reassuring smile you can manage. “it’s alright, baby. i love it when you get this way.”

“y-you do?”

you playfully roll your eyes at him. “you know i do. now, hurry up. we don’t have all night.”

that earns you a disapproving tut, although you can see the amusement behind bakugou’s eyes in the mirror, and the very sight of it sends a wave of anticipation coursing through your veins.

jesus. when was the last time you were this excited?

“you know, for someone who’s eager to please her boyfriend on his birthday, you sure are being a brat.”

“and for someone who’s eager to try a new kink out, you sure are being slow.”

bakugou growls. “that’s it.”

you can only yelp as bakugou practically yanks the zipper of your dress down, and with it, the entire top portion of the ensemble; you don’t get to react or protest, though, because in a matter of a split second, bakugou’s hands are on your naked breasts, and you almost let out a loud moan when he gropes at them so roughly—you can feel your core throb at the all-too overwhelming sensation.

“fuck,” he groans in your ear just as you squirm in front of him, his grip on your chest unrelenting. “i’ve missed these.”

and, as if your breasts have a mind of their own, you feel your nipples stiffen at bakugou’s sentiment—a reaction that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pro-hero, who’s quick to tug at your pebbled peaks, rubbing circles and flicking on the flesh.

“shit, you like it when i tell you i’ve missed your boobs?” he rasps, and you can only rub your thighs together in response, eyes clenched closed in pleasure. “what if i tell you i’ve been jacking off every night to that picture of you in your lingerie?”

“you know the one,” he goads, squeezing firmly at your chest, “the one i gifted you that leaves nothing to the imagination?”

you nod—barely—but enough to indicate that you’re still listening, which you’ve learned the hard way is important if you didn’t want to trigger your katsuki. at your affirmation, bakugou lets out a satisfied grunt.

“now, get up,” he demands, “we need to get this fucking dress off of you.”

and off of you it goes. you don’t waste a second in heeding his order and discarding the sundress of the same shade of burnt orange off you, and you also take the chance to strip off your thong—the very one you went for despite the discomfort it brought just so you could surprise your boyfriend if ever things went the direction they are heading right now.

but you’ve barely tugged it off your hips when bakugou’s hand shoots up to stop you, and you look at him in bewilderment, mind only half-working with lust. “what?”

“keep it on,” he commands, “i want you to see how pretty you look when i finger you through your panties.”

well.

you know better than to argue with him at this point, so you only return to your seat that’s becoming smaller by the minute, with his erection taking up more space even against the straining fabric of his sweatpants. it’s only when you’re seated once again do you remember to finally look at the mirror, and when you do, the sight of you sprawled limp and bare against bakugou’s muscled frame causes you to moan out loud, to which bakugou could only curse in response.

“see, baby?” he spurs, tone desperate, “this is what i have to deal with every time we fuck.”

he scoffs, just as he brings a hand down to cup your sex. “and you wonder why i get so hard so fast.”

you whine, if not for his taunting, then at the lack of friction against your core, but you don’t get to do so for long before bakugou’s free hand grabs at your chin, forcing you to look straight into the mirror and at yourself.

“quit fucking whining and watch me finger you,” he spits, before: “and don’t even think about closing your eyes.”

that’s the last thing he says before he, true to his word, slips two fingers into your underwear and thrusts them into your hole with little to no warning. you’ve no choice but to moan at the intrusion—your eyes in the middle of fluttering closed when he grabs your face again and points it forward, all the while not stopping his pistoning of his ridiculously long digits in and out of you.

“just look at yourself, princess,” he hisses, “i love it when you look so fucked out like this.”

“uuuugh—”

bakugou snickers, not even giving you a heads up when he brings his other hand up to start rubbing figure eights on your clit. “can’t even form a proper phrase? that’s how good i’m making you feel?”

“uuugh—fuck—”

the pro-hero seems to take this as further encouragement, because he only presses harder against your bud, while the fingers that are nestled deep within you continue to rub oh-so deliciously against your walls.

the tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm come sooner than later after that, and bakugou notices it, too, because he doubles down on his ministrations the second you start violently shaking and thrashing in front of him.

“are you gonna cum, baby?” he whispers against your ear, and you can only nod, too distrusting in your capability to say yes without whimpering like a bitch in heat.

“look at the mirror, then,” he coaxes—gently, this time—softly bumping your head with his so you would turn towards your reflection.

and, because you want to please your boyfriend on his birthday—of all days—you do.

and the sight of bakugou’s big, strong hands pumping in and out of you and rubbing frantically at your clit while you moan and squirm right up against his big, strong body drives you well over the edge.

and you cum.

and cum.

and cum.

and you don’t know how much time passes with you lying flaccid on top of the pro-hero’s torso, but by the time you come to, bakugou’s rubbing soothing circles on your waist, while your arms lie slack on top of his that are circled around you.

you shift to look up at the man, who only smiles at you—so delicately, the way he does whenever he was feeling especially intimate—you wouldn’t think he was just roughhousing you a mere moment ago.

“what about you?” you eventually manage to croak out, eyebrows furrowing in apprehension.

“what about me?”

“you didn’t get to finish, birthday boy,” you say pointedly, shifting in your seat. but then it suddenly registers how wet your butt is, and you do a double-take to make sure you’re not imagining it, when bakugou confirms your suspicions.

“i came, too,” he confesses, voice betraying his difficulty of wrapping his head around what just happened. “i don’t fucking know how, but i did.”

“…wow,” is the only thing you’re able to say for a while, before: “we should do this more often.”

at that, bakugou snorts, shaking his head. “neither of us has a big mirror back home.”

to that, you toss him a mischievous smirk, before standing up and padding towards your purse in all your naked glory. you try to ignore the way bakugou’s definitely eye-fucking you as you hastily fish out your phone from its depths, quickly making a few taps before placing it on the coffee table, a triumphant smile on your face.

“what?” bakugou asks, mirroring your grin.

“you won’t believe what i just got you for your birthday.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[cameronsbabydoll]

jewish!rafe and reader dropping their kids off at summer camp and rafe fucking her after ୨୧

warnings: smut, light exhibitionism, implied breeding kink, possessiveness, sorta just a big theme of rich jewish vibes

the drive upstate was supposed to be peaceful.

iced coffees. spotify curated playlist. the kids too busy with their tablets in the back to notice you were crying silently into a tissue with chanel sunglasses on.

“you’re not really crying already,” rafe says, glancing over at you from the driver’s seat. he’s wearing his navy baseball cap, the one that makes his jaw look extra sharp. his toned forearm rests against the wheel, wedding ring glinting in the sun.

“they’re my babies, rafe,” you sniff, dabbing under your eyes. “i know it’s good for them. but still. they’re gone for six weeks. that’s, like, thirty-nine sleeps.”

“you paid extra to make sure they stay longer,” he deadpans.

“because it’s good for them. not for me.”

jacob chimes in from the back seat. “mom, please don’t cry at drop-off. you already embarrassed me last year.”

sarah agrees, tugging her rhinestone sunglasses down her nose like she’s the one raising you.

you shoot rafe a look. “they’re literally abandoning me.”

rafe bites back a smile. “you’re gonna be fine, drama queen. In fact,” he says, voice dipping low as he slides his hand up your bare thigh beneath your linen skirt, “i already have plans for when we get home.”

you swat him away half-heartedly. “rafe. the kids.”

“are going to be on a bus in ten minutes.”

drop-off is absolute chaos.

sarah’s suitcase rips open. jacob refuses to take a group photo. you’re trying to pass out organic snacks and fix your lip gloss while hugging them so tight it’s dramatic even for you.

rafe is trying to stay calm—one arm looped lazily around your waist, sunglasses on, nodding at other parents like everything is normal.

when the bus finally pulls away, you’re waving with both hands, lip trembling, tears silently streaming down your cheeks.

rafe watches you for a moment.

“you good?” he asks, gently brushing hair away from your face.

you nod, not even looking at him.

then: “they’ll be back before the summer’s even over.”

you don’t answer.

so he leans in, murmurs, “we’ve got three hours before that housekeeper comes.”

your head snaps toward him.

he smiles. “get in the car.”

the second the front door of the penthouse shuts, he’s on you.

your birkin drops to the floor. your heels are kicked off halfway to the bedroom. he peels your blouse open without hesitation, leaving your van cleef bracelet on as he lays you out on the bed like something delicate—even if his hands are anything but.

“you’re still crying?” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “poor baby. so emotional today.”

you whimper, threading your fingers into his curls as he presses his body against yours.

“i-i just hate when they leave,” you whisper.

“i know,” he says, rolling his hips into yours. “that’s why i’m gonna make you forget everything but me.”

he goes slow at first—luxurious strokes, his mouth on your chest, your neck, whispering how gorgeous you are, how hot you looked all teary-eyed at camp drop-off.

“you’re the hottest mom there, you know that?” he growls into your ear as you gasp beneath him. “all those dads were looking at you like they wanted to fucking die married to their wives.”

he pulls back, just enough to look down at you—hair messy, eyes wet, your jewelry catching the light.

“but you’re mine,” he says. “all mine.”

and when he finally lets you come—writhing, crying, whispering his name like it’s holy—he holds you after. kisses your shoulder. wraps the sheet around you like it’s a hug.

“i still miss them,” you breathe against his chest.

“i know,” he smirks, brushing his fingers through your hair. “but at least you got fucked like a good little wife today.”

the bedroom smells like your candle from bergdorf’s. the sheets are still messy from earlier, your birkin’s flopped over in the armchair, and you’re perched on the edge of the bed in your pale blue silk nightgown—matching robe half-off one shoulder like it slipped without you noticing. you’re all lit up by the glow of your phone, wine glass in hand, cooing at your children through facetime like you didn’t sob for twenty straight minutes this morning.

“did you eat your veggies, sarah?”

“jacob, did you put away all your clothes in the cabin?.”

“yes, mommy misses you too, so so much, my perfect babies—”

rafe walks in, towel slung low on his hips, water still glistening on his chest. he pauses in the doorway, squints.

“baby. what the fuck?”

you glance up, one hand over the mic like you’re in a board meeting. “i paid extra for a vip parent package. they let me facetime once a week.”

he just stares.

“they’re at sleepaway camp,” he says slowly, like maybe you forgot. “like in the woods. with counselors. and bugs. they’re not supposed to be on facetime.”

“they’re in the renovated cabin with wi-fi,” you correct, sipping your wine. “and i needed to see them. i was having a moment.”

rafe crosses the room, yanks the phone out of your hand just enough to peek at the screen. jacob and sarah are both in hoodies, looking vaguely annoyed.

“okay,” rafe says, leaning into the frame, towel still dangerously low. “time’s up, guys. your mom’s about to get really busy.”

“ew, dad!”

“gross!!”

he hangs up mid-protest, tosses your phone gently to the side table.

you blink. “rafe!”

“you’re insane,” he says, climbing over you, fingers already sliding under the hem of your slip. “you paid extra for camp facetime? baby, no wonder we didn’t get that amex bonus this month.”

you pout, squirming as he kisses your collarbone. “i missed them.”

“you’ll survive.” he pushes the straps of your nightgown down. “especially when you remember they’re gone for six weeks. and i’m gonna make sure you enjoy every single night without them.”

you gasp as he flips you gently onto your back, mouth hot against your skin.

“oh my god,” you breathe. “you’re such an asshole.”

but you’re smiling.

because you’re his princess—and now, with the kids gone, you’re his entire world.

[nerdygirlramblings]

is it finally happening? 🤷🏻‍♀️

previous

The day you are cleared to return to duty, Adam texts you to come to the admin building, that Price needs to see you. You make your way back, sluggish and insecure. You hate your heats; they are a tangible reminder of your secondary designation. Yes, alphas have their ruts. They too get lost to their designated. But theirs is a drive to take and claim. Yours is, unfortunately, a drive to be taken. Claimed. Owned. And nothing embarrasses you more than the war inside between your desire to be independent, recognized for your own work, and your omega's desire to be possessed.

You're sure this meeting is about the pack. Price himself said you needed to talk about being pack after your heat. It was something you've been thinking about since Ghost's rut and the conversation with your parents, but you desperately need it to be on your terms. You know you want a pack - you've stopped lying to yourself about that - and you know they're open to courting you, at least they were when you first joined. But maybe that's changed? Maybe Price wants to tell you all you'll ever be is their teammate. And the rational part of you embraces that idea, likes being without a pack, appreciates the idea that any pack you might join wouldn't possibly interfere with your work. But your omega is violently making her presence known, snarling in your head, snapping at you when you think it would be better if Price and the others don't want you anymore.

