#wrestling distracted me from a lot of shit back then

[eldesperadont]

throwback on the day of the Golden Lovers inring reunion: this drawing i made back in 2018 and posted on the day Kenny won the IWGP Heavyweight belt, at Dominion 6.9 with Ibushi in his corner

20gayteen y'all

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + four

authors note: hi! thank you so much for everyone who has left such kind words for this story! i'm so appreciative for the support and interest!

this one, i think, depicts a lot of contradicting thoughts and feelings for our two favorite characters. that's intentional.

i also take some creative liberties with medical and wrestling shit. let's just go with it, friends, por favor.

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

cw/tw: language, violence, sexual harassment, hints at past self-harm, allusions to past suicide attempt, references to traumatic pasts

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

words: 10k

Roman has spent years coming home to a dark, empty house. It’s been his preference for just as long, enjoying the isolation following day after day of shit that needs to be handled. Because that’s usually how shit plays out for him. Roman’s always calling the shots, always figuring out how to navigate difficult, sticky situations. 

It's just what he does.

It’s why he’s been able to advance the Bloodline as much as he has. Because Roman is a man playing professional chess among a group of elementary checker players.

And he’d never voice or admit it to anyone, but the weight does sometimes get to him in one way or another. So, he’s learned to appreciate solitude. 

But he’s not met with solitude upon entering his home, which is both surprising and irritating considering it’s pushing 2 o’clock in the morning.

The only sound he should hear is the sound of his heavy footsteps from the front door to the bedroom. Instead, his feet carry him into the source of said sounds that are more pots banging and dishes being washed.

That’s how he immediately knows who it is without needing to check. But, Roman is more curious as to why she’s in the damn kitchen at this time of night instead of sleeping than the noise itself.

And he goes to ask as such when he gets even closer and realizes there’s more to the sound than clanging pots and running water. A soft, melodic, almost soothing voice singing in a language he doesn’t understand but recognizes as Spanish. 

Solana is singing, and she’s singing well, beautiful even. So much so that he finds himself leaning against the wall closest to the kitchen, watching as she moves about, earbuds pressed in her ears making her oblivious to his presence.

There’s a sense of relaxation to her, an almost smile as she sings. She doesn’t seem nervous nor skittish….just at peace.

That is she turns around and realizes he's standing there, watching her.

She snatches her earbuds out and immediately jumps on the train of unnecessary apologies. “I’m sorry! I didn’t—-you said you’d be back late.”

He chuckles, calmly pointing out, “it’s almost 2am.”

Her face is flushed red with unnecessary embarrassment. “I thought—I guess I figured that meant you’d come back in the morning.”

“I sleep in my own bed, if I can help it.” It’s a comfort thing, a nod to his preference for solitude. He’s never even stayed the night with Samantha, mostly because he knows her ass would see that as a damn marriage proposal.

Well, maybe not anymore.

“Why are you still up?”

“I—I couldn’t sleep.” It’s a simple answer he’s certain also includes a very real, dark backstory as to why she can’t sleep. He’s been there.

He gets it.

“I’ll be done soon—"

“You can stay up as long as you want. I don’t care.” And it’s true. The house is big enough for her to be making as much noise as she needs, and he probably wouldn’t hear anything from where his room is. He also recognizes the misery that comes with wanting but not being able to sleep, so if being in the kitchen is her distraction, then he’s good with that.

Of course, she continues with the apologies. “I’m sorry about the music—I just—the house was too quiet. I—I don’t like the quiet.”

“Solana.” He has to interrupt her. Roman’s not in the mood for her apology tour. Granted, he does hone in on the part of not liking the quietness of the house. Of course she would be the opposite of him. “I don’t care. Do what you want. Shit doesn’t impact me.”

Roman can see she’s unsure of how to take his words, most likely wondering if there’s some catch, if it’s followed up with a stipulation. But, there is none. As long as it doesn’t impact him, she can do what she wants.

“You have a nice voice,” he compliments, because again, it’s the truth. He’d never taken her as the singing type, but gradually, Roman is starting to see there may be more to Solana than meets the eye. 

Her unsure expression remains unchanged with the exception of her blush deepening as she mumbles a quiet, “thank you.”

Compliments of any sort seem to bother her, or maybe it’s less they bother her and more she’s unsure of how to respond because she’s not used to them.

He’d lean more on the side of that being the case.

Nevertheless, Roman decides to leave her be. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay,” she says almost sheepishly, adding a quiet, “goodnight.”

Roman takes her in, the quietness and passiveness no longer as irritating as he once thought and believed it to be. It might still irk him, but the level of irritation isn’t as high as it used to be.

Whatever that means.

“Goodnight, Solana….”

————

From day one of moving into Roman's mansion, Solana has noticed the watch dogs that occasionally patrol the premises along with the armed guards. And while she’s always been tempted to ask to pet one, she’s also always decided against it. These dogs, like their handlers, are trained killers, not emotional support animals.

They’re not there for her to treat like objects.

But it’s when she walks outside, ready to head off to work, that she notices one guard with a dog Solana hasn’t seen before, a puppy, that she finds it in her to approach. With a couple minutes to spare before she has to leave for work, interacting with a dog seems like a nice way to start off the day.

Hand on her purse strap, she shoves back her anxiety about approaching this strange man, asking in a soft voice, “i–is he new?”

The guard sizes her up and down, answering with a gruff, “yeah.” 

Solana looks down at the dog who’s also staring up at her with just as much curiosity. Smiling gently, she carefully crouches down and waits for him to move closer. There's a generous leeway of his leash that would allow him to do so. 

Sure enough, the dog walks over to her, ears down. Giggling, she cautiously moves to pet him. “You’re so sweet….” And he is. Solana wonders if he’ll retain that sweetness once he undergoes his training. Unlikely. “Good boy…”

“He’s not a fucking pet.” The guard harshly scolds, giving a tug on the leash that makes the dog start to growl. Solana frowns, recognizing he’s annoyed with her interruption.

“I’m sor—”

But before she can finish her sentence, there’s a flash before her that seems almost too quick for her vision to process. But, when she does, she realizes Roman is now present, directly in front of the guard, hand wrapped around his throat. 

“Speak to her like that again, and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out your mouth.” His voice is as menacing and terrifying as the fire in his eyes. Roman shoves the man forward and demands. “Apologize. Now.”

The man is coughing, struggling to regulate his breathing but still manages to cough up a muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Solana feels and probably looks stumped at hearing such a thing. She can’t recall the last time someone has ever uttered those words to her. Understandably, she doesn’t know how to respond or react. 

“Leave,” Roman demands. And Solana isn’t sure she’s seen a man haul off as quickly as he does, guiding the dog along with him. 

Roman takes in her appearance as she stands up, nervously brushing any invisible lint off her pants. “You good?”

She nods, still not quite knowing how to take this. How to take Roman seemingly defending her. Or maybe he’s just defending what belongs to him. It has to be the latter of the two, because why would he care about defending her?

Red-faced, she tries to explain her actions. “It—it was my fault. I just—I saw the dog, and I just—I wanted to pet it.”

“Why are you apologizing for someone being rude to you? Does that shit make sense to you?” When he says it like that, no, it doesn’t. But it’s clearly meant to be rhetorical, as he then asks, “you like dogs?”

Nodding, she clarifies. “Small dogs, mostly. Big ones, umm, they kinda scare me.” As do most things. This, she’s sure, he’s noticed by now. “Uhh—what time do you want dinner ready?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be back late tonight.”

“Oh.” Solana is unsure why there’s a strange sense of disappointment in her belly at this. Late….

In her experience with her dad and brother, that usually means they won’t be back until the next day, most likely in the morning. 

This should make her feel a bit relieved, not having to be on edge, feeling worried about upsetting him. 

Even if the only thing regarding her that she’s seen upset him is when he perceives she’s being disrespected.

She’s not quite sure what to make of that either.

“Ayo, Lil’ Soso.” A new voice enters the conversation, one she’s gradually growing comfortable and used to. Jey walks out with a rubbermaid container in his hand, chewing obnoxiously as he approaches Solana and Roman. “What are these things? They’re pretty good.”

There’s a couple of things to process in that one interaction, starting with the nickname Jey has used to refer to her in the times she’s run into him in the house. The twins, along with Paul, seem to be at the mansion often. The interactions though, have allowed her to feel less tense around him. Around Jimmy too.

She hasn’t had enough interaction with Paul to feel that way about him, and she’s certain that won’t change. He seems only concerned with Roman and no one else, which is valid and fair considering his role as Roman’s chief advisor.

Going back to his question, she answers, “conchas.”

“Con what?”

His expression and delivery make her smile. “Conchas. It’s a Mexican pan dulce. Sweet bread.”

“I don’t know half of what you said, but this shit good as hell. You got any more?”

“Don’t you have fucking food at your house?” Solana would never show or admit to it, but it’s sometimes funny to her how Roman seems almost always annoyed with his eccentric cousins. There’s no doubt in her mind though that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill for them, that he’s probably done so. And vice versa.

But they also seem to get on his nerves just as much. 

“Man, Nicki on that shit again, talking about she ain’t cooking until I start treating her right. Me and the kids been eating out.”

Kids? That surprises her. She didn’t know Jey was a father. 

“Solana! When you train with Naomi, can you exchange some recipes with her or something?” Jimmy also joins in the conversation, walking over while rubbing his stomach. “Cause I don’t know what that meal was in the blue container, but shit slapped.”

It takes a minute for her to remember which one that was. She’s always been a bit meticulous about separating her meals accordingly. “Carnitas Huevos Rancheros.”

Jimmy hesitates. “Yeah sure, that.”

“Am I running a fucking food pantry?” It’s hard to tell if Roman is genuinely annoyed. Something tells her it’s that type of irritation he naturally gets with the twins but won’t actually do anything about. “It’s not her job to feed you idiots.”

“I don’t mind,” she offers, adding. “I–I like to cook.” And it’s the truth. It reminds Solana of her mom, of all the times she’d spend in the kitchen learning from and spending time with the one and only person on this planet who ever loved her. 

“See, Uce, she likes to cook,” Jey points out, wiping the crumbs off his fingers on his pants and tucking the now empty container under his arm. “I’ll just take this off your hands.”

Solana’s watch vibrating, reminding her that her shift starts in half an hour, is the perfect reminder that while this conversation is comical, it’s also interfering with her schedule. She’s also certain Solo is waiting patiently, or impatiently, by the SUV for her to jump in so they can get a move on. “I—I’ve gotta get to work, but I can have the food ready by tomorrow. I’ll just come home and cook after training.”

“If you feel like it,” Roman adds, and she knows better than to push back and tell him cooking is one of the few escapes she has. It’s become even more of an escape without the anxiety and pressure of her dad and brother demanding the food always be ready in sometimes unrealistic time frames and lashing out when that doesn’t happen.

To Roman’s credit, if he’s ever been annoyed with waiting a few extra minutes for meals, he’s done a perfect job not showing as such. 

She simply nods, acknowledging his stipulation, offering a quiet ‘bye’ as she jogs off to the SUV with Solo ready to escort her to work.

It’s when she’s gone that Jimmy walks up beside Roman. “Man, she can cook, she don’t got a smartass mouth, and she got a body? Shit, Uce, ain’t you glad I told you to go with her?” Roman doesn’t offer a reply, but he definitely gives Jimmy that look that lets his cousin know to get away from him. Roman’s always been big on personal space.

“Does she cook every night?” Jey comes up, asking with an almost level of excitement. “Shit, me and the kids finna start coming over here.”

“Shut up.” The hell they will. Roman is still adjusting to living with someone. The last thing he needs is his cousin and his spawns running around his place, making noise, breaking and touching shit. Not going to happen. “Is Paul already at the office?”

“Yeah. He’s got the updated figures for you to go over. And the RKO proposal was sent over as well for you to review.”

Nodding, Roman starts to create a mental agenda for tasks he needs to complete for the day. And it goes without saying that he’s forever impressed how his cousins are easily able to slide back and forth between professional bag and bumbling morons. 

It’s one of the reasons he keeps them around and as high up in command as they are.

“Good,” Roman acknowledges, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. “Let’s go.”