Because she desperately wants them.

You're a little worried that you might have even cried out for Price and Ghost during your heat. Medical would have heard, but they won't say. You were too afraid of what the answer would be, so you didn't even ask when you left this morning.

Adam looks up as you walk over, comfort and concern clear on his face. "How are you doing?" he asks gently. His gaze travels over you, and you know he's cataloging every inch of your haggard appearance. With a frown, he asks, "Are you sure you've been cleared?" Technically, yes, base medical said you could resume your duties but they didn't recommend that you should. At least not for another day or two. This heat was apparently harder on your system than the previous one and the two you'd had at your last post. You know it's because your omega found her pack, and you denied her access to them.

Instead, you paste a smile on your face and wave Adam's well-intentioned concern away. "Yeah, just a bit tired is all. A little kip this afternoon should fix it," you tell him.

His frown is more pronounced, but he doesn't push. "Okay." You hear the skepticism. "They're all in the conference room."

You draw in a quick breath, and you can't keep your voice steady when you say, "Conference room? All?!" You hate how you practically squeak out the last word. Adam nods, and you walk stiffly to the door. When you open it, you're shocked to see Laswell on the screen. How humiliating will this be? It's one thing for them to decide they don't want you and cut off that avenue before it starts. It's another to do it in front of the woman who tasks your missions. How much of a failure will she see you as now? Will she even want your help?

"Ren, thank goodness," Laswell says when she sees you on screen. "We were about to get started, but I needed you here first."

You look at Price, hoping for some guidance about why Laswell would start a conversation about you not becoming their omega without you. The look he gives you in return is one of pure confusion. For the first time since receiving Adam's text, you find yourself unsure of your footing. Adam never said why Price wanted to see you, only that he did. Maybe this isn't about being pack after all.

You slide into the seat next to Gaz, same as last time, and Laswell starts. "First, the plan you and Gaz had, Ren, to snatch bits of info from everyone in Spinner's orbit gave us so much information to sift through we had to bring on extra analysts." You hang your head, ready to be scolded for causing trouble with your hairbrained idea. "But we picked up a number of threads we probably would have otherwise missed," Laswell continues. "That was some great out-of-the-box thinking," she praises.

Next to you, Gaz sits a little straighter and says, "The idea was all Ren, Laswell."

"Then, my thanks, Ren," she says, addressing you directly. "Between the little crumbs we got, and the information about the previous function Spinner attended, we were able to connect several targets to potential illegal activity. Which is why I want you and Gaz to attend the dinner in Waterloo this week. I was able to not only get tickets but put you at a table near enough to Spinner he'll be bound to spot you. Captain Price said he seemed to take an interest in you. I need you to lean into that-"

Ghost lets out a low growl, loud enough to be heard in the room but too quiet for the mic to pick it up. Price clears his throat, and from the corner of your eye, you see Soap reach out and put a hand on the lieutenant's arm. All the while Laswell keeps talking.

"-and see if Spinner is interested enough to reveal anything else. I'll arrange for Adam to take you shopping again."

"An' I need another collar," you blurt. Laswell and the team look at you. "I know 'e's this well-meaning socialite on the surface, but 'e's dark. I can get close to 'im, but I'm not doin' it without a collar." You try to keep the fear from your scent, but you haven't started the blockers again, and you worry it bleeds through the patches you threw on in medical.

Thankfully, Price and Gaz support you. "You didn't see 'ow he was wi' her, Laswell," Gaz says as Price tells you, "We'd never send ya into a situation like that without havin' yer back." You hear the whisper of Ghost's voice add, "We protect wha's ours."

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed @honestlymassivetrash @thebumbqueen @maliamaiden @mordacioust @bina-passion-fruit @kittygonap @wanderingoperator @marsbars09 @kawaii-michealmyers @muraaaaaa @rpgsandstuff @casualhel @akilababs @thatbeach0 @night-shadowblood-writes2 @echo9821

[the-orion-inexpirience]

So.

The Octavinelle manga update.

I have. No normal person way of communicating how important this is to me.

So you'll just have to bare with me.

THIS IS EVERYTHING. I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH. OHHH THE MUSEUM SCENE IS GONNA KRILL ME........

GUYS WTFFFFF LOOK ATHEMMM FKWJHSJSDND SMFBSDBJWJD. KRILL ME RN

THEY BOTH GREW UP IN A FAMILY RESTAURANT AND BOTH LOVE GOOD FOOD. AZUL'S BEEN STATED SO MANY TIMES TO BE A GOURMET CHAT. IM TELLING YOU TH

Im not ok im not normal they're so kitchen songs tessa violet.

LOOK AT HIM LIKE GETTING ALL EMBARRASSED AND SJIT IM GONNA DIEEEEEE

I have many many thoughts thanks to one piece and dungeon meshi about. Food. And like showing care through that and it. And enjoying food being so directly tied to enjoying life.

Idk if that makes any sense im not thinking regular human person thoughts rn

I n A

Sidjjsjdjsjkdkkccmjdjsjskfjejjfbejduebdhbsjs

Yuuta.... This is everything ive ever wanted

AND AND AND LOOK LOOK AT HIN LOOK HOW HAPPY HE IS W THE ACCEPTANCE LETTER...

THEYRE SO LAYING IT ON THICK W THE HOUSEWARDENS PARALLELING THE HEROES AND THE VILLAINS AT THE SAME TIME THATS LITERALLY ARIEL'S COVE.

IM ON MY KNEES I SWEAR IM BUYING MULTIPLE COPIES OF THIS AS SOON AS THE PHYSICAL MANGA IS OUT.

Hes so perfect and important to me i cant even articulate wtf BUT WAIT THERES MORE.

THISS?? IS THE PICTURE CHAT.... WEVE WAITED SO LONG FOR IT AND HERE IT IS..... HE LOOKS LIKE A CHIIKAWA CHARACTER IM UNWELL.... BABYYYYYY HIS LITTLE BAG IS CONCH SHAPED IM GONNA CRYYYYUYYUUUEUUEUUU BABY AZUL LOOKING UP TO THE SEAWITCH BC SHE WAS AN OCTOPUS LIKE HIM AND GETTING A LITTLE CONCH SHAPED BAG?? SOBBING ON MY HANDS AND KNEES RN

ALSO POST OVERBLOT AZUL HAVING TO BE HELD BACK BY JADE WHO'S USING BOTH HANDS TO KEEP HIM THERE IS SO FUNNY TO ME 😭💕💕💕

AND AND AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST....

They... Th look at Yuuta chat...

THEYRERHDE THEYRE FRIENDS TH AOUGHUOUGHHH

I love azuyuu i wish gay ppl were real

OUGHOUGHH IM NOT OK ILL NEED LIKE 20-25 BUSINESS DAYS TO PROCESS THIS INFORMATION......

[trippinsorrows]

love lies

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

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

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

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

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

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

She should have broken it off a long time ago. 

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

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

Stay away from Roman Reigns.

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

Or, it was. 

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

Roman lost.

He lost. 

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

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

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

Something that felt and seemed inconceivable at the time.

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

She wonders if he still feels the same. 

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

Talk to her like that. It was…confusing. 

It all is, but especially that. 

Especially something so….personal. 

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

And, he always does. 

At one point or another. 

—-------

March, 2022

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

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

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

Or, at least, tried to.

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

Of course.

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

Go fucking figure.

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

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

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

Everything about him screamed power. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, I—”

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

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

The eyes of the Tribal Chief himself, Roman Reigns. 

—-------

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

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

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

She wasn’t his type. Too thin. 

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

But.

Alamea…she was most definitely his type. 

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

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

—------

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

Alamea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One he could absolutely learn to manage.

—-------

April, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna take this in a little more.”

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

“Man, you are magic, Lay Lay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled, “did you design this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—---------

May, 2022

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

Until then.

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

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

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

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

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

That was the hate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s just go.”

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

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

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

And, she was right.

It was just the two of them.

Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ….”

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

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

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

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

For this setting, at least. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s get out of here.”

—------

June, 2022

It’d become a routine really.

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

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

Always to her pleasure though. 

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

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

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

Except for her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, then it happened. 

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

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

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

What….the….fuck?

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

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

And with her. 

Peace with her. 

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

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

But.

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

—----------

July, 2022

“Does he eat pussy?”

“Mom!”

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not little, is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

Usually Martin or One Tree Hill. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If they could ever be more.

A dangerous line of thinking, for sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not what it could never be. 

—----------

July, 2022

It happened again.

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

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

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

“Tell me something about you.” 

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

And yet….

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

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

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

He chuckled. “Definitely not like you then.” 

“And my oldest sister, Paris—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t say anything after that. 

Neither did she.

—-------

November, 2022

Oh hot damn, this is my jam

Keep me partying 'til the AM

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

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

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

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

Jimmy was a good ass DJ.

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

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

Some mess, it certainly was. 

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

The group cheered, as Roman sighed heavily. 

Over his dead body. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were all a hot fucking mess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

On him.

Roman’s jaw clenched.

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

Wait, no. That wasn’t his name.

Fuck.

What was it?

Shmuel?

Yeah, that!

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

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

On his lap.

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

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

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

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

You wanna see some ass?

I wanna see sum cash

Keep dem dollars comin

And das gonna make me dance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, he didn’t.

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

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

But, Roman stopped him.

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

Paul left the Tribal Chief alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was this a part of your plan?

I don't really understand what to do

What to do with a boy like you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—------

December, 2022

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

But, that was exactly what she got.

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

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

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

Physically and emotionally. 

“Where the hell have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He fucking hated seeing her cry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-----

2023

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

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

It was an…adjustment for her, for sure.

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

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

In not the best ways.

Ways that were starting to directly impact his Bloodline.

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

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

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

Even if it was true. 

He still had Solo. Still had Jimmy.

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

If only she felt the same. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

—----------

2024

He never said goodbye. 

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

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

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

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

It was the one following Mania. 

His loss at Mania.

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was Jacob.

He was just fucking terrifying. 

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

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

At the head of the table.

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

Roman never showed up.

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

Never replied to any of her calls and texts. 

He’d completely abandoned them. 

Abandoned her.

And, he never even said fucking goodbye. 

—-------

August, 2024

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

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

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

She’d paled. 

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

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

Win the Undisputed Title from Cody Rhodes.

Roman’s title.

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

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

It was a common, shared understanding thing.

Not for Alamea. 

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

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

“Distract his ass!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Go to hell, Solo.”

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

Solo, however, he was enraged.

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

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

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

The hell you are.

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

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

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

But, it didn’t. 

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

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

But, then she saw it. 

She saw him, and he looked livid.

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

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

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

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

—---------

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

That she was finally done after that.

But, she can’t.

She can’t because that would be a lie. 

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

Sure. 

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

No. No, she was not alright.

“I’m fine.” 

A lie. A fucking lie.

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

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

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

You abandoned me.

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

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

Leaving me here.

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

That definitely didn’t help. 

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

He was silent.

“You think I don’t care?”

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

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

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

Divine.

He was divine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was too good at this.

Way too good.

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

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

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

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

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

It made her even wetter.

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

Damn you.

“You missed me?”

Her eyes widened. This bastard. 

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

Her head dropped back when he hummed and blew on her clit, fingering the wetness on her inner thigh. “That wasn’t an answer, baby girl.”

Damn him.

He always knew just what to say, when to say it, and how to say it. It always did her something different when he used nicknames like that. Even calling her Ally. But, it was when he placed a long, languid kiss up her pussy that he finally evoked the response he was clearly looking for.

“Fuck,” she cursed, ready and willing to say whatever he wanted to get exactly what she wanted. “Yes, yes, I missed you, okay? I missed you.” A desperate confession born from need and borderline pain.

It pained her to not have him.

Another haughty smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

Like most, if not all, sexual interactions, Roman ate her out until she was seeing stars, moon, skies, Jupiter, Mars, and anything else not of this world. His arrogance was astounding to many, and rightfully so, but for her, someone who’d been on the receiving end of that magical tongue of his, it simply wasn’t enough.

He was too good. 

And, he always knew just how and where to get her for when it was that time. Time for him to spread her thighs, and slide every inch of that thick, long dick of his inside of her. And, when he did, for the first time in much too long, they were both moaning together. He kept his grip on her hips, her fingers dug into his back, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

It’d been a while, so there was a bit of discomfort, maybe even pain, but that easily and quickly morphed into that pleasure only he could bring her. 