————

“Hey!”

Naomi’s smile is just as bright and genuine as the first time Solana met her, and that’s something she doesn’t know how to take. A part of her figured Naomi was just being nice to her because Roman was around, because she was given an order, and no one defies the Tribal Chief’s orders.

And maybe she could even chalk this up to being an order as well, Roman tasking her with training Solana on how to fight, hence the continued kindness.

Regardless of the motivating factor, this woman is clearly a capable and trained fighter. A killer. 

Solana would do well to stay on her good side.

“It’s good to see you. We didn’t really get a chance to talk much, but obviously, I’m Naomi. Jimmy’s wife.” For some reason, Solana can see it. Can see these two together, even if she’s only been around both less than a handful of times. “I train a lot of the new recruits, mostly women, some men.”

“Men?”

Naomi chuckles. “That’s typically their reaction too. Right before I remind them who I am and what I can do.”

Solana isn’t sure she wants to know the answer to either of those. 

“Just out of curiosity, do you have any kind of combat training? Fighting knowledge in general?” It’s a valid question that only has one embarrassing answer. Solana guesses that Naomi picks up on this embarrassment, adding gently, “it’s okay if you don’t. It just gives me a baseline on where we should start.”

“No—I—I’ve never done anything like this before.” And she’s still not sure if she wants to, not sure what Roman thinks she will get from this. Him, along with everyone else around her, learned how to shoot a gun at the same time they learned how to walk. She doesn’t think she’s ever even held a gun. There’s no way humanly possible she could ever be even a fraction as good at this. 

And Roman has to know this.

So, why is he making me do it?

Again, either Naomi is insanely perceptive or Solana is much worse at hiding her emotions than she initially believed. 

She’d bet on the latter of the two.

“He doesn’t want you to be like us. He just—”

“He wants you to stop being so damn weak,” a new voice interjects. Solana recognizes the tall, intimidating woman from before when Roman had taken her to the Warehouse. She hadn’t had any direct interaction, but just the mere fact alone that she’d simply looked at Solana with disgust told her all she needed to know. “Wants you to grow a backbone.”

“Nia.” Naomi’s smile is dropped, traded for an intense stare. “Lay off her, okay? You heard what Roman said.”

“Oh yeah, we have to be nice to her.” Nia’s smile is mocking, her unimpressed gaze taking in Solana from head to toe. But Solana focuses on what Nia just said versus her judgmental countenance. Did Roman really tell them to be nice to her? Why? Why would he do that?

Nia walks over, crossing her arms over her body. “Well, here’s some kind advice, I can tell from one look at you that life hasn’t been very nice to you. But that doesn’t make you special.”

Naomi steps in. “Nia!”

“Bad shit happens to people all the time. At some point, you have to stop allowing yourself to be a victim.” If not for the fact that Solana knows Nia can’t stand her, she’d almost think Nia is offering what she believes to be genuine advice vs judging her. “You’re here. You survived it. Make that survival worth something.”

Naomi pushes Nia away from Solana, saying something to her that appears to be in defense of Solana, which she’d appreciate if not for the fact that she’s now in her head.

Nothing Nia said is inherently wrong. The world is undoubtedly both good and bad, perfect yet imperfect, wholly and incompletely balanced. These are all facts she’s well aware of, but what Nia doesn’t know or understand yet is that a person still being here doesn’t mean they survived. 

Solana is already broken.

There is no survival.

There’s just existence.

“Don’t listen to Nia,” Naomi advises. Looking around, Solana sees that at some point in her dissociation, Nia departed. Naomi continues with that same warm smile. “She can be a bitch sometimes, but she does mean well…..occasionally.” Hands on her hip, Naomi brings the attention back to the whole reason Solana is even at the Warehouse. “How about we just start with flexibility and mobility? Most of us are smaller than the men, and you definitely are, girl.”

Small……

That’s a word Solana has never thought to use to describe herself. 

“Being smaller means we can move around faster, can navigate around an attacker in a bit of a quicker way. But, you also have to be able to move in a way that’s lithe. Don’t worry. I gotchu, girl.”

They are reassuring words, words that Solana is grateful for, especially as they begin and she feels completely out of her element. Because she is. Solana isn’t the least bit lithe, and she’s certain her hand eye coordination is straight up shit.

But regardless of all that, Naomi remains kind, patient, and even makes conversation with her.

It doesn’t feel like she’s being made to do this, but more like something she gets to do. And Solana is grateful for that interaction, for the space to not feel like she’s burdening someone. That feels nice. So, so nice.

But equilibrium is a hard thing to achieve and even harder to maintain, so while one safe space is being created, another unsafe space is gradually forming in the midst of her oblivion.

Austin Theory and Grayson Waller, two upcoming, arrogant, fighters and wannabe heads have used the Warehouse for their training space for the past few months after finally proving and gaining access to the elite training grounds. 

And while the initiation and acceptance process was brutal and would ward most off from fucking up their membership status, Austin and Grayson have always been hardheaded, too blinded by their own hubris to recognize when they’re about to shoot themselves in the foot.

And shooting themselves is the least of their worries when Grayson is casually surveying the gym to see who’s present, his eyes landing on a woman in particular who catches his interest almost instantaneously. 

“Well, who do we have here?” Austin is confused initially, Grayson motioning across the way to where Solana completes her cooldown with Naomi. 

Immediately, Austin scoffs. “Since when does this place offer a weight watchers class?”

Chuckling, Grayson still pushes back. “Hers is in the right places though, mate,” Grayson again advises Austin to watch Solana as she happens to be leaning back, palms flat on the ground making her top hug against her chest.

Austin makes a face. “Decent.”

“Who is she?” Grayson asks again as Austin notices a semi-familiar face walking nearby.

“Melo.”

Carmelo shifts his Beats headphones so they’re no longer covering his ears. “Whassup?”

Austin subtly gestures to Solana, asking, “who is that?”

Carmelo follows the line of vision and almost immediately snatches his eyes back to the duo. “Yo. You fuckin’ crazy?” 

“What?”

Carmelo repeats himself, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Do you know who that is?”

“Pretty sure that’s what we just fucking asked you, dumbass,” Austin slaps him upside the head. “Now who is she?”

“Solana Miller. Well, Solana Reigns now, I guess.” Carmelo lowers his voice, as if speaking too loudly will attract too much attention. And he’s not entirely wrong. “Roman’s wife.”

Grayson makes a face, looking between Carmelo and Austin for elaboration. “Reigns got married? Bullshit. That bloke is the last man to ever walk down the aisle.”

“You two would do well getting your head from up your asses every once in a while. It’s a recent thing, but still a thing. So unless you want your insides literally ripped from out of you, it’d be best to leave her the fuck alone.”

Austin, the most smug of the two, is the first to protest. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those. Everyone makes Roman out to be this big bad who can’t be touched. He defends, what, once every six months?” Austin scoffs. The fear that the “Head of the Table” seems to have over everyone has never made sense to him. Sure, he’s heard things, even seen some things, but that’s always been because Roman called the shot. He’s not the one actually taking or making them. “Everyone knows he has his heron boys do his dirty work for him.”

“Plus, isn’t the guy pushing 40? What the fuck is he going to do?” Grayson laughs.

“Break his fucking hip trying to chase us.”

Carmelo shakes his head as the two dipshits laugh at their unfunny humor. “I’m telling ya’ll. Messing with her is a death wish. Plus, I heard she’s not even like that. That’s she’s like….shy and shit.”

If intended to ward the two off, it does the complete opposite. Theory smirks. “Those are always the freakiest.”

Carmelo backs away, lifting his hand in a surrender motion. “Can’t say I ain’t warn you. Dig your own graves.” With zero interest in having any part of what these two are clearly planning, Carmelo puts his headphones back over his ears and jogs off to start his training. 

And it’s a wise decision as Austin and Grayson, forever the patient predators stalking their prey wait for Naomi to walk off, time it well so that there’s an appropriate enough time for Solana to walk off to the showers, get clean, and walk out at the same time they happen to be lurking in the halls that lead to the locker rooms. 

That’s exactly how it plays out too, Solana looking down in her bag to grab her phone and text Solo that she’s done and ready to leave when a voice nearly knocks the wind out of her.

“Hi there.”

Solana gasps as loud as the sound of her back colliding with the brick wall behind her from how startled she is.

Instantly, she’s met with a set of cold blue eyes and wicked smile. “Solana, right?”

Breathing feels like it’s an optional thing, her hands still gripping the brick wall behind her. She can only nod her answer.

“Austin.” He then nods to the other man that Solana realizes is leaning back against the wall opposite her. The anxiety intensifies. “This is my buddy, Grayson. You must be new around here?”

Solana doesn’t want to speak, doesn't want to be near these two who have her practically cornered. But, she also doesn’t want to piss them off either. “Y—yeah.”

Austin’s eyes twinkle with nothing that seems good. “You really are shy, huh?”

“They make the best.” Grayson comments from his propped up position. Solana doesn’t allow herself to think too much about what he’s implying. She just wants to get the hell away from them. One look, and she knows they’re up to no good.

It makes her sick to her stomach.

The idea of walking past these two brings a visceral, physical response that has her mouth watering. She feels like she’s going to throw up, but she also knows she needs to get the hell away from them. “I—I have to go.” From where the next thing to come out her mouth stems from, she doesn’t know, but it’s blurted with all the nerves in her body. “R-Roman is waiting for me.”

He’s not. She actually has no idea where he is, but there’s a part of her that wonders if reminding them of who she is, who her husband is will make them back off.

“Of course,” the one with an accent speaks, motioning with his arm for her to leave. “Don’t want to keep the Chief waiting.”

The mockery in his tone unease her even more. Does he not realize just who Roman is? What he’s capable of. 

Regardless, the second Austin backs away a bit, she’s darting through the hall, trying to put as much distance between herself and the two men, but she’s not far enough to miss the ominous departing statement from Austin.

“See you around, Solana.”

Something tells her this won’t be the last time she runs into them, and it leaves a deep, disturbing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

This isn’t good. 

It’s not good at all. 

————

Dear Mom,

I’m still alive. 

That’s a good thing, I guess. Life with Roman has been….a strange experience. The most important thing is that he hasn’t hit me yet, but I’ve been trying really hard not to upset him or get on his bad side. I do my best to make sure all of his meals are ready and on time, which I guess helps. 

But to be honest……he kinda confuses me. 

He hasn’t been unkind, and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced him really yelling at me. Not like I’ve seen him yell and scream at others. So, that’s also good. It’s a bit of walking on eggshells, just waiting for him to snap and hit me, but not as much as I was thinking.

I don’t know….it hasn’t been as bad here as I thought it would be. For the most part, he just leaves me alone. We don’t even eat dinner together, which is fine, cause I can’t see why he’d want to spend time with me anyway. 

But, he confuses me because it feels like sometimes he’s defending me or something, which doesn’t make sense because why would he do that? That would mean he has to care to some extent, right? I keep trying to remind myself that it’s probably not me he’s defending but his pride and standing, because I think being mean or disrespecting me is like disrespecting him? I’m not sure, but it’s definitely a new experience.

I haven't spoken to or heard from Wes and dad. Roman made me get a new phone with a new number that I’m not sure either of them have. I don’t know if I want to think too much about how bad it’s going to be when I finally do see them again…..

Wes made it clear I was supposed to be keeping in contact with them, but that hasn’t happened. Truth be told, I try not to think about that. Think about the fact that I’m somehow supposed be figuring out a way to…..to kill Roman. I could never do that. I could never kill anyone. You know that, mama. 

Even more….I feel like Roman is growing on me, like maybe he’s not as bad as I thought, like maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye.

I think….I think that I could learn to like living here.

—------

“WarGames?”

To Solana, it’s a simple question, because it’s definitely not an everyday term. But that’s clearly not the case given the startled expressions on both Bayley and Naomi’s face.

It’s becoming something she is slowly starting to enjoy. Not necessarily the training part, but the socialization. It’s something Solana has been deeply deprived of over the years, so to have someone to talk to, someone who wants to talk to her means a lot. 

Even if it’s technically a job she was assigned by Roman, Naomi has never made her feel like their interactions are forced. 

Moreover, it was just in last week’s training session, Solana was thoroughly and pleasantly surprised to find out Bayley is also a member of the Warehouse and friends with Naomi, that reunion almost giving Solana a sense of giddiness. 

She’s wanted to reach out since the wedding but never followed through based upon her fear that she’d be bothering Bayley. 

Clearly, that’s not the case. 

Solana is certain she’ll never forget Bayley’s kindness on a day where she really needed to believe in something, believe that there is always at least one reason to keep breathing, to be alive.

But, it’s when Solana asks about this topic Naomi and Bayley were discussing that attracts confounded expressions. 

“You’re kidding right?” Bayley is the first to speak, glancing between herself and Naomi. “He didn’t tell you?”

Still confused, Solana presses, “tell me what?”

“I’m not surprised Roman didn’t, but someone definitely should have.” Naomi shakes her head, shifting into an explanation.. “War Games. It’s an annual match. Super big deal. It’s a show of strength and dominance for the Bloodline. Kinda hard to explain. You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

It sounds….intense. “I—I don’t think I’m invited.”

“Your hubby has clearly been a bachelor for way too long for him to realize that he has to tell you these things.” Bayley rolls her eyes but protests Solana’s belief that she would somehow not be invited to one of the Bloodline’s most important yearly events. “You’re definitely invited. As Roman’s wife, you have to be there. It would be seen as a sign of great disrespect to him if you didn’t.””

Disrespecting Roman…..never a good idea.

“When is it?”

Naomi seems to hesitate before answering. “Tomorrow night” And before Solana can panic at such short notice, Naomis is reassuring her that it will all work out. “Don’t worry. Bay and I will help you get ready.”

“Hell yeah.” Bayley already goes into strategizing mode. “I’ll handle your hair and makeup, and Naomi can find you a kickass dress.”

“Red, of course. That’s the only non-negotiable. Bloodline thing, ya know.” Solana figured as such. She also briefly wonders if that’s why Roman has been coming back home late the past few weeks, because he’s been training? “But, I will say we usually dress….well, like we’re going clubbing for these kinds of events, so it’s gonna be short, tight, and a tad bit revealing.”

That is something that gives Solana pause. None of those things scream appealing to her at all. She doesn’t have the body to dress like that. Not with the rolls, stretch marks, and scars that mar hers. 

“I—I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she finds it in herself to voice her opinion. A rarity. “I don’t—I don’t think I’d look good in something like that.”

Both Bayley and Naomi cast her confused expressions, Naomi being the first to speak. 

“Why?” Naomi presses, gesturing up and down. “Girl, you have a nice ass shape. You would fill out a bodycon dress nicely.”

Solana has a hard time digesting what Naomi is saying. She would look great in a dress like that. Naomi is both fit and curvy, the perfect amount of curves in the right places without unnecessary fat. Same for Bayley.

For Solana, the less skin she’s showing the better, though she wonders if the kind of attire they’re describing is some type of dress code, meaning there is no room to protest. 

The last thing she wants is for it to get back to Roman that she’s being “difficult.”

Defeated, she murmurs an ‘okay’ as the two of them engage in more conversation about this WarGames as well as fashion options. To be fair, they try to include her in, but Solana is too into her head about what this alleged night is as well as what it could include.

—---

Naomi wasn’t lying when she said that Solana would have to see WarGames for herself to understand it. That’s the absolute truth. 

It’s a spectacle, to say the least. 

For one, it’s a ton of people packed around the ring, the massive room where fights take place. The noise is boisterous, almost deafening, people drunk, swearing, placing bets, most of which are on the Bloodline.

And thankfully, Solana and Co. are seated in the upper area, a VIP box of sorts, away from the unruly crowd. She’s thankful for this for a lot of reasons, one of the biggest being the fact that she feels extremely uncomfortable in her dress. And just in general, but mostly with how much scarred skin is showing.

The dress is exactly as Naomi said it would be: short, red, and a bit revealing. Thankfully Naomi picked out a dress with a halter neckline that prevents any cleavage from showing, but there’s a split high up on the thigh that she finds herself trying to constantly adjust.

“You look great, Solana.” Bayley wears that same friendly, encouraging smile from Solana’s wedding day. “And I get that you’re self-conscious about your body, but I can guarantee these men would line up by the dozen for a chance to go home with you if not for your psycho-killer husband.”

Bayley playfully nudges her shoulder, and while Solana can emit a chuckle, she can’t bring herself to laugh. That line of men would be just as disappointed as she’s sure her psycho-killer husband was on their wedding night.

But, this isn’t the time and place for that.

“You look nice,” Solana compliments, partially a deflection technique but mostly the truth. Bayley, Naomi, and Nicki, who she met earlier that night and learned was Jey’s wife, all look exceptional in their numbers. Bayley is the only one not wearing red, for obvious reasons, but the jade green compliments her complexion well.

“We all look nice,” she says loud enough for the other two to hear.

Nicki opens her mouth to respond when the lights in the arena start to shift.  “Ugh. This bitch again.” Nicki’s scowl and expression of irritation draws Solana’s attention to the woman in the ring, who now has the spotlight on her, a woman she immediately recognizes as being there that night Roman woke her up from a nightmare.

The woman is tall, curvy in the right places, beautiful, bouncy curls cascading down her back. If she has a lot of makeup on, Solana can’t tell because it’s painfully obvious she’s been blessed with natural beauty. Everything about her is just so gorgeous.

At the time, she didn’t think anything of it, too caught in the haze of trauma. But now, curious and believing she can receive an answer, Solana asks, “who is she?”

“The most annoying person ever,” Nicki answers, taking a swig of her drink. In only knowing Nicki for less than an hour, Solana both does and doesn’t understand the compatibility between herself and Jey. They seem very much alike yet dissimilar. It makes sense why they fight as much as they do.

“That’s Samantha.” There’s no way to misinterpret the disgust in Nicki’s voice even as she pronounces Samantha’s name with undeniable distaste. “She does the announcements for events, but her daytime job is being a professional hooker.”

“Nicki!” Naomi shakes her head. “I think she’s a paralegal for a lawyer or something, but she’s mostly known as a pain in everyone’s ass. Always has been. Ever since we were in high school. She thinks because she’s light skinned with ‘good hair’ that she’s better than everybody.”

“Don’t forget about Roman,” Nicki chimes with her nose upturned. “She really thinks she’s hot shit though because she’s number one on his ‘I want my dick sucked’ list.”

This causes Solana to pause for a second. “What?”

She’s not stupid. Why else would this Samantha have been over at the house that late at night? And with Roman? Solana figured early on that if he isn’t getting any from her, then he has to be getting it from somewhere. Truthfully, even if their marriage did involve sex, she’s not sure he still wouldn’t find his way in between the legs of another woman.

But, there’s something about having it confirmed, hearing for herself that he gets around, that he clearly has a high sex drive that adds a whole new layer of insecurity.

She’s known from day one she could never be anyone he wanted or needed, and he expressed as such that day at the library, but this conversation makes it feel more…..real.

And she’s unsure why or just what makes this bring on a sense of sadness.

“Come on, I get you’re quiet and innocent and shit, but everyone knows that man is a hoe. If you’re black or black–ish with a vagina, fat ass, and big titties, he’ll fuck you. Cause none of them fools fuck with white girls.” She glances at Bayley, almost sympathetically. “No offense.”

“I’m Mexican.”

This serves as a brief, nice distraction for Solana. She suspected that Bayley wasn’t entirely white, but hearing that she’s Hispanic, Mexican, makes Solana feel a small slice of excitement. She makes a mental note to ask her if she speaks Spanish. 

Solana hasn’t been able to communicate in the language her mother made sure to teach her in secret given Xavier’s protest since her murder. So, the idea of being able to communicate with another person in that language makes her feel a bit excited. Maybe more than a bit.

Nicki is dismissive, though there’s a hint of humor there. Like she knows and is just messing with the other woman. “Sure you are, Bay.”

Bayley rolls her eyes and assures Solana. “Don’t listen to her.”

“Ya’ll, don’t lie to this girl.” Nicki seems dead set on stressing this point, and Solana can’t figure out if it comes from a good place, a drunk place, or somewhere in between the two of them. “If it wasn’t common knowledge he don’t fuck none of these bitches raw and makes most get on birth control, I’d tell you to not let that fool touch you with a ten foot pole.”

Bayley is watching Solana, sees the discomfort growing at this conversation and moves to change the conversation. “Why don’t we talk about you and Jey and why I literally saw him flirting with Sasha the other day?”

At that, Nicki drops her drink, cussing loudly, “man, fuck him! I don’t give a fuck about him or that bony heifer! I’ll beat the shit out both of them.”

“Nicki. Shut the fuck up. You may beat her ass, but you gon be right back to drunk spilling about how good Jey’s dick is when it’s all said and done.” Naomi dismisses, and something tells Solana she’s not wrong. Nicki and Jey seem to have a bit of a…..tumultuous relationship.

“I mean it this time!”

“Uh huh, sure sis.”

“And if you don’t give a fuck about him, why are you here?” Naomi challenges. 

All eyes on her, even Solana’s slightly curious gaze, Nicki falls back in her chair and mumbles, “cause that’s my man.”

Naomi and Bayley are a chorus of laughter and whooping and hollering, roasting Nicki for her contradictory statements.

Flashing blue lights illuminate the arena as everyone immediately moves to their feet followed by opening music that almost instantly brings chills up Solana’s arms. The lights then transition to a combination of red and blue, the sound of cheering intensifying as she redirects her focus back to where the first group entered. 

Solana’s eyes instantly, maybe even naturally, land on Roman. He stands first among the men, shirtless, ula fala around his neck, championship belt around his waist, a look of fierce determination and stoicism painted across his handsome face. 

And that body…..rippling muscles glistening under the heat of the lights.

It’s a strange and miserable experience. Feeling all of the sensations and attractions a human typically has to another human being but having an almost inability to act on them. It’s not that Solana isn’t attracted to Roman. She finds him to be sinfully attractive. The issue is that whenever she thinks about what physical acts take place when two people find each other attractive is when her head is swarmed with vivid memories and flashbacks of being violated in the worst way possible.

And the attraction is stumped by fear and trauma. Fear of being touched. Fear of being with anyone in that way. 

It’s like Roman said. He can get that from anyone, so why would he bother with her?

When he has someone like Samantha, prettier, smaller, easier, at his disposal?

It brings a wave of sadness over her that she’s grateful isn’t noticed by the other ladies who are focused on the start of the match.

And to her credit, Solana tries to pay attention, grateful and thankful for Naomi and Bayley occasionally pointing out certain aspects of how it works, why the two groups are separated, individual members from each side periodically being sent into the line of fire.

“Roman always goes last,” Naomi explains at one point.

“Save the best for last type shit,” Bayley adds, finishing off her beer and asking for another. 

“More like once he gets his ass in there, it’s a wrap. Everyone left getting smashed.” Solana believes this wholeheartedly. She’s just not sure if she wants to see that, see that side of him up close. 

It exists, obviously, but it’s hard to compare the killer she knows he is to the man he’s been to in the short duration of their marriage.

Almost….almost kind. 

The fighting, brutal and bloody, all occurs in the ring, but Solana constantly finds her gaze falling back to Roman. He remains seated, patiently or maybe impatiently waiting for his turn, never once ripping his gaze from the match. She sees Paul outside the cage, occasionally speaking to Roman, advising as he always does. 

Solana can tell he’s completely immersed, focusing solely on the match before him. 

And it’s when there’s some type of in-ring argument between the twins and the other member-in-training of sorts, Sami, she thinks Naomi called him, that she turns to the ladies. “What are they doing?”

“Sealing a death wish,” Nicki answers with a shake of her head. “Roman gon’ have all they asses for this.”

Naomi sighs loudly, advising Solana after the bickering results in one of the men from the other group getting the upper hand, landing a particularly brutal looking kick to Jey. “There’s been some….contention between Sami and the twins, mostly Jey, but Nicki isn’t entirely wrong. They should know better than to let that shit interfere with a match. Roman will most likely make them stay after and……yeah.”