“Missed this so much,” he groaned, deep voice in her ear as he drove into her, filling her to the hilt. “Thought of this—of you—the entire fucking time.”

She moaned, seeing the hiss leave his mouth as her nails raked up and down, laying claim to him. “L–liar.”

She could have sworn the faintest hint of a smile appeared on his face before he shifted his hips and somehow found a way to dig into her even deeper. “Shit,” she cursed. “You’re so deep in me.”

“Course’ I am,” was his cocky ass reply, though again, well warranted. “No one else can fuck you like this, Ally.” 

Ally.

God, it’d been too long since she’d been called that. Called that by him. The only person she wanted to hear said name from. 

She was having a hard time keeping the noise down, keeping from screaming, the intensity of his thrusting causing the headboard to smack into the wall repeatedly. She was certain they were going to put a hole into it. 

“You think I don’t care?” He asked, having switched positions so that one of her thick legs was over his shoulder, her other leg locked around his waist. He was pounding her. “That it didn’t kill me to be away from you that long?”

It certainly didn’t feel like it. Not while he was gone, but in that moment, with him etching and memorializing his place and autonomy over her body with his dick, she could feel it. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was, was unprepared to admit that it was care. Not really.

The sex. He could have just missed the sex. Not her. 

He, unlike her, seemed to be able to separate the two.

If only she was so lucky. 

When he put her on her hands and knees, she’d braced for something else. Rougher. Less….whatever that was. It was his favorite position on especially stressful days. He’d use her body as a ragdoll of sorts, jerking her back and forth, heavy balls slapping against her bountiful ass the same way her Double D’s flopped all about. Erratic and aimless. He’d use it—and her—to decompress from the heaviest of stressors, and she took it all. 

She took everything he gave her, because it was mutually satisfying. He fucked her until she couldn’t feel anything else, couldn’t take anything else, all the while he got his own sort of fill and salacious unloading. 

It just worked.

But, this was different, there was something almost…..sensual. He fucked her hard and deep, but he also kept that big body leaned over hers, continuing to pour into her all of the right—or wrong—words.

“Mmmm. Look how good this pussy molds to my dick. Shit made for me and me only.”

“You making a fucking’ mess all over these nice as sheets. Your Tribal Chief loves how wet this pussy gets for him.”

“Fucking perfect, Ally. I can never get enough of you.”

“That’s it, baby. Take this dick.”

“Trying to act like you didn’t miss me but milking the shit out of my cock. You a terrible liar, baby girl.”

They fucked throughout the night. Various locations. Several positions. Respites never lasting longer than twenty minutes, though none of it really shocked her. Alamea learned a long time ago if she was with Roman, alone, a bed or any other type of flat surface in the vicinity, she’d always end up with her legs in the air.

That wasn’t the problem.

Afterwards was the problem.

He didn’t leave. Not after the shared shower where he ended up on his knees eating her pussy like it was his midnight snack, a necessity in order for him to slumber. Not even after they—eventually—made it out of the shower, where she’d expected him to grab his clothes and redress, preparing to leave.

No, he instead made his way over to the bed, stark naked, climbing in and clearly waiting for her.

Or, something, at least.

She climbed in shortly after him, not needing to position herself. He did that for them, pulling her atop his body. Silence fell among them. Welcomed but not helpful.

They needed to talk. 

“I care, Ally,” he spoke into the dark, voice low and what some might consider vulnerable. “Too much.”

She said nothing, unable to ignore the unspoken “I’ve always cared” that lingered in the room. 

—-----------

The appearing and disappearing act continued. A bit of a detriment, in Alamea’s eyes, given all that happened since Roman’s grand return. New title as the OTC aside, it’d been nothing but back and forth between him and the New Bloodline, because, of course, his pride and hubris remained unchanged. He believed himself able to handle them all on his own. 

She knew he couldn’t, and deep down, she knew he knew that, too. But, for as long as she’d known him, Roman’s pride was one of his biggest downfalls. He’d continue to end up in the situation he was in until he realized that he needed help.

And, to her credit, she tried to reason with him. Using their pillowtalk for those occasions where he showed up and they fell back into their old routine to talk some sense into him. But, it was always the same thing.

“I’ve got this, Ally.”

He didn’t. He didn’t have it. And, she knew as much when he agreed to team with Rhodes at Bad Blood. 

Knew that if there was an opportunity, that was it, so she did what she had to do. 

Reached out to Jimmy. She’d spoken with him every so often ever since his little brother and his new Bloodline put Big Jim out of commission for six long months. Stressed with him how Roman needed him.

Roman needed help.

And like the loyal family member he was, he showed up. 

Right when Roman needed him the most. 

She’d been on the sidelines of that match, saw the shock and appreciation, subtle vulnerability in Roman’s expression as he stared up at Jimmy in that ring. Saw his lips moving, asking, “you called the play?”

The way Jimmy nodded, pointing to her, Roman’s eyes setting on hers, locking.

“For you,” she mouthed. 

Because, she had. She did it for him.

She did a lot for a man who, really, didn’t do much for her in return.

Not….not what she really wanted, at least. 

But, Jimmy’s return kickstarted something. Restarted what was starting to feel like the good ole' days. Jey was recruited, though he’d made it clear it was less about helping Roman and more about getting his receipt on Solo and his crew following them costing him his title. Sami returned simply to help Jey. No other reason.

A disastrous show at Crown Jewel, however, revealed that while they were together, they weren’t united, and that was a problem.

A big problem. 

One of many problems, as Roman still refused to humble himself, even as the group went around trying to recruit a fifth and final member for War Games. The match that was supposed to determine once and for all who the real Bloodline was.

Except, they couldn’t find a fifth member.

Until they did.

And, Roman hated it. Hated him. CM Punk. Though, she couldn’t blame him. That history ran deep, and so did the hurt.

In getting to know Roman better, learning him, she’d realized that underneath that harsh, hardened exterior was an unhealed man.

It sometimes made her wonder if…if that was why he never gave any indication of wanting more from them. Wanting more of her beyond just what she could provide him sexually.

If something held him back.

If someone.

Regardless, it didn’t matter anyway. They had more important issues, because even though they came out with the dub at War Games, Solo was still refusing to relinquish his “claim” to the title of Tribal Chief.

This meant another match was needed. 

Just the two of them.

Roman vs Solo in Tribal Combat.

Like most things, Roman didn’t outwardly admit it, but she could see it. See that he hated it came to this, hated that despite everything that happened, he still loved his cousin.

But, Roman knew what had to be done. And, he did. He came out on top, hailed as the Undisputed Tribal Chief. It seemed like things were starting to gradually fall into place.

Seemed that way, at least.

—-------

Alamea wouldn’t say that it went downhill after Tribal Combat on Netflix, but one could argue that, in some ways, it went downhill after Tribal Combat on Netflix.

Roman was so determined and focused on winning back his title, on entering and winning the Royal Rumble to secure a chance to do just that, that he’d lost focus on something else.

Something important.

Something that was currently biting him in the ass.

The favor.

Punk’s favor owed to him by Paul Heyman. She had a feeling, a big feeling, actually, that somehow, someway, that favor would end up screwing over Roman. And, sadly, she was right.

He was being screwed over.

Back to back. 

Punk eliminating him at the Rumble.

Seth injuring him at the Rumble, thus ruling him out for Elimination Chamber, his last opportunity to challenge Cody for the title. 

The constant back and forth between him, Seth, and Punk all culminating to the grand reveal of the big favor. That Punk wanted Paul with him, in his corner, at their match at Mania. 

And right then and there, Alamea knew where things were headed. What was happening.

Betrayal.

Roman was being betrayed.

Again.

And this….this, he couldn’t ignore.

Couldn’t not talk about. She couldn’t see how deeply it was impacting him without at least trying again to get him to open up.

Alamea woke up in the middle of the night, alone, but not alone. Reaching for his shirt, she slid it over her body, walking out to the balcony of her hotel room. That’s where he was, sitting and looking out over the city, alive and surprisingly bustling considering it was the middle of the night. 

Cali things, apparently.

Pushing back some of her hair, she sat down next to him, unsurprised at how he kept his gaze on the city, not even bothering to look at her.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did he. 

Not at first.

“It’s funny how much a year can change,” he spoke, deep voice low and laden with something indecipherable. “This time last year, I was untouchable.” 

She remained silent. There was nothing to say to that, because he was right. He was literally on top.

Alamea watched his face distort into something bitter and resentful. “I should’ve tightened my grip on this company’s neck.” A sudden relaxation of his hard features as he chuckled bitterly. “It was the Wise Man that taught me diplomacy.” His voice suddenly mocking as he recited something she’d also heard Paul repeat almost a dozen times. “You gotta think politically.”

She licked her lips, moving closer to him. He reached a hand to her thigh. “I tried to help everyone.” A dip in his tone. Sadness. “Most of them don’t understand what a helping hand really looks like. What that really feels like.”

She frowned. “Roman…”

“What do I get for it?” A rhetorical question, his head shaking, hand squeezing her thigh just enough. “Netflix…TKO….Billion dollar deals.” Truths that could not be denied. There was 100% no question that the company had been as successful as it’d been the past few years because of the man next to her. “And somehow, I’m out on my ass.”

“Roman.” She placed her hand on top of his, taking and squeezing it. “You’ll get past this.”

Her words, however, didn’t seem to penetrate. “I lift everybody up and somehow….no one’s got enough respect….to just be true to their Tribal Chief.” He swallowed, jaw clenched. “To be true to me.”

So what does that make me?

An almost bitter question she forced herself to keep safe within the confines of her mind. She’d never been one to kick a man when he was down. 

A quiet fell over them followed with an almost whispered, “lessons learned.” She ran her thumb over his knuckles as he turned to look at her for the first time. “We don’t lose.” She pressed her lips together. “We learn.” Unable to help herself, she reached to cup his face, his salt and pepper beard bristling against her palm. “Don’t trust anyone.” Words that didn’t seem to meet his eyes. Not as he looked at her.

“You can trust me, Roman,” she whispered. “You have to know that.” As much as she wished that gentle reminder would prompt a different expression, one of acceptance and appreciation, it didn’t. He still looked torn. Conflicted. The weight of it all fully visible for her to see. “I’m here. Right now. With you. Does….does that not mean anything?”

Do I not mean anything?

A question she’d wondered since their meeting three years prior. 

A question, one day, she knew, she’d have to ask. But, not that night.

Again, it wasn’t about her, and she wasn’t prepared to try to make it about her. 

Even if….even if there was a conversation they needed to have about her, about them. She couldn’t. Not tonight, at least. Soon. Most likely after WrestleMania, where he was likely to take another break.

“You sticking around?” His voice broke her from her thoughts. Even. An admirable attempt to remain indifferent and unbothered, but she knew better. Could see past it. Could see the hesitation and uncertainty swimming in his eyes. 

Her answer was interesting to her, because at one point, it would be different. Another response than the one she would give him. An answer that was a bit of a necessity. 

If for some reason, she didn’t want to stick around, that option seemed like no longer an option.

She didn’t have the choice to not stick around anymore. 

“Yeah,” she answered, lowering her hand and scooting closer to him. Roman moved his arm around her, kissing the top of her head. She snuggled into him, hand on his chest. “I’ll stick around..."

—----------

She needs to talk to him. 

Not a text. 

Not a phone call. 

No waiting around for him to find her after the fact, when he feels like being bothered with her. 

She needs to talk to him, in person, and now.

It’s why, despite the massive weight of nerves sitting on her chest and rumbling in her stomach—unless that’s another symptom—she finds out where his locker room will be. Because of course, title or no title, the Tribal Chief always has his own space at every show. 

Never to share with others except his Bloodline.

Whatever that means and looks like these days. 

Determined or not, it doesn't stop the fact that there are a million and one things she’d rather be doing right now. Literally anything else. Anything. But, almost two weeks of sitting on this is already too long. Every day that passes without her saying anything just delays the inevitable. 

She has to tell him at some point, and him making an unadvertised appearance at the show tonight is the perfect opportunity to do so.

Standing outside the locker room, Alamea forces herself to push back the urge to run away and hide. In every and all the ways. Makes herself knock three times, waiting, foot tapping, arms crossed outside the door. 

It doesn’t take long for the door to open, and while she’s not sure who she expected to see, it certainly isn’t him.