Solana doesn’t need a detailed explanation. She has a good idea of what Roman making them pay will look like. It’s also not something she wants to see.

The match, in and of itself, despite the excitement and pure interest of everyone around her, isn’t necessarily something she wants to see. Solana has seen, been exposed, and experienced enough fighting violence to last her a lifetime. 

This is entertainment to them, but for her, it’s been her lived experience.

So, she doesn’t feel any sort of adrenaline rush watching grown men beat the crap out of each other, blood, sweat, and bruised, battered bodies putting themselves through hell. It gives her some relief to see that the Bloodline, for the most part, remains with the upperhand. Even with their in-house argument earlier in the fight. 

But, it’s when the timer that ends with another man joining the brawl moves to a ten second countdown that her interest grows a bit more. It grows a bit because Roman is finally about to enter the ring.

She watches him, has mostly just watched him this entire time. He’s just as unbothered as he was the minute he walked in. Adjusting his gloves while Paul clearly tries to bestow some last minute wisdom before he makes his entrance.

It feels a bit redundant. She’s certain this man doesn’t need anyone helping him with anything.

And as soon as the timer winds down to zero, Roman gradually making his way to the ring, Solana knows she was right. Knows he doesn’t need help, because he’s been studying and planning for the past almost 45 minutes. Strategizing.

It shows the minute the men, all 10 of them go at it. It’s hard to keep track of all of the mayhem, fists flying, kicks landing in areas that are sure to require a couple days to recover. But, it’s Roman who still manages to catch and hold Solana’s attention. He moves with such precision and accuracy, blows every bit as barbarous and violent as his reputation warrants.

There’s a small part of her that experiences something she can’t quite label or understand when he takes a hit, especially when a member of the other team manages to catch Roman off guard, sending him into the table, the weight of him snapping it in half.

At that, she nervously starts to move her fingers up and down the side of her dress. But, Roman, while clearly impacted from the blow by the blood starting to stream down the back of his arm only seems further enraged. Like being attacked has somehow refueled him, recharged his already pre-existing rage.

“They are in trouble now….” Naomi murmurs, shaking her head, as if she knows what’s about to come. “Roman hates getting hit, and they made him bleed too?”

It’s the blood part, maybe, that bothers Solana. It’s silly given who he is and the fact that he’s clearly holding his own just fine, but Solana wonders why he doesn’t or can’t have that tended to. It has to hurt.

But, then again, it all hurts, so maybe the pain just numbs itself out.

And maybe Roman is clearly caught up and consumed in adrenaline, in the mad rush of the battle, because it seems from the table slam on out, no one is touching him. He’s all over the place, strong blows resulting in grown men crying out in pain. She’s certain those closer to the actual ring can hear the sound of bones crunching, an inevitable thing given the abnormal distortion of limbs she sees on the other team.

He yells and taunts his opponents, one by one, laying them out with the somewhat assistance of the rest of the men. Truth be told, Roman could have probably tagged out the other four men and handled the other team all on his own. 

He’s just that effective.

And when there’s only one man standing, barely, Roman moves to the other side of the ring, face turned up in rage, watching and waiting for the perfect moment for him to dart across, laughing into a spear so forceful that it knocks the man unconscious instantly, guaranteeing an instant, easy pin.

The crowd erupts in cheers, Roman’s music sounding as Samantha formally announces the Bloodline as the winners.

There’s a strange sense of relief that Solana has at that, at the fact that this is all over, that the fighting is done. That Roman is done, because her mind keeps going toward the fact that he probably needs some level of medical attention and when said attention is going to happen.  

But while she expects the Bloodline to start their exit, she’s instead met with security dragging the unconscious bodies of the losing team outside of the ring.

“What’s happening?” Solana asks Bayley, realizing that the women are starting to pack up to head out. “Isn’t—isn’t it over?”

“For us, yes.” Her eyes set on the twins, Solo, and Sami. “For them, it’s just beginning.” Solana reflects back on their in-ring argument and Naomi’s foreshadowing about this happening, about this punishment.

And one glance at Roman, his hulking shoulders lifting and lowering with his heavy panting. His eyes are flaming with a fury he clearly intends to take out on his team.

“Come on.” Naomi draws Solana’s attention. “I’ll ride home with you, cause Solo ain’t gon be free no time soon.”

None of them will.

Solana recognizes this and agrees, but it’s not without a sense of disappointment at not leaving with Roman.

And that confuses her. It confuses her a lot.

She didn’t arrive with him, so why would she leave with him?

More importantly, why does she care that she’s not leaving with him?

—----------

“I–I can do that for you.”

There are some things meant to be thought and some things meant to be said. This is one of those things that should have stayed in Solana’s head instead of rolling off her tongue the way it does. 

She was only supposed to ask him if he wanted her to make anything in particular for breakfast tomorrow, not offer to freaking suture stitches for him.

Well, that’s not entirely true, because as it’s almost damn midnight, she could and should at least be in bed trying to sleep. She’s been home for almost two hours, showered, changed into her oversized shirt and sweats. 

She shouldn’t even be standing before him, but there was some type of unease she had at trying to fall asleep without making sure he made it home, without seeing to it that he tended to any injuries he sustained tonight.

Solana almost feels like that’s what she should do, like she should make sure she’s available to assist him with anything he may need. Like it’s just another thing that could keep him from directing his anger from earlier towards her. 

And it’s slightly less stressful for her in knowing that he’s more likely to harshly dismiss her, maybe even chastise her for unintentionally implying he’s somehow incapable. However, instead of a rebuff, he simply looks at her, asking, “you know how?”

Solana doesn’t know why, but she takes this as a sign that he’s accepting her offer. Walking over to where he sits at the kitchen island, she sees he already has the supplies laid out. “I—I’ve had a lot of experience.”

Some of it from patching up her dad and brother but most of it from patching up herself over the years, from watching and learning from her mother tend to her wounds after sustaining beatings from Xavier. “My mom was also a nurse. She—she taught me a lot.” Like the proper way to suture. “Did—did you already disinfect?”

Solana is slightly nervous when he says no. That means she’s the one that’s going to have to inflict that brief but potent burning pain.

Lovely.

Nonetheless, she readies the cloth, holding it over the cut before warning, “this—this might sting.”

“I don’t care.” And she believes it. Seeing him in the ring tonight, his prowess, his brutality, she’s not sure if anything could hurt him.

Solana proceeds to clean and disinfect the area before grabbing the sutures to start stitching him back up.

Roman suddenly asks her. “Did you want to go into the medical field?” Roman recalls from the file he read on her that she never pursued any higher education beyond high school, something else he marked against her at the time. Education and knowledge have always been important to him.

But meeting her and slowly learning more about her backstory, he wonders if that was of her own choosing, hence his asking.

Solana, meanwhile, can’t figure out why he’s even talking to her in the first place. He seemed, justifiably, annoyed with and not wanting to be bothered with any and everyone post match. Now he’s asking her questions about things she hasn’t thought about in years. 

Still, she answers with the truth. “I—I wanted to be a nurse. Like my mom.” 

This doesn’t surprise Roman as he follows up with, “why didn’t you?”

A lot of reasons. Many of which she has very little desire to share, not that she could or would even want to ever voice as such to the man sitting in front of her. 

That’d be an instant death wish.

“My—my father. He, umm, didn’t want me to leave home.” It’s a version of the truth, the unabridged version being he didn’t want her to leave home because he wouldn’t be able to control her if she did so.

And Solana has a feeling that she doesn’t need to share all that, that Roman already knows this.

“Why didn’t you just leave?” Roman’s delivery, like most of the time, is insensitive. But, he genuinely wants to know. For what reason did she stay there all those years, in a house of horrors instead of just leaving and never looking back?

It’s a fair, simple question with a complex, layered answer that she greatly simplifies. 

“I tried. It—it never worked out.” And it’s when Roman hears the sudden sadness in her voice, sees the way her eyes temporarily shift to her inner forearms, horizontal faded scars that he’s just now able to see from how close she is to him that he gets it.

He realizes that she tried in more ways than one, none of them being successful.

And in a truly coincidental way, Solana notices he’s also cut on the back of his bicep. It’s also in her being so close to him that she realizes underneath the intricacies of the tribal tattoos on his forearm, there are scars. Burn scars, nothing severe, but visible enough for her to notice. 

It makes her wonder about where he got them, how he got them, not that she’d ever have enough bravery to ask.

She instead clears her throat and gestures to the cut. “Do–do you want me to do that one too?”

It takes a second for Roman to think about what she’s asking. “Is it deep enough?”

Without thinking about it, she brings her hand to finger to lightly feel the cut that was clearly poorly and in a rush patched up post fight. Nodding, she explains, “it’s deeper than about 1/4th an inch, so yeah, I—you should let me.” And in realizing she’s touching him, like she isn’t doing the same thing while suturing, she snatches her hand back, apologizing quietly.

He doesn’t think he’s ever had a woman apologize for touching him.

“Okay.” 

And that’s it, he doesn’t protest, doesn’t chastise her for making it seem like he doesn’t know or understand injuries. He just allows her to work on him, Solana doing her best to ignore the fact that he’s so close to her, his big, strong body, even while seated, overwhelming her. 

But while this would typically cause Solana to go into panic mode, being so close to a half dressed man, she doesn’t feel that with Roman. She doesn’t feel anything at all. No anxiety, no fear, just some nameless emotion that doesn’t evoke her typical nervous responses.

“Okay.” Finishing up, Solana moves to clean up the supplies, discarding what is no longer usable. “Just….don’t get it wet for next few hours, and apply the ointment as needed, but—I’m sure you know all this already.” She feels silly for speaking to him as if he hasn’t patched himself up or been stitched up countless time before. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna go to bed now.”

Not wanting to risk embarrassing herself further, she turns on the heel of her foot and starts walking off, only to stop when he calls for her. 

“Solana.”

She turns around, and Roman is briefly caught up in how she presses her lips together, trying to suppress a frown. She thinks she’s done something wrong.

One more sweep of her frame from bottom to top, remembering the stunning complement and contrast of the red dress against her complexion. He compliments, “you looked beautiful tonight.”

She looks absolutely taken back by what is an obvious statement. Taken back and confused. “M—me?” She’s pointing to herself, brows arching together. And for a second, there’s a small hint of a growing smile as she asks, as if he could have made a mistake. “Really?”

He didn’t.

Roman doesn’t make mistakes

Solana has a lot of things fucked up about her, but one thing not a damn person can deny is that she’s absolutely gorgeous with a body to match. That’s just a fact, why he felt the need to express said fact is a bit beyond him, but Roman doesn’t allow himself to think too much about it. It’s not a sentimental thing at all, just a plain fact being stated, if anything.

“Thank you,” she finally says as he notices the reddening of her cheeks. “Umm, good night.” Solana’s hand is on the banister, her finger squeezing tighter than the coils in her stomach. “Roman?”

It would be a hell of a lot easier if he would have just ignored her, but he doesn’t. His gaze snaps up to her from the phone now in his hand.

The same hand she witnessed just tonight pummel grown men, just as muscular and intimidating as he is to a bloody pulp. The same hand that could easily take her life, could have her clinging onto life with just one beating. And that’s all she can see at the thought of telling him about Grayson and Theory messing with her, that it’s now happened twice, they’ve caught her off guard and alone, sexually harassing her. 

Nia’s words from the other day return to the front of her mind.

“He wants you to stop being so weak.”

He’ll blame her. He’ll blame her the same way her father blamed her for what they did to her. He’ll blame her for being so weak. That’s what Solana knows will happen. Knows he’ll say she was leading them on, that she must have done something to garner their interest in her. And he’ll be angry.

He’ll be angry at her.

And nothing good ever comes out of Roman Reigns being angry.

She’s seen it for herself firsthand tonight.

Determine to find a way to deal with this on her own, she shakes her head, “nothing. S–sorry.” She’s turned back to the steps when he says her name this time. His tone clear and authoritative.

She jumps, immediately turning back around to face him. He’s now standing near the steps where she stands, halfway between rescue and ridicule.

Something flashes in his gaze at her obvious nervousness, but he quickly refocuses on the topic at hand. “You have something to say, so say it.”