Paul looks nervous, but that’s to be expected. He should be.

Roman is gonna fuck him up.

He clears his throat, stepping outside, standing in the doorway. Almost intentionally. “Ms. Dixon, what a sur—”

“Cut the crap, Paul.” A terse interruption, somewhat unlike her character, but between that and the fact that this bastard clearly made his choice regarding whose team he’s on, she really doesn’t have much of anything to say to him. “Do you know when he’s set to get here?”

Normally, it would be posed as a “when” versus a “do you,” but again, Roman’s long-term Wise Man has found himself in that space below the doghouse these days, so what he knows has, she’d bet, become severely limited.

He stutters with his response. “Well, you know as well as I do, the Tribal Chief comes and goes as he ple—”

“That’s not what I asked you.” She closes her eyes, shaking her head. This is already hard enough, and the fact that she’s now, of all times, getting a sudden wave of that damn nausea is just icing on the fucking cake. “Never mind, I’ll just wait for him.”

Because he’s bound to show up sooner or later, and she’d rather the sooner so they can get this over with now, even if something tells her this discussion is better served for after the show. 

After WrestleMania, like she was initially thinking. But, there's something....something that won't let her wait any longer.

He...he deserves to know.

But, it’s when she goes to walk past Paul, into the room, he moves, shifts his big body, blocking her.

She frowns.

What the hell?

An insincere smile followed by a bullshit excuse or reason. However he sees it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her frown deepens. What? “I always used to hang out in the Bloodline locker room.”

A fact. When not working and helping the few superstars she was allowed to work with, Alamea would oftentimes spend the majority of her time in the locker room, laughing and bantering with the twins. Sometimes, it was just her and Roman. He’d kick everyone else out so he could focus before a match.

Never her though. 

And, Paul knows this, so she’s even more confused by his reluctance.

“I understand that.” More insincerity, except something else now. He’s nervous. Even more than he was when he first opened the door. “But, I just think tonight you’d be better served somewhere—”

“Who is that?”

Another voice.

Not hers. 

Definitely not Paul’s and most definitely female.

Familiar, too.

Alamea’s frown deepens once more, as she watches how Paul’s eyes go wide, his body angling towards inside the room. 

“Oh, nothing, just—”

“Who’s in there?” She asks. Nothing else. Voice still. Dangerously still.

A now frantic almost gaze switched back onto her. “Uhh—

“I said who is that, Paul?”

Again, the female voice from inside the room. More attitude. A lot more attitude. 

Something comes over Alamea as she subconsciously starts putting the pieces together. Something that makes her shove past the obese men, uncaring of how he stumbles and almost falls to the ground. She’s too busy putting a face to a voice, an act that gives her the most unexpected answer.

It’s not the fact that Jaida Parker in Roman’s locker room that bothers her.

Nor is it even the fact that the NXT star that she’d heard had been out on injury the past few months is looking her up and down with a sort of contempt. 

No, it’s the fact that Jaida Parker is standing before her, mean mugging her, with one hand on her hip and the other on her slightly swollen belly. 

Her pregnant belly.

And, it’d be maybe nothing to think about, but not for the fact that one look at a now standing Paul, the immense, sheer panic and terror on his face, that gives it away. That puts all the pieces together for one damning ass puzzle. 

Jaida’s scowl shifts into an almost knowing smirk as she rubs her stomach. Salt on an open, gushing wound. “Oh, you that lil seamstress girl that used to be with the Bloodline, huh?” She scoffs. “I didn’t even know you was still around.”

Not anymore.

Alamea says nothing. She has nothing to say, or maybe she has a lot to say but none of it nice nor appropriate, and really, her gripe is not with the haughty woman before her. Or, even the complicit accomplice. 

It’s with him, but they’re words that will never be spoken, because she’s done.

Done with it all. Done with this job. Done with WWE. Done with him.

Alamea turns on her heel, marching out past Paul, out of Roman’s locker room, and though he doesn’t know it yet, out of his life.

[porcelainstarrr]

CHAPTER 9

⌖ continued scene from chapter 8

We didn’t speak after that.

Not really.

Not after the tension, the storm of it, the weight that threatened to swallow the room whole. Not after the heat in his eyes and the way he stepped away like I had done something wrong. Like I was the one who crossed a line.

We stood there for a moment.

In silence.

And just before I turned to leave, before I gathered the last pieces of my self-respect off the floor, he said it-

“You were right to end the session early.”

That sentence.

That fucking sentence.

It rang in my ears like a slap. It was the gentlest knife I’d ever been handed, and I walked straight into it. I didn’t respond. I didn’t look back. I just walked out, head high, heart somewhere on the floor behind me.

─────── ⌖ ───────

Content Warning: This chapter contains emotionally intense scenes, mature themes, and physical intimacy (non-explicit). Read with care. 18+ recommended.

─────── ⌖ ───────

CHAPTER 9

⌖

Hours later, I was home.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

But it didn’t feel like mine tonight. The lights stayed off. The curtains stayed closed. My coat never made it to the hook. I didn’t eat. I didn’t shower. I didn’t even change. I just lay there on top of the covers, limbs loose, mouth dry, breathing shallow.

No music.

No TV.

Just the sounds of Hell’s Kitchen outside my window muffled sirens, distant yelling, engines, footsteps, laughter, the city doing what it always does: moving on.

I stayed still.

I couldn’t get the scene out of my head.

Him.

His voice.

The way he looked at me.

The fucking nerve of him pulling away after everything. After weeks of building something that felt… real. Present. Emotional. The way he made me feel like I was losing my mind for noticing, like I was imagining things.

Like, I was the problem.

I turned my head on the pillow, eyes dry and wide. And then I saw them.

The cards.

Tucked between a stack of books on my nightstand. Two of them. One from the lilies. One from the cake.

Happy birthday.

Again, happy birthday.

No names. No handwriting analysis needed. Just... the ache of knowing.

I sat up slowly. Reached for them.

Held them in my hand like they were evidence.

And that’s when it hit.

Like a match dragging across bone-

Fire.

I was on fire.

Chest tight. Breath sharp. I was so goddamn mad. At him. At myself. At the silence. At the confusion. At how he toyed with the line between vulnerability and manipulation, like it was a game only he knew the rules to.

He watched me from the windows.

He gave me lilies.

He improved in our sessions.

He kissed me with his eyes and then made me feel ashamed for even noticing.

And then tonight? That writing task? That smirk?

“You were right to end the session early.”

Like, I embarrassed myself. Like I overstepped, like I was delusional for feeling the shift he started.

No. Fuck that.

I was done playing nice. I had something to say. A lot, actually.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I was already moving. Shoes. Keys. Phone. No plan.

Just fury.

Fury and muscle memory.

I don’t remember the train ride. Or the streets. Or the cold.

But somehow, I was there.

At the gate.

Back at the facility.

It was quiet. Different. The usual daytime buzz was gone. No receptionists. No admin. Just night shift guards, most of them tucked behind glass booths, drinking from thermoses, rotating posts. Fewer eyes. Fewer rules.

Lucky me.

I didn’t badge in.

I couldn’t.

My ID swipe would leave a timestamp, an automatic entry log. Questions. Reports. I’d be done. So instead, I went around. I knew there was a service access near the north wing used by maintenance staff, emergency exits, and deliveries. It had a motion-sensitive lock, only used during security drills and authorized reroutes.

Most people didn’t know about it.

I did.

Back when I first got this job, I obsessed over the building layout. Learned its corners like I was preparing for a siege.

So I found it.

Dark alley. Locked door. I crouched low, slid the card from my coat sleeve, an emergency override given to internal psych leads. For crisis evaluations only.

Tonight felt like a crisis.

The green light blinked once.

Click.

I was in.

Dark corridors.

Dimmed lighting.

Silence like a held breath.

I moved quickly. Soft steps. No badge scans, no cameras in this wing, only periodic guard rotations every half-hour. And judging by the echo down the hall, they were somewhere near the south end.

His wing was clear.

I reached it. The hallway was long, sterile, all metal, and muted in color. The last door on the left.

My breath was hot in my throat. My fingers curled into fists.

This wasn’t just about answers. This was accountability.

I reached for the handle, still furious, still burning, and I heard it-

Footsteps.

Not far.

Shit.

I opened the door, slipped inside, and shut it fast.

No sound. No slam.

Just in.

Safe.

And then-

There he was.

Dex.

Sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, black headphones over his ears, his recorder resting on his lap.

So fucking casual.

He didn’t react immediately. Probably thought it was just a guard.

But then… he looked.

And his expression shifted.

First confusion. Then awareness. Then, concern.

He sat up straighter.

Took the headphones off slowly.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, low.

I stared at him, frozen.

“I have a lot to say,” I said, my voice quiet but sharp.

He stood. Fast.

Crossed the space between us in two long steps.

“Get in the closet,” he said.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

His voice dropped. Urgent now.

“Get in. Now. Go.”

“What-”

“Trust me. Go in. Now.” 

He nudged me gently, but firmly, toward the side door. For some reason some insane reason, I listened.

I stepped in.

He closed the door behind me.

Darkness.

Tight space.

A few peepholes near the slats.

I crouched. Waited. My heart is in my throat.

I heard the door to his room open, a guard. Muted conversation. Dex’s voice. Calm. Cool. Nothing suspicious, once the guard was gone. I heard the door shut, his footsteps retreating down the corridor, fading into the kind of silence that only exists in high-security buildings after hours, sterile and suffocating.

Then-

Click.

A loud one.

Heavy. Mechanical. Final.

It wasn’t from Dex.

It wasn’t from the guard.

It wasn’t just the door.

It was every door.

The entire hallway.

Shit.

The lockdown.

My breath caught mid-inhale.

No.

No, no, no. I forgot.

Midnight sharp.

Every night, without fail.

The system initiates automatically. Total lockdown of the isolation wing. Every reinforced door seals shut. No override. No access until morning. It’s a security protocol part of the psychiatric containment standards. No staff are allowed in after midnight. No staff are expected to be here.

I am not supposed to be here.

And now I’m trapped.

Inside. With him.

As the realization rolled through my chest, I heard another sound, a low mechanical hum. Overhead, the lights shifted, dimmed slightly. A subtle change, but it made my skin crawl. Less clinical. More... bedtime. Like the building itself was telling me to lie down and sleep. My fingers curled into my knees where I sat, still crouched in the darkness of the closet. My back pressed to the wall. The air was already too warm. Too close.

I had no plan for this.

What was I thinking?

What the hell was I trying to prove?

I hadn’t moved. I hadn’t said a word.

I was frozen in place.

Then, from somewhere in the room, I heard his voice. Calm. Low.

“You can come out now.”

I didn’t respond.

I couldn’t.

His voice came again, a little closer this time- 

“Are you going to sit in there the whole night?”

Still nothing from me.

My tongue felt heavy. My thoughts were running in circles.

What have I done?

I’ve never broken a rule before. Not really. Not like this. I’ve always been the follow-every-policy, double-check-my-clipboard, get-it-approved-in-triplicate kind of woman. And now I was hiding in a patient's closet. At midnight. In a federal facility. I curled into myself slowly, my limbs folding tighter. My forehead met my knees. My hair fell forward like a curtain, shielding me from the tiny slivers of light filtering through the wooden slats. I breathed through my mouth, quiet and shallow.

I was spiraling.

Hard.

You’re going to lose your job.

Your license.

Everything.

You’re going to be reported.

Fired.

Discredited.

You’re going to be a headline.

I hugged my knees tighter. The closet was small. Uncomfortably so. I could feel the cold wall of the closet pressing against my back, and the cold floor beneath me. I thought I might cry- just let it out, just a little. But I couldn’t.

There was too much.

I was too full of it.

Embarrassment. Shame. Anger.

Why am I like this?

Why did I come here?

Why can’t I stop thinking about him?

Then-

Light.

The closet door opened.

A sharp burst of brightness flooded the tiny space, cutting through my cocoon of denial. But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t lift my head. I stayed right where I was, hoping that if I stayed small enough, still enough, this would all just-

“Well…”

His voice.

Dry.

Low.

A little too amused.

“…You’re well-adjusted.”

The motherfucker.

I still didn’t move. Not at first.

But my voice found its way out of me, muffled against my knees. “I’m not supposed to be here.” The words barely filled the space. But somehow, he heard them.

A pause.

Then, softer now-

“I know.”

I felt something shift. I don’t know if it was in him or me. Slowly, I lifted my head. My eyes squinted against the light overhead, harsh at first, then clearing, he was standing over me.

Tall. Still. Just looking.

And in the way the light hit him from behind, casting a faint glow around the edges of his hair, his shoulders, he looked almost unreal.

Like a fucking angel.

An angel with a high kill count.

My breath caught for a second. My chest tightened, my arms still hugging me.

He didn’t say anything else.

Just stared.

And that’s when it hit me.

All over again.

That white-hot rush.

The rage.

The thing that brought me here in the first place.

The gift.

The drawing.

The smirk.

The look.

The writing exercise.

‘You were right to end the session early.’

That sentence burned its way through my brain like acid.

He made me feel like I had done something wrong.

Like I was weak.

Like I was imagining all of this.

When he was the one who started it.

He watched me from the goddamn window.

He sent me birthday gifts and left me guessing.

He started talking. Opening up. Trusting me.

He kissed me with his eyes and made me feel like I was spiraling for it, and now? Now I was locked in his fucking room for the night like I was the one who lost control.

And maybe I did.

But I wasn’t going to sit in this closet and cry about it.

Not anymore.

I remember why I’m here.

The moment slams back into me like a goddamn freight train.

"You son of a-“ I hiss, shooting up from the closet floor so fast I almost lose balance.

My palm hits his chest.

Hard.

It’s the only thing I can think to do, push him. Get him away from me. Shove all the weight off my chest and into him.

He doesn’t budge.

Didn’t even flinch.

Of course, he didn’t.

“a- bitch!" I finish, voice cracking through the syllables as I storm out of the closet like it was a prison cell. “You’re the reason I’m here!” I spin around to face him fully now, my hands gesturing wildly as all of it, every emotion, every thought I’ve swallowed, erupts from my chest in one long, tangled mess of anger and pain. “I came here to yell at you! That’s what this was! That’s why I walked through those fucking gates like a lunatic, like a psychopath because I needed to scream at you! I was mad and confused and humiliated.”

He doesn’t move.

Just watches me.

His expression was unreadable.

Too unreadable.

And that only pisses me off more.

“You made me feel like I was in the wrong,” I spat. My voice trembles, not because I’m scared, but because I’m done trying to keep it together. “You made me feel like I crossed a line. Like, I was unprofessional. Like I imagined, everything! Like I made this whole thing up!” I’m pacing now. My fingers curl into fists, nails biting into my palms as I talk louder, faster, angrier. “You started this. You. You watched me from the window like some kind of stalker, and I let it slide. I thought maybe it was my imagination, maybe I was losing it until you started acting like you gave a damn. You started engaging in our sessions. You gave me the damn writing prompt answers like they meant something. Like I meant something.” My voice breaks. I catch it. Force it back. “But then you sent me the flowers. The card. The cake. Don’t pretend you didn’t. And then the drawing. A lily, Dex. A fucking lily. My favorite.” Still, he doesn’t speak. He’s just standing there, still as a statue, watching me burn alive in the middle of his room. And I hate how steady he looks. How quiet.

“What was it?” I demand. “Some twisted test? See how far you could push me? See if I’d crack and become just another case study? Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think I wouldn’t put the pieces together?”

Nothing. No answer. Just that same maddening look.

“And then today, today you made me feel like a fucking idiot.”

I stop pacing.

I look him in the eye.

He’s close enough now that I can see the faint scruff on his jaw, the sharp line of his mouth. His chest was rising and falling slowly. Controlled. Mine isn’t. “I tried to act normal. Like this was normal. Like writing those questions was about treatment and not about my fucking heart exploding from not knowing where we stand. And how do you respond?”

I take a step forward. My voice is lower now. Sharper. Deadly. “‘You were right to end the session early.’” I mimic. I stare at him, my throat tight, the ache blooming behind my eyes like pressure trying to escape. “That sentence made me feel like I did something wrong. Like I crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed. Like I should be ashamed for feeling something.”

His jaw ticks. Slightly.

But he still says nothing.

“You pulled me into this, Benjamin. You did. And then you pulled away. And now I’m stuck with whatever this is. This fucking mess in my chest. This guilt. Like I should’ve kept my distance. Like I should’ve known better. Like I asked for this.”

My voice breaks on the last word.

It cracks right through the air, sharp and splintered, like something inside me finally gave out. But I don’t care. I’m shaking now, not visibly, not the kind of trembling anyone else would see, but I feel it. In my fingers. In my throat. In the tight coil behind my eyes that threatens to snap if I blink too hard.

He doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t flinch.

He just stands there. Still. Watching.

And I hate it. I hate how calm he looks. I hate how much effort I’m putting into not falling apart in front of him, while he stands there like he hasn’t wrecked me from the inside out. Like, I’m the one making this complicated. Like I’m the one who crossed a line that he drew in the first place. My chest is a battlefield of conflicting emotions, rage, shame, confusion, something stupid and warm I don’t even want to name. My skin feels too tight. Like I’m being squeezed from the inside out. I can’t even look at him properly. My eyes are blurry, not from tears, but from heat. From humiliation. I’m not crying, not really, but something hurts.

And the worst part?

I don’t even know if I want to scream at him or pull him closer.

So I just stand there.

Burning.

Breaking.

Waiting for something, anything to snap.

And maybe he feels it too.

Because when I look up again, he’s changed.

He’s... closer.

Not much. Just a step. A single, silent, careful step.

I blink, heart skipping.

When did he move?

He’s not rushing. He’s not charging toward me with some dramatic declaration. He’s just there, closing the space between us like it always belonged to him.

Another step.

And still, nothing from him. No words. No explanation.

Just that look.

That intense, searching stare that’s felt like a weight on my skin since the very first session. It’s the way he sees me, like he’s always been able to see right through my skin, right into the nerves and chaos beneath it. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.

I can’t breathe.

He takes another step. And now I can feel him. Not touching. Not yet. But present. Close enough that the air between us feels charged. Denser. Like the oxygen itself knows what’s about to happen.

And still, he doesn’t touch me.

Not yet.

Instead, his gaze drops to my mouth.

Just for a second.

Then it flicks back to my eyes, and I feel my knees nearly give. He’s reading me. Studying. Looking for permission, or maybe waiting for me to run.

But I don’t.

I don’t move.

And then finally-

His hand.

Slow.

So slow, I feel every second of it before it happens. 

His hand lifts. Barely more than a twitch at first. Then higher. Past his chest. Past his collarbone.

And then, 

My face.

His fingers find my jaw with a gentleness that makes my breath stutter.

His thumb brushes just beneath my cheekbone. Careful. Measured. Reverent.

Like I’m something fragile.

Like he’s afraid he’ll spook me.

And then the other hand follows up, resting just behind my ear. His palm cups the side of my face. Warm. Solid. Real.

I blink.

Once.

Twice.

And I swear the whole world shifts beneath my feet. I feel the tremble of his breath before I hear it, soft, shallow. Like this moment is costing him something. Like he’s holding back so much, and this is all he’s letting himself have.

And then, finally-

He leans in.

Not fast.

Not dramatic.

Just… closer.

And then, his lips.

They meet mine like a question.

Like a secret.

Like a fucking prayer.

He doesn’t devour me. Doesn’t claim. Doesn’t take.

He just kisses me soft, slow, aching like this is the only way he knows how to apologize. Or confess. Or admit everything he’s refused to say out loud.

My heart breaks open.

My breath catches in my throat, and I swear for a moment I forget where I am. I forget who I am. I forget the world.

Because he’s kissing me and I’m kissing him and suddenly, nothing else matters.

My hands, shaky, hesitant, rise on instinct. One curls around his wrist, grounding myself against the heat of his skin. The other finds his chest, resting over the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

He tilts his head, deepens the kiss just slightly. Just enough. His lips part, and mine follow. It's still gentle, still patient, but there's a weight behind it now. An ache. A quiet desperation that says I've been waiting to do this since the moment I met you. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth like he’s memorizing the way it feels. His fingers tighten, just a little, like he’s afraid I’ll pull away.

But I don’t.

I press closer.

I kiss him back like I’ve never kissed anyone before.

Because I haven’t.

Not like this.

Not with everything. Not with all of me.

I melt into him. Slowly. Fully. My body sways forward on instinct, and his hand slips to the nape of my neck, cradling me like he’s anchoring us both.

Our foreheads touch when we break, barely. A breath apart.

His eyes are still closed.

Mine, too.

And then-

He exhales.

Like a confession.

Like a surrender.

My hands are still on him. I don’t move. I don’t want to.

Because if I do, this moment ends.

And I’m not ready.

Not yet.

Neither of us speaks.

We just breathe.

Together.

The silence is loud now. Full. Sacred.

His lips break from mine for only a second.

Barely a breath.

And in that breath, I hear it.

His inhale. Sharp. Through his nose. Like he’s trying to reel something back in before it breaks loose.

But it’s too late.

Because when he kisses me again, it’s different.

It’s no longer tentative. No longer searching.

It’s need.

It’s possession.

It’s him.

His hand tightens at the back of my neck, not hard, not forceful, but secure. Claiming. Like he’s grounding himself in the feel of me. The other hand moves slowly, but sure from my cheek down the side of my throat, across my collarbone, his fingertips barely brushing the skin beneath the neckline of my shirt.

And God.

That touch.

It’s feather-light. Barely there.

But it sets something on fire.

I gasp into his mouth, and the sound, raw, startled, pulls a sound from him. A low, barely-there hum deep in his chest. He swallows it, breath stuttering against my lips like he hadn’t meant to make a sound at all.

Then, he steps forward.

And I’m backing into the wall again.

But this time, not in panic.

This time, it’s like instinct. Like we need to be closer than close. My back hits the cool concrete with a quiet thud, and he follows—presses into me, chest to chest, thigh between mine. Solid. Unmovable. There. 

My hands are in his hair before I can think.

God, it’s soft.

I curl my fingers there, tug just enough to feel him respond, his lips part, his body surges forward. And suddenly I’m being kissed like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Like the dam’s broken, and this is all he’s ever wanted. His mouth is warmer now. Slower, but deeper. He’s kissing me with more tongue, more breath, more intention. Like he’s memorizing the shape of me, the taste of me, how I move against him. Like he’s been starving. His hand skims down my waist, fingers dragging over the curve of my hip, and I feel him hesitate.

Just for a second.

Like he’s asking without words.

And I answer just as wordlessly, my hips roll against him just enough, my hand sliding from his hair to the nape of his neck, guiding him back to my mouth like I need him there.

He groans.

Quiet. Deep. Resigned.

Like fuck it, like this is happening, like finally.

His mouth is everywhere now, my lips, my jaw, my cheek, down to my neck. He kisses like he’s starved for it, but still careful. Still holding back the worst of what he could be.

Still not taking too much.

But God, I want him to.

“Benjamin,” I whisper against his ear, against the corner of his mouth, I don’t even know.

And something in him stutters.

Like hearing his name said like that did something to him.

He exhales hard through his nose, and then his hands are on my thighs, sliding up, firm, and I feel my knees almost buckle from the sheer force of want building in my spine. His body presses harder. Not crushing, not overwhelming, but present. Like he’s everywhere at once. My chest. My stomach. My hips. The heat of him, the weight. His scent. My mouth opens wider beneath his, inviting, matching his intensity now, our kisses turning wet, deeper, sloppier.

Breathless.

My hand slips beneath his shirt, fingers splayed against the warmth of his stomach, and his reaction is instant his whole body jerks just slightly against mine, and he kisses me harder, rougher, teeth grazing my bottom lip before he catches it between his and sucks.

I moan, actually moan.

And that sound.

That sound wrecks him.

He grabs both my hips now, holding me firm, his body moving against mine with more friction, more need, more intent.

I don’t know where this is going.

I don’t know if it’s going to stop.

I don’t know if I want it to.

All I know is-

We’re not the same people who walked into this room hours ago.

And I’m not sure we ever will be again.

His lips are on mine again.

Desperate now.

Hot and open, the kind of kiss that doesn't ask permission anymore, it takes.

And I let him.

I let him take.

Because I want it just as badly.

His tongue brushes mine again, deeper this time, and everything around us disappears. The walls, the lights, the rules, the job. It all slips away, buried under heat and the weight of us. His hand moves back to my jaw, fingers spreading along the side of my neck like he’s anchoring me there. Holding me in place, and God, I don’t want to be anywhere else.

He presses harder. Chest to chest, thigh between mine again, holding me open and still while his mouth maps me like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life.

But then-

He stops.