A deep layer of regret and anxiety settles in at the realization that there is no lying to Roman. He’s adroitly skilled in reading between the lines and seeing through bullshit. Or maybe she’s just that bad at lying.

Hopefully not the latter because another lie is about to roll right out.

“I was just—I was gonna sleep in tomorrow, but I have to make your breakfast, so I’ll just—”

“You don’t have to do anything, Solana.” 

Roman knows she’s lying. Knows she just pulled that out of her ass instead of sharing whatever it is she initially wanted to say. It’s probably something stupid too, something he won’t give two shits about, but something she thinks he gives two shits about. And he’d push her if not for the fact he can tell she’s getting all nervous and shit on him again. The last thing he needs is her having another panic attack. 

“Sleep in,” he directs. This is a conversation, much to his chagrin, that will have to take part in sections. And it’s too late in the evening to hash out one of those sections. And to be fair, there is a part of him that recognizes she probably does feel like she needs to be up at the ass crack of dawn like him to have his first meal of the day ready to go. And his lunch. And his dinner.

Granted, Roman can’t and won’t complain about all of it, because the girl can cook her ass off.

But, it’s not necessary.

He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.

He’s done so since he was 10 years old.

“Thank you.” She does that thing again where she smiles like he’s just told her she’s won the lottery or been given the cure to world hunger. It’s the simplest things that seem to make her happy. Considering the bar has already been set so low, it makes a bit of sense.

It makes a lot of sense.

“Goodnight.”

Roman is certain she’s intentional in the way she turns on the heel of her foot to move up the stairs, putting as much distance between the two of them to avoid a follow up question. Her avoidance behavior is a bit impressive, irksome, but still impressive, nonetheless.

And it would be remiss of Roman to not sneak a peak of her retreating form moving up the steps, his eyes glued to the sway of her ass, again remembering that short, red dress that momentarily distracted him when he laid eyes on her at the match.

Roman would never deny his physical attraction to her. That’s just a fact. She’s shaped in a way that makes his dick hard at the thought of having that body underneath his, writhing, begging for him to not stop fucking her in all the ways he would if he could.

But, that’s a fantasy. It’s a fantasy because the reality is that he can’t even touch this girl without her freaking out on him, something that would annoy him greatly if he didn’t realize there’s a reason behind her jumpiness.

Something that’s beyond just her shitty father and brother. 

Roman doesn’t allow himself to travel down that path, to see what it might lead to because just the thought of what might be the reason she doesn’t like being touched has his fist forming at his side, nostrils flared, and anger brewing at an accelerated pace that doesn’t make sense.

It also doesn’t make sense when he grabs his phone, navigating to the desired thread, sending a text he doesn’t think much about.

Roman: Get me a list of dog breeders. Small dogs. Preferably local. We can travel if necessary.

Paul: Sir?

Roman: Just do it.

Paul: I’ll have it to you by tomorrow morning.

[weepingwillowwonder]

Horny Hazbin Hotel Thoughts/Drabbles: NSFW AHEAD [Minors DNI! 🔞] -> -> ->

This is about Alastor & Angel Dust (separately)

Summary: Things you SAY you don’t like because it makes you feel either: shy, scared, or pissed off, but actually really turns you on and how they would react (explanation at the end)

CW: Degradation, Prey/Predator kink, Humiliation Kink, Being held down, Non-Con ish Elements, Tentacles

[PART 1]

Angel Dust: Because of his line of work he is VERY careful not to push your boundaries, as you also do with him. However, sometimes things happen unintentionally…

You guys are hanging out in the hotel lounge, him draped across the sofa, you on the floor. You both are scrolling away on your phones, showing each other the occasional meme and chatting about Angel’s recent shoot.

At that moment though, you were fully distracted by something on your phone. Your cheeks warm up at the suggestive content, which Angel IMMEDIATELY notices - “What the fuck you watchin’ that’s got you blushin’ like that?” Well NOW you’ve got his attention.

You both end up playfully wrestling for the device but you end up pinned underneath him. When you realize Angel is a lot stronger than he looks, you start to struggle in his hold, hating the feeling of being pinned down. Focused on your phone, he doesn’t realize you’re starting to get upset and continues to hold you down.

Starting to panic, you feel tears prick at your eyes and again try to buck your hips to get him to move. This time, however, the movement brushes your crotch in a confusingly delicious way and a loud moan slips out of you. You don’t mean to, but your hips jump up again to chase the feeling. At that, Angel looks down at you, his previous smile slipping from his face.

“Oh shit! Shit, fuck! I’m so sorry, I forgot-” He lets go of you and starts to get up but pauses, watching you beneath him. “Wait, did you just moan…?” You blink the tears away and swallow, staying silent and turning your head away instead.

“Shit…” he whispers, lowering his hips back down against yours. “You did, didn't you?” He briefly looks up to make sure no one is around and experimentally rolls himself against you again. Involuntarily, you back arches this time and you moan again.

“Fuck, you like that..?” He mumbles, blushing at the way you whimper beneath him. You both look into each other's eyes, wordlessly panting. He gently grabs your hands again and presses them on the floor above your head. His other set of hands grip your hips, pulling you up to meet his.

He leans down, ghosting his lips against yours as he bucks his hips intently. Your eyes flicker back and forth between his lips and his eyes, biting your lip. When he leans down to kiss you, you let out an open mouth moan, legs spreading in an attempt at feeling more of him. The throbbing between your legs intensifies and you whine out his name, “Angel! Wait, you’re gonna make me-!” 

He buries his head in your neck and doubles down his efforts, practically fucking you through your clothes. “Yeah?” He pants out “Come on then..” He lets you wrap your legs around his waist and groans as you tense up under him.

He gently holds you and waits until you calm down before slowly sitting up. He runs his fingers through his hair and lets out an awkward laugh “Well fuck!” You throw an arm around your face embarrassed.

---

Alastor: In an overheard conversation, you mention you hate being chased and Alastor saves that information for later. 

During a team bonding exercise, Charlie expresses the want to play ‘capture the flag’ in the hotel. Something about building a healthy comradery…

”The rules are simple! The hotel is separated into two sections and each team’s flags are hidden in those areas. The objective is to get the other team’s flags without being caught, the team with the most flags wins!”

The teams are divided evenly, both you and Alastor on different sides. Everyone goes their separate ways and the game begins.

You find yourself alone, sneaking around in an attempt to find the flags. To your luck you do find one, quickly shoving it in your pocket and making your leave. You realize however, that one of Alastor’s shadows has been watching you the whole time. “Ah, there you are..!” 

You don’t even turn around to acknowledge Alastor’s presence, immediately racing down the hallway. All you need to do is get to your team’s section… Your heart pounds in your chest as you turn the corner. You hear a chuckle behind you, and a sing songy voice,  “Run, run as fast as you can~” 

You see the stairs, your saving grace to get back to your team. A shriek escapes your lips as you’re suddenly dragged backwards by Alastor’s tentacles and forced against the wall. He slowly approaches and takes in your appearance. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, chest heaving trying to catch your breath…

His grin widens as you struggle in his binds. “My, my, what do we have here..” The static from his radio filter crackling as he speaks. “I thought you had a distaste for being chased?” he questions, teasing you.

You’re both terrified and confused at his question, “W-what are you..?! I-I do!” You sputter out a response. His eyes narrow as he lets out a hum. 

“Hmm…then what do you suppose this is about?” His tentacles slide between your legs, pressing firmly. Your hips buck at that and you gasp. It’s incredibly embarrassing how you feel yourself making a mess in your underwear right now.

“H-how did you-” You cut off with a moan when the tentacles continually slide themselves between your thighs and press into your core. Alastor’s nostrils flare at that, taking a deep breath to lead in closely, “Darling…I can smell you a mile away. Like a bitch in heat…”

You gasp at his words and your hips start to move along with his tentacles. He stands closely but doesn't reach out to touch you, both hands holding onto his microphone. “That’s it..” he purrs, seeming pleased with you cooperating with him. Your head drops as you feel yourself get closer, panting at the sensation between your legs. Your body feels hot all over, but the cool temperature of his tentacles contrasts it greatly.

In the distance, you hear the sounds of footsteps, both of you turning in the direction it’s coming from. You whimper his name and he turns back to you, whispering, “You’d better hurry, you wouldn’t want to get caught, do you?”

His tentacles start to move faster now, quickly sliding between your legs and all you can do is take it. Your mouth opens to cry out and Alastor quickly reaches up to slide his fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet. Your eyes roll back as your orgasm suddenly comes over you, sloppily sucking on his fingers. 

He hums softly, dragging his fingers across your tongue before pulling out and wiping them on his pants. His tentacles gently set you on the ground and his smile softens. “This little game was fun..Should you want to play again, you know where to find me..” He manifests into the floor and disappears, leaving you to wonder what just happened.

---

So recently I read a predator/prey Alastor x reader fic and I was shook because being chased genuinely freaks me out, among other things. BUT because it's Alastor, it's hot. SO I thought of this series that I may or may not be projecting in...

I WILL be writing other characters for this lol

[I do NOT own Hasbin Hotel or it's characters, do NOT repost my content elsewhere please and thank you.]

[fishsticksloser]

Hey! Can i request Leo and Donnie with a gn reader where their s/o gets turned into a child for a day or two? Js their reaction to it and s/o clinging onto donnie and leo and overall not leaving their side during that period : )

Young Again

Leo & Donnie x gn!reader

Warnings: becoming a child again, fluff, slight angst?

A/N: Another thank you to @mapleleavesart you have been such an amazing support, helping me out. I greatly appreciate it, I can't say it enough.

Donnie

Panics

Carries you around either in his arms on on his battleshell

Lets you walk around on your own

Follows you around to make sure you don’t get into trouble

Or get hurt

Tries to make sure you’re fed/hydrated

Ends up doing a lot of research on children and how to take care of them

Walks on eggshells around you

Not wanting to hurt a literal child, as he was literally designed for war and young humans are a lot more fragile than he and his brothers were at that age

Not the best with kids

Spends most of the time standing around awkwardly to watch you…

Only to step in and scoop you up when it looks like you’re about to fall/touch his machines or tech/bang your head against the table/etc

Is so relieved when you turn back into an adult/teenager

Leo

Freezes

Has an “aw, shit” moment Is generally overall good with kids tho

Will watch tv with you, get snacks when you cry, the works

Lots of cuddles

If you cry from getting hurt, he’s good at distracting you

Will put a Jupiter Jim bandaid on your scraped knees

Tries to feed you non child-friendly foods… like takis or smth

Shares candy/sugary treats with you…

And playfully wrestles with you to burn off the sugar

Cuddles + naps ensue

Overall doesn’t hover or coddle you

Treats you like a much older child than you actually are

Like a slightly older child that needs to be watched 24/7 but he’s pretty chill about it

Is slightly relieved when you turn back to your normal age, but also a little sad because he enjoyed the endless love and joy of a child

[091400]

UPGRADE.

PAIRING: yang jeongin x fem!reader (ft han jisung)

CONTAINS: power play (?), face riding, masturbation, biting, lowkey sub/dom dynamics, voyeurism, exhibitionism, perv!jisung, switch!afab!reader, switch!jeongin.

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

AUTHORS NOTE: this is originally an old work of mine! i fixed a lot of mistakes because i wrote it two years ago 😭. i wrote this as a self birthday present for my 21 birthday and it’s based on a dream i had ;) went exactly like this and holy shit reading it back made me FEEL things.. so yeah! please enjoy and let me know what you think!

A screaming match in the kitchen woke you up.

You sighed as you put on a shirt that wasn’t yours and went to see what was happening outside your very comfortable room. It was very common for you and your roommates to share clothes, after all, you washed them together and sometimes they got mixed up, so it wasn’t a problem at all to use someone else’s clothes.

The Han Jisung vs Yang Jeongin live-action was happening right in the middle of your kitchen.

Your classmate Kim Seungmin, who was also majoring in Photography like you, subtly mentioned that two of his close friends were looking for a place to live, so after some interrogation on your part, you found Jeongin and Jisung to be a good fit for the place you called home.