Just a breath. Just a flicker.

His lips barely pull from mine, but it’s enough.

Enough to feel the ache of separation.

Enough to feel that sharp pang of panic, don’t stop.

He leans his forehead against mine, chest heaving, so close, but not kissing me.

Not yet.

His voice was low. Ruined. Begging.

“Tell me to stop.”

I blink.

I can’t process the words at first. My brain is slow, heavy with want. It’s like trying to think underwater.

His thumb brushes my cheek, so soft it makes my throat close.

“Please,” he whispers, more desperate this time. “Tell me to stop.”

And the way he says it-

It’s not control.

It’s not about asking for permission to go further.

It’s a plea.

A final, fragile attempt at doing the right thing.

Because he knows once he crosses that line-

There’s no coming back.

But I don’t say anything.

I just stare at him. Eyes locked, heart a fucking drum in my chest.

My hands slide down his chest slowly, resting flat over his ribs, and I shake my head.

Not once.

Not twice.

Just once.

But it’s enough.

He exhales, like he’s collapsing from the inside. His body bows slightly, tension snapping like a fraying wire.

And then?

He loses it.

His mouth is back on mine, but there’s no hesitation now. None.

He kisses me like he’s been starved for years. Like he’s dying and I’m the only thing that can save him.

And maybe I am.

Maybe he is.

His hands roam urgently, searching. Down my sides, around my waist, gripping my hips like he doesn’t trust himself to let go. He pulls me flush against him, and I feel every inch of him, feel just how badly he wants this, wants me. I moan into his mouth, hips grinding instinctively against the pressure of his thigh, and it makes him groan, deep, guttural, feral.

His hands are under my shirt now, hot palms splayed across my bare skin, dragging up my spine, leaving heat and goosebumps in their wake. He’s not rushing, he’s savoring. Like he’s been dreaming of this, fantasizing about how I’d feel beneath him.

And me?

My hands are everywhere. In his hair, across his back, under his shirt, I can’t not touch him. His body is like a live wire, thrumming with tension and restraint and need. Every muscle is tight. Every movement is deliberate.

He kisses me again. Slower now. But deeper.

Like he wants this moment to burn into us.

Like he knows this might be the only time.

But it doesn’t feel like that.

It feels like the beginning.

His hands slide beneath my thighs suddenly, lifting me without warning. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and he walks us backward, careful but determined, until my back hits the wall again, harder this time. He pins me there with his hips and kisses me so deeply I nearly forget how to breathe.

I can feel how badly he wants me.

And it makes my head spin.

My fingers twist into the back of his shirt, knuckles white, dragging him even closer, even tighter, until there's no space left at all.

And I don’t want space.

Not now.

Not ever.

We kiss like it’s war.

Like it’s confession.

Like it’s the only thing keeping us alive.

And maybe it is.

Because right now?

In this room?

With him?

I’ve never felt more alive.

His mouth never leaves mine.

Not even for air.

Not even for a second.

It’s relentless, the way he kisses me now. Like he’s been waiting too long. Holding back too much. And now that the leash is off, he can’t bring himself to stop.

I don’t want him to.

I grip him harder, my nails catching the fabric of his shirt as his body grinds into mine. Every point of contact burns. Chest to chest. Thigh to thigh. Mouth to mouth. My breath is ragged against his, but I’m not pulling away. I’m sinking. Spiraling.

And still, he doesn’t let go.

His hands roam, one braced beneath my thigh, the other sliding up the arch of my back, fingers splayed across my spine like he needs to memorize the feel of me. He breaks from my mouth just long enough to kiss the corner, then my jaw, then down to my neck, and my head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, a soundless gasp catching in my throat.

He groans.

It’s low. Guttural. Desperate.

And the sound is enough to make my knees go weak.

His grip tightens instinctively as he feels it, as if he knows I need him to hold me upright right now.

And he does.

God, he does.

But even through the heat, even through the pressure building like a storm under my skin, there’s this ache in my chest that grows and grows. A knot of something else. Something deeper. Something rawer than lust.

I blink through it.

And I look at him.

Really look at him.

His eyes are darker now. Dilated. But focused, locked on me like I’m the only thing that exists in this room. His lips are parted. His chest is rising too fast. And for a moment, for one flicker of space between us, I see the tremble in his restraint.

He’s holding back.

For me.

And maybe that’s what does it.

That’s what knocks the wind out of me.

Because this isn’t just about wanting.

It’s not even about needing.

It’s about trust.

It's about the unspoken thing sitting between us like a live wire, something neither of us has said out loud, but both of us are bleeding from.

And I can’t take it anymore.

“Come here,” I whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He carries me to the couch with a kind of care that makes my heart throb harder than my body ever could. He sits, settling with me still wrapped around him, and I shift, careful, slow, and straddle him, legs bracketing his hips as my knees sink into the cushions.

He exhales like he’s unraveling.

I lean in, kiss him again, slower this time. Not desperate. Not frantic.

Just… full.

He kisses me back with that same weight, hands resting on my thighs now, thumbs moving in slow, firm strokes. Like he’s grounding us both. Like if he stops, we’ll float away.

My fingers slide up the back of his neck, into his hair. I tilt my head, deepen the kiss just slightly, and he groans into it, his hips shift, just once, but I feel it. All of it.

And then-

It hits me.

All at once.

The gravity.

The intimacy.

The vulnerability.

My lips falter against his.

I pause.

I blink.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe.

Not from the kiss.

From the feeling.

The knowing.

That I’m here. On him. In his arms. In his world.

And there’s no pretending anymore.

No distance. No walls. No structure to hide behind. I’m not just crossing lines, I’m obliterating them. Letting him touch parts of me I don’t even let myself touch.

It overwhelms me.

It terrifies me.

My hands drop from his neck. I pull back, just slightly. Just enough to break the kiss. He opens his eyes slowly, immediately alert. His brows furrow, not in frustration, but in focus.

He feels it.

He sees it.

And then he speaks.

Soft. Quiet. A whisper only for me.

“Hey…”

I look down. My hands press against his chest, still on him, but not pushing.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I just-”

His hands slide up my arms slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid I’ll bolt if he moves too fast. His touch is so tender, it makes something in my throat sting.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says.

And I believe him.

He rests his forehead against mine for a moment. Breathes me in. Let me sit there with it. With all of it.

And when I finally exhale, when I finally let the weight in my chest go, I shift off of him.

He helps me. Doesn’t make it weird. Doesn’t ask for more.

Just opens his arms as I curl next to him, my knees pulled up, my head resting against his shoulder.

He lets his arm wrap around me.

And then he strokes my hair.

Again and again.

Soft. Steady.

I don’t know how long we’ll sit there like that.

Maybe an hour. Maybe five.

Time doesn’t exist in this room anymore.

Only the sound of his breathing.

Only the feel of his fingertips in my hair.

At some point, I stop thinking.

Stop remembering what I came here for.

Stop counting the mistakes I’ve made.

And I sleep.

I let myself sleep.

Because it’s the only time I’ve ever felt safe and undone at once.

Because it’s him.

─────── ⌖ ───────

Heyyyyyyy….. I KNOW. I hope the slow burn and build-up were worth the wait but of course, we’re not done yet. Chapter 10 is dropping today because let’s be real… I can’t make you wait when I can’t even wait

I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I loved writing it. I’d love to hear your thoughts, seriously!!!

Enjoyyyy,

Yours truly,

Raey ♡

[tallwife]

Ive been kind of quiet about personal posts on here in the last year or so making my moves in silence so here's the full crazy rundown of how me and bf got together because all I've been doing really is make the occasional vague post but not expanded on it

Met this guy at a party about a decade ago (omg) when I was about 16/17 who I remember because I talked to him and this other boy about video games. Other boy was like a GIRL who GAMES??? And the guy was like 'obviously girls can play games lol' and I remember it well because it was funny and he was nice. Don't see him again

About 5 years ago meet the guy again, we don't make the connection for another few years that we've met before. He has a gf and is nice enough, but I don't know him very well yet

He hangs out with my friend group a lot and I click very well with him when we talk, but he's not on my radar because of aforementioned gf

I start a VERY tumultuous idiotic embarrassing situationship with one of his best friends aka the 'GIRLS CAN PLAY GAMES???' guy. I'm stupid and have feelings for him and on reflection it was insane. My heart is being ripped out constantly and I'm being toyed with

Meanwhile he and his gf break up and soon after he has a casual fwb thing with another one of my friends. So he's still not on my radar at all

As this is all going on me and him become very very good friends, its 100% just platonic and supportive. He finds out how badly his friend treated me and to my surprise he firmly takes my side on things and is a massive help and a great friend in this time, distances himself a little from situationship guy

We start to click and hang out constantly. We bond over being bi and other personal things and we have the same humour, nobody can make me laugh like him.

At this point about a year and a half ago, we probably hang out at least once a week. We have a cute weekly cinema habit and we talk about everything. I've never felt this comfortable and safe with a guy before. Start to realise he's also very much my type but I try to keep it out of my mind

He starts to get back into the dating world and I realise it makes me feel really nervous and sad. UNSURE WHAT TO DO. I worry that I am just feeling this way because of proximity and also that I am going to fuck things up if I ask about it. I also kind of fell into that trap of thinking 'if he liked me he wouldve already tried to make a move'. i start imagining how id feel if he got another partner longterm and it makes me feel really sad

About this time last year it's like I wake up one day and am like 'fuck I have feelings for him' but figure I just need to ignore it and get on with my life

Attempt to have a brat summer and affirm that I will find someone else and that these feelings will go away. By early July I realise this is IMPOSSIBLE and that I will need to tell him how I feel because he's the only person I ever look for at events and the person i think about all the time.

situationship guy leaves the continent and i never have to see him again HOORAY

A few of us go abroad in mid July. Hot country, us two and another friend, his gf and brother.

the whole time im TRYING to ignore my feelings but im 100% fallen in love and am so attracted to him. we have long late night chats over cigarettes on rooftops, late night swims, day trips by ourselves etc. so i realise i have to tell him how i feel or i'll regret it

almost have a heart attack from nerves but tell him on the last night of the holiday. feel like im going to get rejected and because hes slow to react and needs to process it im SURE hes rejecting me

we basically stay up all night talking about what this could mean, the implications if it goes wrong, can we stay friends if so, etc. but we do end up holding each other and falling asleep together.

the second we land back in ireland we go on a 40k+ step walk all day to discuss EVERY detail. at the end decide we're gonna try it and have a proper first kiss by the ocean AHHHHH

have our first date the next day

we fall crazy in love

both admit later on that we had BOTH been in love with each other for the past year and BOTH had resigned ourselves to never confessing it because we cherished our friendship so much and thought the other person would reject us

friends to lovers arc in real life complete

[mochinek0]

Daminette December: 21-Drunk Text

Damian looked at his phone in frustration. He had developed feeling for his classmate, Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the semester was coming to an end. To his knowledge, she would be returning back to Paris.

He had seen her speak to several males from the class.

'Surely one of them must have been her boyfriend. I would have taken the opportunity, had they not been involved. She's smart and beautiful. Her designs never fail to amaze me. She doesn't stay silent about those who are threatened. I wish she was mine.'

Damian looked down at his phone in his hand. He looked to the three shots on the table his brothers had left him.

'Loosen up.'

'You need to lose the stick up your ass if you ever want a relationship.'

'At least take these three shots.'

Marinette sat on her bed, hyperventilating as each text came in.

'This isn't like Damian. Is this suppose to be a prank? A bet or something?'

Mari hesitated, as another text poured in, then she pressed the call button.

"Mari, you call me." Damian slurred speech rang through.

"Da-Damian, are you drunk?" she questioned, finding it hard to believe.

"Brothers told me too." he chuckled, "Loosen me up. Stick up my ass."

Marinette giggled.

'Guess his brothers want him to loosen up a bit and be more friendly.'

"Hey! Who let him make a call?" She heard a voice shout in the background.

"Did he call Bruce?" Questioned another.

"Sooooo, Bruce, uh- " began the third voice.

"This isn't Bruce." Marinette announced.

"Demon Spawn called a girl!" The first voice cried out.

"He what?" Shouted the second.

"I suggest taking Damian home or sobering him up." Marinette pressed, "He isn't in his right state of mind."

"Uh, did he say anything?" The person on the phone asked.

"Plenty." She answered, "Just tell him to call me when he's better." and hung up.

Damian woke up to a slight headache.