And here they were, a whole year later, fighting for their lives in the middle of the kitchen. Jeongin was holding Jisung’s arm against his back in some sort of wrestling position, the older struggling against the kitchen counter with Jeongin laughing as he held him effortlessly.

“When are you going to behave, Hyung?” Jisung groaned, getting more and more frustrated with every passing second. You watched it all from the door, snickering.

“Why are you bullying your hyung, Innie?” Both of them snapped their heads toward your voice, watching you lean against the door with a grin.

Jisung didn't waste a second, instantly freeing himself from Jeongin’s grasp when he was distracted by your presence, hopping away from him with a fighting stance. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“Then don’t steal my food when I have repeatedly asked you if you wanted some and you said no three times.” Jisung raised his eyebrows in annoyance, and then he turned his head towards you like he was expecting you to say something.

“What are you looking at, Jisungie? He was very clear.” Jeongin winked at you as he grabbed his food, and quickly disappeared into his room without saying anything else, brushing his arm with yours as he walked past you.

Jisung scoffed, begrudgingly starting to make some breakfast for himself after the whole tragedy he had just suffered. You walked to the refrigerator and got yourself some cereal and milk, watching how the man was fuming while making himself a sandwich.

“Stop frowning, you look ugly.” That was a lie.

His eye twitched at your words, “Shut up, you didn’t say anything to defend my honor.”

You scoffed at him, eating your cereal unbothered. “It was none of my business, chill out.” He rolled his eyes and took a seat in front of you on the kitchen table.

Both of you ate in silence for a few minutes, occasionally glancing over to watch the other, until you broke the silence.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something with me in my room?” Jisung choked on his sandwich, making you laugh, “Are you okay?”

“No thanks, I have other important things to do now.” He looked away, and your jaw dropped for a few seconds, then you quickly regained composure. Was he still mad about you not defending his honor?

“Sure, don't worry about it.” You stood up from the table looking at him one last time, leaving your plate in the kitchen sink. “Have fun then, I’ll ask Innie.”

Smirking on your way to Jeongin’s room your thoughts drifted to Jisung, he never rejected the chance to spend time with you, even to the point of canceling his own plans to hang out, you shrugged it off and knocked on Jeongin’s door.

“Come in.”

You opened the door to see him sitting with his legs crossed, still eating his food and watching some anime on his laptop. “Hi.”

He nodded at you, cheeks full of food, he paused the anime and put the bowl of food on his nightstand. “Hey, what’s up?”

Jeongin was wearing an oversized graphic tee, with a pair of shorts that left almost nothing to the imagination, his marked thighs from working out daily fighting against the fabric, showing off more because of the way he was seated on his bed.

“Hannie rejected my invitation to watch a movie, y'know, I have an actual TV.” You grinned wiggling your eyebrows, you were set on watching a movie with someone, it didn’t matter if it was Jisung or Jeongin.

“Is this an invitation to fuck?”

Huh?

You smirked, “I mean if we are in the middle of the movie and you get hard I’ll think about it.” Jeongin chuckled.

“That depends on the movie.” He raised his eyebrows with a playful smile.

“You think we are watching Fifty Shades or what?”

He shook his head as he stood up, getting closer to you. You noticed his wet hair and his bangs sticking to his forehead, he had showered before the breakfast incident probably. He smelled good, and he was looking extraordinarily handsome today.

“Well, are we going or not?”

You rolled your eyes as you followed him to your room. He quickly got himself comfortable on your bed and took the lead to pick the movie, you went to see if Jisung was still in the kitchen, but he wasn’t there, so on your way back to the room you clashed with him who was just leaving the bathroom.

“Ouch, sorry,” You glared at him, he looked at you weirdly and peeked at your open door, seeing Jeongin getting comfortable on your bed, covering himself with your blankets. “Oh… you went to him instead?”

You scoffed, getting annoyed, “Of course, I want to watch a movie, weren’t you busy?”

Jisung looked away, “Yes, sorry.”

“Then see you later, hm.” You entered your room and closed the door on him, leaving him speechless.

Jeongin looked amused by the whole situation, “I’m still winning after all.”

“Don’t.”

You jumped on the bed and took your spot beside him, who was looking very cozy with your blankets covering him. Jeongin had already put a movie on, it was a horror movie and you were happy.

“We’ll watch the movie adaptation of the book It by Stephen King,” Jeongin murmured, getting comfier and putting his head on your shoulder. You nodded and rested your head against his soft hair.

You could count with two hands the actual time the both of you watched the movie. The protagonist’s little brother was about to die to the ugly ass clown hiding in the sewer when Jeongin’s hand grazed your thigh, at first you shrugged it off but the second time you felt his fingers against your skin, you knew it wasn’t an accident.

“Are you truly getting horny with this scene?” You chucked, caressing Jeongin’s hair with your hand.

He grabbed your thigh and stroked it gently with his long and slender fingers. “To be honest, you’re not wearing pants.”

“I’m wearing underwear and a shirt, that’s how I sleep, that’s not an excuse.”

“You literally invited me here to fuck?” Your jaw dropped.

“I did not,” You pushed his head off your shoulder making him frown at you. “Bro, I just wanted to see a movie in peace but you horny gremlin and the other angry gremlin cannot do this to me.”

Jeongin smirked, quickly pausing the movie and looking back at you as he sat on your lap, trapping you between his thighs. “What are you-” He took off his shirt and looked down at you, a lazy grin plastered on his face.

“What the fuck Yang Jeongin.”

“At least are you thinking about it?” Of course you were thinking about it, he was literally shirtless in front of you, his toned chest from working out and his biceps at your mercy.

You traced your hand around his chest, playing with his nipples as he shivered, his grin faltering at your touch. He wrapped his arms around your neck as you played with his chest, scratching his pecs with your nails.

“You’re so thinking about it.”

You nodded, tilting your head to the side and watching him stare at your lips, his chest slowly expanding with each breath he took and licking his lips more times than he could count. You pouted, your doe eyes working hard and fast on him.

“So are you going to kiss me or not?” He grinned as he leaned on capturing your lips in a kiss. He was good, slowly sucking on your lower lip making it a hundred percent hotter than it should be.

Still sitting in your lap with his arms around your head, holding you up to keep you in place, kissing him. His hips started working against your lower belly, the bulge on his shorts growing hard with each thrust. “Oh?” He giggled like he got caught doing something bad.

“Was this your plan all along?” You asked, after a long kiss. Jeongin was breathless, so he just nodded sharply.

He was kissing you again, one hand caressing your cheek and the other holding your head. His tongue made expert movements inside your mouth, wanting more and more from you.

Your hands were still on his chest, making him tremble against you every time your hands caressed his torso. You could feel his already hard cock against your belly, taking the initiative, your hand wandered down to his shorts making him jump slightly, he smiled against your mouth when he realized what you were doing.

“Take them off?” He rolled his eyes as he struggled with letting your lips go.

He got up from your lap, quickly taking all of his remaining clothes off and smirking when your eyes went down to stare at his hard leaking cock shining with precum on the tip, he made a mocking sound.

“I mean, it’s a pretty dick, why are you laughing?” You clapped back, he shook his head as he got closer to you, kissing you deeply leaving no room between the both of you as he got on your lap again.

You wasted no time getting your hands and mouth on him, watching him gasp at the feeling of your hand wrapping around cock and the other playing gently with his ballsack. Your mouth attacking his neck while leaving crimson marks, the sounds he made encouraging you to continue, his hands traveled to your hair, pulling it as you jerked him off.

Between the sweet sounds of Jeongin’s moans on top of you, grinding his hips against your hand to gain more friction, you heard some shuffling on your door, it was now a little bit open but you didn’t pay it any attention, your lock was broken anyways.

Jeongin’s breath got erratic and your head snapped in his direction, feeling yourself getting wetter just by his looks, sweaty hair, and gaping mouth. “I’m going to-” He gasped, closing his eyes shut, his whole body shaking on top of you. He came hard in your hand, with a few last pumps he began to whine result of the overstimulation.

He moved himself to the side so you could step out of the bed and get yourself cleaned, you had fluids all over your arm and hand, and some on your shirt too.

But before you could go too far he spoke again.

“Come back here,” He muttered darkly, “You’re going to sit on my face.” As you were wiping your arm with a wet cloth Jeongin made himself comfortable again on your bed.

“Is that so?” He nodded sharply, sticking his tongue out teasingly.

You teased him back, slowly removing your underwear that was soaking wet after the exchange, and throwing it near the door. Jeongin licked his lips as you walked closer to him until you were towering over him only wearing your shirt.

“C’mon, sit.” He didn’t had to ask you twice, you got yourself on top of his head, getting yourself comfortable on the bed and with his head between your thighs. The moment you lowered yourself into his mouth he did a long lick on your folds, taking it all in.

You moaned loudly, damn he was good.

He traced his tongue all around your folds, alternating between your core and clit, making you jump when he pressed his tongue in the spot you liked so much. Your hand flew to his hair, pulling it hard to make him keep doing what he was doing perfectly fine under you.

Jeongin puffed air on your folds as he separated his mouth from your core, you exhaled shakily as you looked down to see him smirking at you. “You look so pretty on top of me,” He murmured, eyes glazed as you rolled your eyes.

“That’s why you stopped?” He quickly grabbed your thighs to pull you down on him, sucking harshly on your clit with a mission on his mind.

Jeongin was good with his mouth, in every way that could sound. He was an excellent singer, the best student in his university debate club, and of course, a god giving head.

Your hands on his hair, keeping him in place to continue his kitten licks on your cunt. Jeongin didn’t fight you and accepted it happily. His hands were gripping your thighs to keep you in place on his face, after a few seconds he started to move you the best he could to make you ride his face, and you were happy to comply with it.

The sounds coming out of your mouth were music to Jeongin’s ears, he speeded up his movements on your clit making you whine, riding his face harder. He was grateful if his death was between your legs, giving you head.

With a few last movements on your part, you came on his face with a loud whine, your legs quivering as he held you up in place to keep you from falling, licking all of the fluids that came from you gladly. When he finished, he slowly removed himself from under your body while you were still recuperating from the orgasm now laying on the bed.

“Round two?” He proposed from the other side of the bed, you exhaled deeply, preparing yourself mentally as you nodded.

“Get yourself hard, my hand is sore.” You joked, totally willing to suck him off and then fuck.

“Don’t worry, I’m ready if you are.” With a confused look you glanced at his cock, happily discovering he was rock hard, probably from eating you out.

Okay, that was hot.

“Do you have condoms here? or should I go to my room for one?” He teased you with a wink, and you suppressed a laugh.

“Maybe you should ask your hyung for one, hm?” He looked at you incredulously, you snickered and pointed to your bedside table. 

Jeongin got to work, and quickly got the condom from your drawer looking at you funny because you had a LOT of them in your drawer, you shrugged. Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, ready to wreck you. You were still wearing just the shirt, you got ready on the bed as Jeongin jumped on you, accommodating himself between your legs with the condom on, as he should. 

He took his time teasing the head of his cock between your slick folds, grinning devilishly every time you complained, he played like that for at least a minute, between kissing you and putting just the tip inside of you, taunting.

“Such a big cock and no use for it?” You pouted mockingly, already wanting to get fucked dumb and stop being teased.

“Shut the fuck up.” It wasn’t just the tip now, it was the full package inside you.

“Shit, that’s it.” You whined.

He grinned as he pistoned his hips hard and fast, his hands went directly to hold your waist and the other to keep himself steady against the bed frame. It was impressive how he fucked you swiftly without losing balance, your cries made him go vigorously faster, it was like you were cheering him on to make you come again.

"Fuck, I’m close,” He panted, going absolutely feral while growling at your sounds and reactions from his cock.

He was pounding into you like there was no tomorrow, his face buried in your neck and not putting any of his weight on top of you so you could bounce on his cock freely. Your hand went to your swollen clit and the other to his hair, pulling it hard making him moan, it was obvious that he was into it.

The sound of skin slapping, your cries, and Jeongin’s grunts almost made you not notice the door opening a little, making your head turn that way. 

What you didn’t (or you did?) expect, was seeing Jisung jerking off with your soaked panties on the doorframe, the door was a few centimeters open but you could see him clearly as a day touching himself with your underwear standing there, gawking at Jeongin’s cock entering your pussy quickly.