'This must be what they call a hangover. I do not appreciate it.'

He saw the sun was high in the sky and moved to go downstairs, hoping to find something to eat and for his head. As soon as he entered the dining room, his brothers froze.

"What?" Demanded Damian.

"S-Something happened last night." Dick confessed.

"I believe your words were 'pictures or it failed to happen'." The youngest retaliated.

"We don't got pictures or anything, but you called someone, last night, and it wasn't to B or Jon." Jason declared, holding up his phone, "They said to call them back."

Damian swiped his phone, confused. He unlocked the screen and went into his call logs. He heard his own breath hitch.

'I called Marinette.'

He quickly realized there were unanswered texts messages, as well. He quickly scanned the texts before retreating to his room.

"Hey, you know what that was about?" Dick questioned.

"Nope. Demon Spawn has his phone locked like Fort Knox. Babs is out of town and said not to contact her and Replacements' knocked out from partying." Jason declared, "Why?"

Dick sighed "I think he more than just called her."

Jason shrugged, "He was in eye sight and clothes stayed on. I think that's a win. "

DAMIAN: I would be amazed if someone like you were still single.

DAMIAN: You hold me captivated by your words.

DAMIAN: You r eyes are soooo blu

DAMIAN: Art is so pretty

DAMIAN: If u single, date me.

DAMIAN: dont go to paris. Stay

'I can feel my intelligence fading as I read this nonsense. Father will have to understand that I will be an only child, forevermore. I can only pray that she will forgive my embarrassing harassment and continue to speak to me.

Marinette: I am single and if what you said is true, I'd prefer a sober confession.

Damian reread her text two more times before he clicked on her number.

"Hello, Damian." Mari spoke.

"I am sober!" He announced.

Mari smiled, "How are you feeling?"

"I apologize for confusing you suddenly." He stated.

'I knew it.'

"It's okay, Damian. I'm sure you were confused, as well." she replied.

"Marinette." Damian spoke.

"Yes?" She answered, surprised he called her by name.

"I would prefer if we could meet next Friday at the Cafe we went to for our first science project." The Wayne heir declared.

'Wait! Is he asking me out?'

"I would like to get to know you more, as well." He continued, "While inebriated, it appears I spoke my true feelings."

'He likes me!'

"I-I like your company, Damian. I'd like to continue getting to know you, too." Marinette answered, grateful he couldn't see her blushing red face, "I look forward to seeing you, even if it's just to talk for a few moments."

'I am grateful that I was not alone in enjoying those moments.'

"I can't wait til next week, Damian." She smiled over the phone.

"Me either. " he answered.

"Get some rest, Damian." Mari spoke, "Drink lots of water and get something to eat."

"I will." He replied, hanging up.

Damian sighed in relief, laying on his bed. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath.

'I should kill them, but that inebriated text may have won me something far greater.'

@maribat-calendar-events

TAG LIST- DAMINETTE: @meme991001 @umbreon-worshipper @stainedglassm @jasmine-the-fox @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @mysteriouschar @missmadwoman @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dissarraymania @tundra1029 @abrx2002 @mrsjacuinde @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb

UNSPECIFIED- @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @tigresslily @legodetectivemalsblog @blushmimi

[lemotmo]

I don't think I believe it either. Feels way too theatrical.

Q. Do you think he's really dead?

A. I don't. At least that's how I feel right now. I have genuine issues with some of Tim's decision making. Valid criticism over certain things. But the one thing he has never been guilty of doing is killing off characters willy nilly. He's literally never done it. First of all that interview he did was embarrassing on every level so if it's not a fake out ABC is in trouble because they're about to give this man a second show to play with. He basically said it was written for Ravi to die, but he decided last minute ON HIS OWN, to kill off Bobby instead. You don't go from the killing of a secondary character whose death would make perfect sense show wise, to killing off your main character on a whim all by yourself without talking it over with anyone else who has decision making power. Peter Krause and Angela Bassett are both executive producers. Not producers but executive producers. They have decision making power. Tim, Peter and Angela all basically said Tim decided on his own it would be Bobby and no one else had a say. Show runner or not something like that doesn't just happen with no one else getting any kind of veto power. That basically means he fired Peter and no one else involved with the show had any kind of say. Bullshit. I will say everyone is trying to sell it appropriately but even the cast goodbyes don't feel like genuine goodbyes. Callum (Brad) got more heartfelt goodbyes than Peter is getting. Also it was just a genuinely ridiculous plot to kill a main off with. That virus is not an airborne virus. And I have the most basic elementary level knowledge of that virus. And Chimney choosing to take the rat home at the end was laughable. I know it's the little wee woo show and we laugh and make fun but this is a level of ridiculous that this show is better than and something they avoid doing. I do believe killing off a character like that opens up the show for some new direction and potential, which maybe ABC wanted, we don't know, but I cannot believe the abysmal, unprofessional way it's been executed is real. And I don't for one minute believe Peter and Angela got no say whatsoever. Tim not being aware anyone would notice them filming in downtown L.A in the middle of the freaking day? Openly admitting he just decided to do it randomly? It's too ridiculous. And the plotline for these two episodes is just really, really bad when examined. So no as of this writing I'm not buying it.

Thank you Nonny!

Yeah, pretty much this. ☝️☝️☝️

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[angeliteeyes]

Hi im the one who asked for the astral express reader x kafka fic xd. Ive come to ask for more its thats fine by you

Imagine like, trying to sneak her up on the express but reader sucks at lying so their just smiling and giggling while trying to make excuses.

But yeah take all the time you need, i really enjoy x reader fics when they put some focus on comedy and i think you really nailed it xd

Thanks in advance if you end up taking this request :D

Hello again, nice to hear from you!!! Aww thank you so much, I tried my best with that one to match the request's vibe lol. Here u go!

Kafka x Astral Express Reader - Sneaking Her Aboard

-> First Kafka x AE Reader fic here

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

"Kafkaaaaa, I haven't seen you in so long! I get that we were busy with all the Xianzhou stuff, but still..." Your voice whined into your phone's microphone, earning a soft chuckle from her. After she disappeared on you last time, your poor heart couldn't help but yearn to see her once again. Her warm voice tore you out of your thoughts.

"Darling, if you miss me that much, why don't I come over?"

Your face scrunched a little. "You mean like, come over come over? Not go-on-a-date over, actually getting on the Express?" The idea made your heart feel fuzzy. Sure, you'd been together plenty of times before, but... with the strained relationship between the Stellaron Hunters and the Astral Express, you hadn't dared bring her aboard. At least not until today.

"Sure, as long as you'll help me. You will, won't you?" Even with no visuals, you could still hear her scheming smirk loud and clear; of course, you answered it with one of your own.

"Count me in."

*

Thank the Aeons Pompom was busy cleaning around the opposite end of the vehicle. You'd already managed to bump into an embarrassing amount of corners on your way back into the Express, to the amusement of your stylish stowaway.

"You always this clumsy, dear?" She whispered into your ear from behind, forcing your already rosy cheeks to flush an even deeper hue. Just as you started to shush her, a familiar-sounding set of heels clicking rapidly caught your attention, forcing you to switch gears. Ugh, those have to be Himeko's. Why'd she have to come out now of all times?

"Crap—Kafka, you have to hide. Hurry!" You hissed at her, but... No way. She's laughing. You're about to be strangled to death by Himeko as punishment for sneaking Kafka in, and she's laughing. Wowwwwww.

"You can't be serious right now... Ugh, just go—uh, behind there!" Before she could make any snide comments, you hurriedly shoved her down to the ground behind a booth-style structure. Just in time too, apparently, based on the way Himeko's footsteps grew louder and louder with each passing second. You barely were even given a chance to check whether Kafka was properly hidden or not before heels clicking turned to silence.

"And what exactly are you doing up so late? I already told you that we need to be up and ready to go early tomorrow." As your eyes met Himeko's disapproving glare, a nervous grin swept across your face. In normal circumstances, she wouldn't intimidate you quite this much, but... well, you've seen the way her posture shifts around your partner. Not to mention the bitterness etched into each of their conversations (although, it's nothing compared to the flavor of her infamous coffee).

"Oh uh, heh... sorry about that. I just got um... thirsty?" You rubbed the back of your neck. She continued to stare at you, unamused.

"Right. Which is why your hands are completely empty, even though you're heading back to your room. Care to explain that?" She crossed her arms.

Huh. Maybe you should've sat with that idea a little longer.

"Um... Oh wait, I could've just drank it all back in the kitchen! See, Himeko, you have nothing to worry about." Your grin beamed at her as a surge of pride coursed through you. Good thinking, you.

"Hm, so you're saying you could've. Is that correct?"

Weird question, but you couldn't let your confidence waver now. "Mhm!"

"Which means you didn't actually do that."

A still silence permeated the air as your brain took some time to process the meaning behind her words. Nothing you said seemed wrong to you, but she clearly caught you somehow—

Oh. Oh. Yeah, you messed up for sure. Apparently seeing that your brain had finally caught up to the current situation, Himeko sighed.

"Look, just tell me what you're hiding. It'll make things easier for the both of us." Her eyes seemed to land longingly on a part of the kitchen. If you recall correctly, right where her line of sight is should be her... coffee machine, you think. "Well, what is it?"

Your feet shifted back and forth a little. "It's... Kafka."

"Excuse me?" Himeko turned to you in disbelief, clearly not having been expecting that as your response. Behind you, the sound of fabrics rustling together echoed out, indicating said stowaway's change to a standing position. A wave of tension rushed through the air between them, albeit a rather one-sided version—made clear by Kafka's carefree expression.

"Long time no see, Himeko. Did you miss me?" Her remark earned an eyeroll from the other woman.

"As if." She grimaced while motioning a hand over her forehead, pondering for a few moments. Her gaze moved between the two of you lovebirds back and forth before ultimately settling on you. With a heavy coating of reluctance, she opened her mouth. "I can't believe I'm letting you get away with this. Just... promise me you won't do anything else stupid tonight. And you" — she glared at Kafka — "don't you dare take advantage of this for any of your Stellaron Hunter schemes.

Kafka raised her palms in the air. "You don't have to worry about me. I've already got my hands full with this one right here." She winked at you, as if she hadn't just tried to get you in trouble earlier. Still, you couldn't stay mad for long with how much excitement was fluttering around in your stomach.

The two of you leaned into each other as you watched Himeko saunter off towards the kitchen, leaving you two behind to bask in each other's company. It wasn't long before your body began to sink into her warmth more deeply.

"I'm still annoyed at you for earlier, y'know." She laughed softly, all the while guiding you over to your room with gentle hands.

"Sorry darling, you're just so fun to play around with. I can make it up to you if you want."

You pouted at her. "And how're you planning to do that?"

But you didn't really have to ask. After being together for so long, even without saying a word, it was obvious to both of you what that sentence sparked in your minds. As your hands interlocked, you mused; maybe you could forgive her, just this once.

[sunrisecaminus]

After reading the holoform posts, I would like to request an AutobotsxReader. Let's have Y/N discover that the bots ability to shift in this way and panic bc they were once surrounded by pretty bots, and they can easily hide their blushes now and then, but now? They cant- their screaming, "OH NO THEIR STILL HOT" in their head. Poor soul would not survive, and I would love the autobots to tease the reader about how flustered they are.

Message - Unfortunately I am not as interested in holoforms as a want to be. This is probably one of the only ones I would make that has to do with the human versions of the characters. It is still interesting to think of what they would do as humans.

Optimus, Ultra Magnus, Arcee, Ratchet, Wheeljack x Reader Headcanons

Summary - Optimus, Magnus, Arcee, Ratchet, and Wheeljack reacting to you flirting with them. Either you accidentally call them hot or just flat out flirt with them.

Warnings - none

Optimus You have been with him for so long…and now you can finally see what he looks like in holoform! Knowing this was very important for not only you, but to their important disguise missions, you were there for Optimus every step of the way to teach him human cultures and how everything works in society. Finally when he showed you his body, it was shocking to say the least. He chose a womanly body with the average height and weight, average boob size and a small lower half. He wanted to not really catch any attention and didn't go too pretty…what he didn't know was now you were bleeding out your nose and having hearts come out your eyes. The beauty he possessed was extortionary which made you say some stuff you would regret in your grave. "Woah…you look so hot." When it slipped, not only you, but Optimus was also a blushing mess and neither of you spoke to each other out of embarrassment. At night he would tell you how much he appreciated your complimented. Kissing you on the cheek would have killed you and made your heart stop. Snuggles and cuddles, all of it.