Jisung hadn’t realized that you had caught him looking at you, he was stuck watching Jeongin fuck you. The hand movements on his cock were painfully slow, your panties probably burning his skin as he jerked off with them, his precum drenching your panties more than they were before.

You were in a trance watching how Jisung enjoyed the situation just like you, and how probably he was standing there for a long time before you realized. As his movements were getting faster, his sight flew to your face and you saw how the blood left his face just as fast his hand was pumping his cock.

“Hi, Jisungie,” You said cheerfully as you could while getting fucked. Jeongin raised his head and turned it towards the door while continuing to fuck you, smiling wickedly when he saw the situation his hyung was caught in.

“I told you hyung was a pervert.” Jeongin said groaning, psyching himself up to continue without being interrupted again.

“I-” Jisung stuttered, frozen in site.

You threw your head back, getting yourself back in the mood with Jeongin biting your neck. Ignoring how Jisung tried to explain himself as you enjoyed your second flawless orgasm of the day, your whole body shaking with Jeongin holding you tight seeking his own release.

“Fill me up, please.” At your words he came with a cry, falling on top of you breathless.

Jeongin snuggled into your neck, hugging you with his cock still inside you getting softer with every passing second. You embraced him back ruffling his hair and chuckling.

“You’re wearing hyung’s shirt, you know that right?” Jeongin whispered, caressing your arm softly.

“Tsk, do you think I’m dumb, baby?” You looked back at the door, which was now closed and Jisung nowhere to be seen.

You met Jeongin’s gaze and snickered alongside him.

091400 © do not copy / plagiarize / repost or translate my work on any other platforms.

[mazikeenhyde]

Oh Baby, Pain is Pleasure - PART 2

POLY JUDGMENT DAY X READER (WRESTLER) 

Y/W/N – Your Wrestling Name 

Y/W/N/F – Your Wrestling Name Finisher

WARNING – SMUT,  POLY RELATIONSHIPS, BDSM, SPANKING, VIOLENT REFRENCES, BLOOD, INJURY, ABUSE (CONSENTUAL) 

I’m going to apologise to you all now, and pre-warn you in advance, this is an absolute rollercoaster of a storyline! Shits about to get REAL REAL REAL messy! 

Oh Baby…Pain is Pleasure - Part Two

2 WEEKS BEFORE WRESTLEMANIA – 

The speakers inside our home gym were so loud it felt like the walls were shaking, Rhea & Finn had spent a long time creating the perfect set up! It was truly a masterpiece of absolute Hell. From weight racks, dumbbells, treadmills, resistance machines and more, this room had caused some serious pain & suffering to us all. But we loved it. In the middle stood a large wrestling ring in which I had spent a lot of time with everyone practicing over and over and over again. 

We were two weeks out from WrestleMania, I was nervous, but I had worked so hard to earn my chance at the Women’s World Championship title and neither I nor any of Judgment Day were going to let this opportunity pass me by! Finn had said I would be training with him today with the boxing pads in the ring, so I knew I was in for it, I’d made sure to wrap my wrists up tight. 

Damian and Rhea had gone out grocery shopping while Finn and I hit our workout hard, we had planned on enjoying a big family BBQ cook out for our last night at our home before we all hit the road. Dom, who had been asked by Damian to clean up the kitchen had completely ignored the request and was upstairs instead gaming. That boy was a glutton for punishment I swear, I’m convinced he secretly likes being put over Damian’s knee. He’s there more often than not after all! Though I came in at a close second with Finn. Although we both knew if we ever overstepped the mark too far it would be Rhea that we would have to answer to. Mami doesn’t like to be tested. 

“AGAIN! 1-2. AGAIN 1-2.” Finn shouted as the music continued to blast through the room, he held up the pads with a swift punch followed on from me at each demand. 

“AGAIN! 1-2-3. HARDER, STOP PUSSY FOOTING AROUND Y/N! AGAIN 1-2” Finn shouted again, the sweat dripped down his forehead as he maneuvered his way around the ring shirtless, his footwork light as ever and his manhood bouncing in time to the beat of the stereo. He’d worn those black shorts on purpose, I just knew it. 

 “Y/N! FOCUS! 1-2… 1-2-3… 1-2….AGAIN!” 

I swear...my sweat was sweating at this point, we had been going for what felt like hours. I could barely feel my legs, it was like walking on jelly. My heart pounded, my shoulders were shaking, and my arms felt so weak, yet somehow, I was still going. The determination powering me on. 

But that… that bounce. That shape in his shorts. So full and prominent… it was so fucking distracting.  It wasn’t just my face that was wet at this point, in between my legs that devilish pulse grew every stronger. My inner thighs were like a slip and slide on a hot summers day as I tried my best to continue training, the room felt like it was 101 degrees and… 

SMACK.

Finn went down, shit. Id missed the pad completely and instead of hitting the second-round I had completely taken out our Prince, Our lord and savior, the man I so desperately wanted to spread me out across this mat and destroy me.

 I was in for it. I was fucked. 

Raising my hand to cover my mouth for a second, I panicked before moving forward to assist Finn, but he had other ideas. Instead, leaning back onto his shoulders he leapt up to his feet and rushed over pushing me into the ropes, towering over my head and leaning down so I could feel his sweat drip onto my chest as he spat through gritted teeth. 

“THE FUCK…. do you think your playing at lass…. Hmm.” Finn’s eyes looked down on me, what felt like burning a hole into my soul was also still majorly turning me on. 

“I..I..urr…I” I stuttered, unable to fully ground myself in the situation. Between the music still blaring into the room, my heart beating at an uncontrollable pace and one drop dead gorgeous man looming over head, well I was lost in it all. 

Finn launched the boxing pads off his hands in one strong flinging motion before grabbing my hair and hips and throwing me into the corner ring post. He followed over swiftly grabbing one of my legs and tucking it behind the middle rope while still holding a fistful of my hair with the other. 

“Distractions Y/N…Distractions are expensive.” He muttered sternly under his voice as he lent into my ear. 

“Distractions cost titles.” Finn’s breath in my ear sent shivers down my spine. Christ my inner core was melting at the accent that rolled off his Irish tounge. How I would have begged to put that tongue to work in between my legs, id of choked out the dominant prick and drowned him in my orgasm given half a chance. 

Finn ran his hand slowly from my ankle up my leg, stopping at the hem of the mini gym shorts I had borrowed from Rhea. The slogan ‘MAMI’ painted across my backside in bold font was hard to miss. 

“Distractions…” Finn’s voice was husky, heavy and deep. Slightly out of breath and yet completely in control. 

“Lead to temptations…” He ran his hand over the soaked core in between my legs causing me to tense as his hand, for just a moment his hand touched my clit and I swear it was like the devil had sent this man to toy with what was left of my sanity. We had barely begun, and I could have finished on the spot.

Finn leaned back and rested his forehead on mine for a moment before pulling me in, so our lips were millimeters from touching. 

“Those temptations will be granted… After you win that title.” And with that he stepped away, turning his back on me, and retrieving the boxing pads ready to start training again. 

I didn’t move.

My body was stuck, it was frozen in the desperation to be fucked in this ring. It had been weeks, weeks since any of them would take me to bed. Christ it didn’t even need to be a bed, Id of let Finn, Dom or Damien bend me over and fuck me down the alleyway behind the WWE performance Centre if it had meant I could have gotten some release.

Finn stood glaring at me, “Down…now.” I still didn’t move, I thought if I was a brat then he would have to react. Teach me a lesson. 

Taking my leg off the ropes I stood opposite him only a few feet away, initiating the stare down. I was never going to win mind you, but it was fun to press Finn’s buttons. How my inner goddess ached to lay across his lap, to bury that beard between my thighs, to feel his manhood at the back of my throat. Desperate times call for desperate measures. 

“Don’t test me little girl…” Finn’s voice was harsh now, that sexy playful tinge he usually had was gone. A part of me wasn’t so sure this was a good idea, but then again, it was this or back to training. And I knew which workout I would have preferred.

The Naked one. 

I stuck to my guns, I didn’t move, I didn’t blink, I didn’t break eye contact. 

“Y/N… Raise. Your. Hands” Finn’s words were cold. 

I stayed still. The devil on my shoulder was going for it now. Fuck the prince it said... Literally.

He took his fighting stance and lifted the pads, still I didn’t move. 

“Last Chance…” he warned, seconds before throwing a 1-2 punch in my direction, closing the gap between us. 

I was quick to raise my fists and defend his every attempt. 

1-2, 1-2-3, 1, 1, 1-2, 1, 1-2-3. 

It was relentless, I realized then this was how he would punish me. I was never going to get what I wanted. Instead, he was going to force me to fight, otherwise Id of left this training session with bruises from head to toe. And not the fun kinky kind. 

He carried on, forcing me around the ring in circles, my breath heaving, music still going as the volume seemed to increase, the sweat now dripping from every inch of my body as his jabs kept coming, and coming, and coming. 

Suddenly, the gym door smashed open, and Dominik fell through it tumbling to the floor, closely followed by a rather furious Damian and unimpressed Rhea. Neither had seemed too pleased to come home and find the kitchen still a mess from breakfast while Dom Dom had elected to level up on WWE2K instead. 

I turned my head for a split second at the noise and… well… BAM. 

The pain ran through my head like electricity from a lighting bolt. As if reality had come in that moment, silence fell. Slamming down on the map I grasped at my eye, my vision half blurred and teary as I curled myself up onto my knees with my head in my lap. 

“OW! THE FUCK!” I shouted in Finn’s direction; he knelt down next to me pulling my hand away to view an already blue bruise forming around my left eye. I could barely see him properly, but even in silhouette form he was gorgeous. A complete twat who had just given me a black eye 2 weeks before my big WrestleMania match, but still gorgeous. 

“Told ya lass..” Finn chuckled, “Distractions cost titles!” With that he stood up and pulled the pads off his hands before grabbing a towel from the side and throwing it over to me. 

From the other side of the room Damian towered over Dom, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt. 

“Upstairs. NOW.” His voice was hash and honestly, I think poor Dom knew he had made a mistake. But I was still  jealous, I would have traded spots with him in a heartbeat just so Damian could have broken me apart instead. There may be 206 bones in the human body, but Id let Damian make it 207, EVERY. DAY.

Dom scrambled to his feet and sped off upstairs with Damian following close behind him. Rhea laughed and walked over switching off the sound system before heading to a little mini fridge, she grabbed a quick snap ice pack and wrapped it in a blue paper towel before hopping up onto the side of the ring. 

I scooted my way over and climbed under the bottom rope taking a seat next to her. Tears still in my eyes and with the Ice pack in hand she held it up to my face brushing the loose hair away that had escaped my messy bun. 

I looked longingly into her eyes, hoping she would see the desperate need I had for her. Not even just in the bedroom, just to be held. I felt tired, broken and now thanks to Finn...sore. I was nervous for this upcoming match, truth be told I was absolutely terrified and I just needed to feel loved. 

Rhea smiled at me, gently kissed my cheek and hopped off the ring apron, heading for the door. One hand on the frame she stopped for a moment and looked back over her shoulder at me and smiled. 

“Sorry Bunny, rules are rules. No distractions.” Rhea said before closing the gym door behind her. 

I don’t know why I felt so hurt in that moment, they weren’t being cruel. It was standard with anyone, 100% focus on the upcoming championship. 

Win the belt. Win the belt. Win the belt, become a champion. 

Reality bought me back to earth when my phone buzzed on the gym floor, I looked down to where I had discarded it, prior to stepping in the ring with Finn. Tossing it around like it didn’t cost thousands, typical gym behavior. 

Jumping down off the apron, I sat on the floor with my back to the ring, I could hear the faint mumbled sounds of Damian upstairs and wondered for a second just how much trouble Dom had gotten himself into. Honestly boy, just load the dishwasher. It isn’t that hard. 

Shaking my head and smiling I attempted to unlock my phone screen with facial recognition but the ice pack put a stop to that plan. Instead tugging with my teeth at the sweat soaked hand wraps I was wearing I managed to get them off and using my Pin I unlocked the screen. 