Magnus He has literal notes of everything he has to know about human culture. Magnus even learned to be trilingual with human languages, which is English, Spanish, and German. His holoform looked so nice and sleek, with a lovely average man muscle bod with a bit of tan in his skin. What made it even cuter, was that he had tiny little freckles covering his entire face and had a lovely square like structure to the chin. Everything about him was so hot, that you had to compliment him…what you didn't know was that you were going to say it in such a weird way. "Y-you look so good Magnus! I really love your face." When the last word slipped your mouth, you knew you fucked up. It sounded so awkward, but you just wanted to tell him how well he made the human form looked! Magnus was a bit flustered about it, but thanked you and moved on to working. At night he complimented about how beautiful you looked to him and gave you a lovely kiss on the hand. Now you get to show him the suit store and give him a nice collection of lovely outfits. He would tell you it was unnecessary…but it all honestly he loves every single suit you get him.

Arcee She is still short, but goodness is she clutched as all hell. Girly looks like she would still beat the ever loving crap out of you. Her lovely leather jacket look with the nice spiky gloves and thin lips. Her eyes were still sharp enough to gut you. Arcee loved it though, as now you were able to take her to skate parks and move theaters without anybody thinking she was an alien. Since Jasper was a small town, most of the time the movies were empty, so you got to explain somethings that happens in the things you watch because she doesn't understand why somethings are important to humans. She is one of the most riskier ones though, as she likes to go off by herself and could get in serious trouble if it wasn't for you being able to save her aft once in a while. "You are sexy as always." She giggled at your little comment which made you want to slurp the sentence back in your mouth. She loved every second of you and wanted to remember everything you did together. Later on before you went to bed, you catch her swaying her butt a little when she was walking away and even winked at you. Arcee was going to be the death of you one of these days, and you weren't even upset about it.

Ratchet The doctor chose a nice white haired middle age man. What he didn't know, was that he looked so handsome in your eyes even though he had soft bags under his eyes. His eyes pierced through your soul and it made your hair stand up a bit. Ratchet still did a lot of work and it made you upset from how much he still didn't want to learn about Human culture. Wrapping your arms around his neck you pout. "Are you not going to lunch with me, hot stuff?" Thankfully the blush was hidden from your face because he wasn't looking at you, but boy howdy was his face fully red. The smile grew on your face as he tried to brush you off. You loved teasing him as much as he does with you on a regular basis. At night he takes you into his office and lets you sit on his lap while he does the rest of his paperwork, wanting nothing more but to just give you as many kisses as you deserve. Ratchet will blush a lot, which makes him hate his human body even more because now he can't even hide when he is flustered. The moment you joke about his bashfulness is making him want to throw you.

Wheeljack Man is the most scarred man on the planet when he is a human. Either he did it to look more like the scars on his body OR he just wanted to look more badass. Jack loves seeing you without looking down and spins you around whenever you see each other. He throws you onto his back and runs around like he has no care in the world. Whenever Jack can, he tries to learn cooking to make sure he got some of the human culture down and loves to swear as much as he can. Hearing you say "Hi sexy" got him blushing like a mad man and gets back at you for causing him to be so distracted. Just a simple cat call or two and Wheeljack is tackle you on the ground to get you to shup up. He smiles a lot more than he use to and it looks good on him. Wheeljack loves how small he is and how everything around him looks so much bigger, being able to adventure with you into tiny caves when he couldn't back when he was a bot. Camping with you in the middle of no where while sitting next to a camp fire is his favorite thing by far, Watching as you stare at his hot ass body.

[ladyloveandjustice]

Winter 2025 Anime Overview: Toilet-Bound Hanako-kun Season 2

Toilet-Bound Hanako-kun/Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun Season 2

After a five year wait, one of my all time problematic fave anime is back, and the anime about a hopeless romantic and her weird little ghost friend continues! I basically wrote a novel when the first season of Hanako-kun hooked me, so you can check that review out for more information about the show. This is a season that contains multitudes—the first arc finally covers the time keeper’s arc in the manga—an arc that had some really good parts and introduced an ongoing dramatic conflict, but also unfortunately introduced one of my least favorite characters (and relationship dynamics) in the series.

That’s a bit subjective and I plan to tag this so I won’t go into detail since I have no interest arguing about it, basically the character in question’s behavior is supposed to be funny and it’s not, I don’t find their motives or dynamic with the character they’re obsessed with interesting (and said dynamic will dominate said characters screen time later on and she deserves better), and the bad behavior is only jokingly condemned and not seriously called out in the way Hanako’s possessiveness is.

 But then the second half covers my favorite arc in the manga, so I was a happy camper. This arc has a lot of emotional development for the main characters, with Mitsuba and Kou and Hanako and Nene all having great little stories, relationship growth, and dramatic moments, the premise is heartbreaking and creative, Mei is complex antagonist and great character, the manga comes out in favor of the power of girls writing self-insert OCs, and there’s a beautiful message about how fiction can help us keep going through dark times, and how it can be a way to live on. It’s so good.

The change in directors is from the first season is noticeable, though the animation is a lot less limited, it’s notably less stylish and striking in its use of colors and elegant flourishes. Don’t get me wrong, it still mostly looks good and the cool art style that drew me in remains intact. There’s some really beautiful moments. I just sometimes found myself missing the pizzazz of the previous director sometimes. While the little manga panel transitions were there in part to cover up the first season's limited animation, I still missed how distinct that style was. It would have been nice to see what that direction could do with the second season clearly getting more of a boost resources-wise. But it's not the end of the world.

The caveats from the last season remain—the frequent mean spirited running joke about Nene’s ankles (as a manga reader, this does stop appearing as often in later arcs at least), and a good amount of ~funny pervert~ moments (though fun fact about one comment Hanako makes: a million chapters later it will be revealed that by “pervy stuff you could do with time travel powers” he meant…touching someone’s upper arm because apparently he’s secretly a Victorian child??? Also he’s legitimately embarrassed he said that later on, wow, growth). You can check out my first review I linked above for a more thorough rundown.

Some additional warnings: A character impulsively attempts suicide (but talks about planning to find a way to come back to life as they do). The attempt's method is not graphic, but I thought I'd warn just in case. Suicide is also discussed a few times, with a few nameless background characters making some shitty comments that are appropriately framed as a bad thing.

Hanako-kun as a story is interested in screwed-up romances and relationships in general, none of them are completely healthy. Personally, I don't need characters to be unproblematic and I usually find how the show explores these relationships really interesting, with a notable exception that I mentioned earlier. Hanako does do some screwed-up things that don’t respect Nene’s agency this season, but Nene reasserts her agency and thoroughly takes him to task for it. She’s so good, I adore her.

It’s a messy show, but it remains a rewarding one, especially if you love ghost stories and tragic ghost/human relationships like I do. I’m so happy we’re getting a third season soon. 

[troublesomemix]

Truthfully, he didn't much think about the phone call. Wanda had to be more embarrassed about it than he-- as he often liked to say, he didn't get embarrassed. He figured his morning went by more smoothly than his--- that thought was quickly abandoned. He wasn't about to label whatever he and Wanda were ( for a wide varying of reasons ). His only focus was getting ready for the party that evening.

The same one that felt like it was all wrong. Like he didn't fit, like it didn't make sense. Gabriel hadn't figured an out yet. He hadn't figured out if Wanda wanted him to figure out an out. Thus the puzzle repeated. Had she just wanted a one and done evening? He didn't believe so.... not truly. But she hadn't spoken to him for th rest of the day and he was let alone with his own dangerous thoughts and beliefs till the party.

Leaving an already emotional man in grumpy lurking state underneath the surface, though nodding to guests and smiling at cameras despite the turmoil. Wanda of course, not helping, with how good she looked. Gabriel had to keep his eyes off her but he just couldn't. At least Charlotte didn't mind the lack of conversation when he had danced with her. She did notice the way Gabriel's hands gripped hers tighter as that snake entered the room, making a straight path over to Wanda. She would talk to Caspian, but not him? Smiling at him like no history happened, like-- last night hadn't happened?! So much was brewing in his chest, Charlotte of course noticing and trying to pat his arm to calm him down. Not at all working, of course.

As soon as the music swelled enough for it to be acceptable, he left the dance floor. Escorting Charlotte off because he wasn't a total asshole to her. Everyone else, didn't matter. His eyes didn't leave Wanda or her snake, or the cameras around them as he went off to sulk. Gabriel's footsteps made their way to one of the refreshment tables, where he immediately noticed Nicholas talking to--?!

“ Sienna. I thought you two weren't talking anymore. ” Gabriel interjected between their conversation, ignoring pleasantries. What the hell was going on at this party. Nicholas looked between his ex and his best friend with a little discomfort in his eyes, as if trying to figure out how best to explain what little there was to explain. The lady on the other hand had no problems jumping in to speak.

“ Some of us are still on good terms with our exes. Though I think you can be excluded from that category. ” Sienna was royalty in her own little way, the same way that Gabriel refused to honor since both their claims to their titles drastically differed in source. The two of them had never really gotten along while she was dating Nicholas, but for the sake of his friend-. Nah, even cordial responses were out of the question at this point, his own frustration boiling over from seeing Wanda on the floor, not with him. And equally mad that he was so angry over it in the first place. “ It'll be alright in the end. ” Nicholas noticed, trying to offer comfort in his own way, giving a knowing glance to Sienna. Gabriel had no way of knowing their conversation had been just about the same woman the prince was pining over.

Walking up snuggled next to Gabriel's warmth with Einstein over their legs had been one of Wanda's secret fantasies for a while now. She treasured every minute of it, even the phone mixup and little awkwardness that followed. She didn't want to go shower and change and resume her day; she didn't want him to leave the room and become the King who is engaged to someone else again. But she had to. So she did.

The day went by quickly--too quickly. She went to the UK Embassy for brunch with Henry and Alex as promised and managed to answer without giving much detail as to why exactly Gabriel had sleepily picked up her phone in the morning when Henry called. The engagement party seemed to had started two seconds later the relaxed brunch and every inch of her was half expecting Sharon to make a scene, the Queen Mother to pick on one of her many hickeys (even though she had had a last-minute wardrobe change dress since she couldn't use the boat neck, not after Gabriel decided to extensively brand her skin.). Even though she was part of the planning and kept herself busy with Thor on prep work, greeting the guests, trying to keep as much distance as possible from the happy couple, her eyes kept going to them, again and again, and her stomach kept turning, deep breaths kept escaping her--not even Thor saying he was waiting to hear from Gleb could get her out of her funk.

And then Caspian appeared, as couples parted in the dancefloor, there to save her from spiraling into self-pity and she smiled at him, that stupid smile she always had for him.

"Is your dancing card full by any chance?" he said after giving Thor a nod and getting one in return. Thor never liked her boyfriends. Thor was usually right. Anyway.

"Nope, but I'm not supposed to be dancing, I'm supposed to be working, see?" she said playfully taking his hand in hers when he offered his. "Oh well, as your plus one I don't really care and I'm here to save you from yourself," he teased pulling her close in hug and feeling her exhale deeply and relax in it. Something was off with her. Probably the engagement party. She had always loved the fucking idiot, maybe she was finally no longer in denial about it.

Turning around, he led her to the dance floor and met Gabriel's eyes in the distance, giving him a playful smile--he hadn't greeted him or his wife to be and had no intention to. To Caspian the only ruler that mattered in this country was the Queen Mother and he had already paid his respects to her.

Once they were in the dance floor swinging to a slow tune, he finally asked the question. "He didn't know I was your +1 right? And you really don't wanna be here," to which Wanda shook her head.

"Well, I'm still available you know. In case you want a prince charming," he teased brushing her back slowly, hearing the click from photographers taking on the whole party.

[a-candle-maker]

not tagging the person bcs i don't want to call anyone out but like,,,, saw this one girl and her post formatting made it even look like a chatgpt generated thing... checked her other stuff to see and they all had that one formatting... thought i'd tell her and like. babe. you turning off asks just about confirms it for me, i mean imma just guess that you noticed lots of asks telling you the same and decided we're sooooooooo mean!! and ignored it

[dreamaze]

BFFL 41/∞ ↪ makeup artist chae hyungwon (don't quit your day job)

+ changkyun's first up-close look

[xxplastic-cubexx]

What's ur presentation all about...? Am scared /lh

funnily enough it's about the ADA/americans-with-disabilities act :^)