Time Stopped. 

It stood still. 

Shit. 

Two messages. 

One from an unknown number i didn't recgonise, and one from a very well-known number I needed to forget.

KNOWN NUMBER – ‘Nothing makes us as lonely, as our secrets Y/N. You know where to find me…’ 

UNKNOWN NUMBER –  ‘Locker Witnesses’

[yikesharringrove]

This is based off something that happens nearly every day in my place of work.

-

“Steve!” Heather hissed from her corner desk. “H.D. is out there!”

Steve stood up from his stool quickly, nearly sending it toppling to the ground. He raced around the tables in the room, settling near Heather’s desk and looking out the window. Robin had followed his steps, looking out from behind him.

“What in hell are you two on about?” She asked.

“Hot Dad.” Steve pointed out the window, at the man he and Heather has christened Hot Dad last year.

The preschool parents always grouped up outside the secondary entrance near the end of the day, waiting from their little ones to come out from the lower level preschool classrooms. And there, every single day, was Hot Dad, picking up his littlest girl, waiting for the older two from the main elementary.

Robin sighed, slinking back to her desk. The Special Ed classroom had an excellent view of the parking lot, and meant Heather and Steve had ample opportunity to stare at Hot Dad.

Today, was an especially good day. He was wearing shorts.

As in, short short

The gray athletic material was riding up on his thick thighs, a pink sparkly backpack slung over one shoulder, his hand in his daughter’s.

His three girls were nearly the spitting image of him, long, curly blond hair. Giant blue eyes that always crinkled up with chubby-cheeked smiles.

Steve had only interacted with him a handful of times, when he had opened up the car door to let the kids out of the back during the morning drop-off rush. He always said hello to Hot Dad, wishing him a good day as Hot Dad called to his girls, telling them he loves them.

“Why is it kinda extra hot that he’s a girl dad?” Steve said to a Heather, staring intently at H.D.

“I don’t know, but I get what you mean. And I mean, three girls is a lot for one man.” She sighed. “Do you think he reads them bedtime stories?”

“Oh, definitely. And I bet he does voices for all the little characters.”

“And he probably plays whatever they want.”

“Yeah, and I bet he’s all about making sure they’re tough. I’ll bet he wrestles around with them and wants to teach them how to fix cars and shit.”

Steve and Heather sighed, embarrassingly, at the same moment.

“Jesus, you two,” Robin chimed in. “Can you two go somewhere else to be this gross about a father at our school?”

“Nope! Not when it’s Hot Dad. Listen, you know I don’t want kids of my own, but a for Hot Dad, I’ll be a step mom. For sure.” Heather grinned at Robins wrenching sound. “I mean, they won’t have to call me Mom, but the youngest is only four, so it may be natural to her!”

Steve cackled, gently pushing Heather.

Steve returned to his desk, trying to ge Hot Dad out of his mind. He really needed to focus, and finish these accommodation letters to send out to the teachers, and he needed to-

“Hargrove.”

“What?” Steve turned to Robin. She turned her laptop around, one of Hot Dad’s precious daughters on the screen.

“His name is Hargrove. Billy, I’m assuming.” She turned the screen back towards herself. “And, he’s the only person listed as a parent for all three girls. They’re emergency contacts are listed as Father, Aunt, and Grandmother. Nothing maternal to speak of.”

Steve’s eyes lit up.

“What do you think are the chances he’s in to men? Because like, I’m not a classroom teacher. I don’t even have any of his kids in the program, so it wouldn’t be weird.”

Robin rolled her eyes at him, returning to whatever she was typing on her computer before the HD distraction.

“Yeah, because that would be weird. Yelling about how hot he is in front of an open window, that’s normal. But teaching his kids? Too far.”

Steve stuck his tongue out at her.

And then her words settled in.

“The window’s open?”

[ladykissingfish]

*Hidan and Deidara, sitting on Deidara’s bed, sharing a pizza and watching scary movies together *

Hidan: Oi, blondie?

Deidara: Yeah?

Hidan: Can I ask you something?

Deidara: *pushes the pizza box to him* You can have the last piece, hm.

Hidan: Not that! So, you’re fuckin’ with puppet-dick, right? And I’m practically married to the old bastard.

Deidara: Yeah, so?

Hidan: So, what if both of us weren’t with those guys … d’ya think we coulda ended up with each other?

Deidara: What the hell? Why are you thinking about this, hm?

Hidan: ‘Cause, okay, me and you are both young, we’re both hot as shit, and we probably got a lot more in common with each other than we do with either of the old farts …

Deidara: I mean … all of that makes sense, hm. But, and you can go ahead and call me gay for saying this, I literally couldn’t picture myself with anyone but Danna, hm. I actually think that guys my soulmate.

Hidan, chuckling: You’re right, that IS fuckin’ gay.  But I guess I’m gay too then because I feel the same way about ‘Kuzu. *reaches out and playfully flicks Deidara’s arm* Too bad for me though, ‘cuz you woulda made a helluva trophy wife.

Deidara: … wife? Why would I be your wife, asshole? If anything, you’d be mine.

Hidan: *laughs* You shittin’ me? You’re born to be a bottom, Dei. You don’t know the first thing about being “the husband”!

Deidara: Oh and you do?! Like you’ve ever done anything but lay on your back for Kakuzu??

Hidan: With him it’s different! But with you I’d one thousand percent be the man.

Deidara: Fuck you! I think you’re just —

*Itachi comes in the room*

Itachi: Good lord, I can hear you guys fighting from all the way across the house. And you know what? You both make valid points.

Hidan: So who the fuck is right then?!

Itachi: Really, there’s only one way to solve it: fight. Whoever wins is the top.

Deidara: Oi, that’s stupid, Uchiha! We’re not gonna —

*Hidan suddenly kicks him off the bed with both feet*

Deidara: Oh you mother f—

*Deidara pulls Hidan to the floor, and the two roll around wrestling and punching each other*

Kisame, in the doorway: Itachi, was it really necessary to have them do this?

Itachi: Not at all. But — *grabs the pizza box off the bed* I kinda wanted this last piece, and now that they’re distracted …

Kisame:

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Mota prompt, ot3 - Bucky/Buck/Curt. Just something about being the one black cat coded boyfriend between two orange cats coded boyfriends. I suppose the interesting thing here is that sometimes the black cat isn't who you think it is.

Curt can tell what people think of him and Bucky and Buck. They look at the three of them when they're introduced as a trio, and they immediately try to pinpoint which one is the most trouble.

Most of the time, they end up choosing Bucky. Which Curt doesn't consider a bad guess for strangers. Bucky's charming and loud and borderline annoying in his cockiness (all things that Curt liked right away). He's always got a joke and a grin, and he makes no bones about causing trouble if it gets a laugh.

When they decide it's Curt, he always responds with a slow, shit-eating grin and an easy roll of his shoulders. He never asks what sort of trouble they think he causes, but he knows what he looks like and what he sounds like, and when you're a stocky fucker from the Bronx with scars on your knuckles (he fell off his bike a lot as a kid), people figure you're the muscle for Bucky's mouth.

They're not entirely wrong about that, either.

What's amazing about watching people size up the three of them and choose who to watch out for, they never clock Buck. Not once. They eye him up and decide he must be a nice young man. Which is ridiculous because neither Curt nor Bucky come close to meeting that list of requirements, so why would Buck spend time with them if he's so polite and quiet and reserved.

It's a question Curt hears a lot. One Bucky even brings up in bed now and again to goad Buck into shoving him on the mattress and showing him exactly how "impolite" he can be. Those nights are extra-fun because Buck lets out the wilder part of himself. They all wrestle and leave marks on each other, and in the morning, Curt gets to watch with half-closed eyes as Buck examines where they've bitten him and left bruises and smile knowing he and Bucky have claimed him yet again.

The truth is, no one thinks Buck is any sort of trouble at all. The truth also is he's the biggest trouble of the three of them. It comes down to the fact that he's a fucking sneak and a half with the ability to keep a straight face while lying through his goddamn teeth. He pretends he doesn't know what he looks like, but Curt's seen that fucking smile get used to get out of trouble or steer attention away from whatever problem Curt and Bucky are causing.

"He's gonna be the goddamn death of us," Bucky mutters to Curt as they watch Buck go wide-eyed and faux-dumb to distract an angry soldier about paying out a poker loss to Curt, who he swears cheated.

Curt flips his spare ace back up his sleeve and ducks under Bucky's raised arm. "Only if he gets caught."

Bucky snorts in amusement and gives Curt a shake. Buck comes back over and drops on the other side of Bucky. "Come to an accord?" Bucky asks, pulling Buck close with his other arm.

"Nope. He won't pay." Buck watches the guy get led away by his friends, then reaches into his pocket and tosses a wallet in front of Curt. "So, I stole his wallet."

Bucky cackles and kisses Buck loudly on the cheek as Curt tucks the wallet under the table and takes the cash he's owed plus two dollars as annoyance tax. He passes the wallet back to Buck, who stands to leave the wallet someplace they can't be incriminated.

"Next time, tuck your fucking wrist," Buck says to Curt. Curt blows him a kiss. Buck leans across Buck and taps his forehead against Curt's. Curt doesn't feel Buck touch his wrist, but he laughs when Buck holds up the ace, then flicks it at him.

"Hey, what about me?" Bucky asks, and beams when Buck taps their foreheads together as he straightens.

Curt snugs up against Bucky again as they watch Buck walk halfway across the room and lean on a table to talk to the men there. It's only because he's taught him the trick that they see him push the wallet to the very tip of his fingers and drop it to the floor under the table.

"I am pretty sure he could murder us in broad daylight while being recorded by a newsreel camera, and no one would believe it," Curt says.

"Yeah, but what a way to go," Bucky replies, and Curt can only nod in agreement.

[legendl0re]

A Court of Peace and Ire: Chapter 2 in full

Fuck it might as well post it here as well as AO3 xD

Summary:

Nesta, changed by her experiences with the Asteri, Bryce, and other worlds, has since resolved to get Prythian to where it needs to be should it have to face another threat. Stuck in a another dick-measuring contest between Eris and Cassian, the re-appearance of Tamlin offers her a chance to set things in motion.

Notes:

This one's for the Neris fans, and yes, Nesta is going to be the core of everybody getting their shit together over the course of this fic. Trigger Warnings: Mentions of ab*se, depression, and self-hatred (mainly on Nesta's part)

--

Nesta Archeron picked a small dandelion from the meadow, finding its vibrant yellow frills infinitely more interesting than the conversation going on behind her.

Once again, Rhys had urged Cassian to keep tabs on Eris, and once again, they had opted to take the risk of meeting in the Spring Court.

The two males yammered and bickered like they always did, Cassian’s incessant sneezing being the only thing to snap her out of her frequent distraction. Even with the risks that came from meeting here, Spring was a nice change of pace, a chance to get away from the Night Court’s chilling winds and the even chillier attitudes of the Inner Circle.

“Just keep us informed if Beron makes any new moves. If he tries to contact Koshei or the other mortal queens, or anything else.” Cassian was so tense veins were popping at his neck, but Eris seemed as unbothered as ever.

“Perhaps your little Shadowsinger should retire, since you’re so keen on having me do all of his work as of late.” The Illyrian practically snorted in anger, Eris chuckling to himself as he imagined himself conversing with a bat-winged bull. “As tempting as the alliance has been, I’m not privy to all of my father’s counsel. He’s become withdrawn, paranoid, and I have my own things to protect should he fall off the deep end.”

Nesta twisted the dandelion in her hand; it was just as likely that Eris was referring to his mother and brothers as he was to his hounds. She could never tell what he really valued despite these years of verbal sparring, but it was true that the High Lord of Autumn had grown volatile…unhinged even.

At the last High Lords meeting, the bruises they all knew he left on Eris’ mother had begun to peek out from under the collar of her dress. He was getting sloppy, or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. Perhaps he was going senile, or the constant stagnation of Autumn in comparison the Night Court’s burgeoning power was starting to worry him

Power that she herself had bought them.

Keeping the Trove’s presence in Velaris was a fool’s errand; their power could not be dampened, and legends don’t operate quietly. Everyone felt it when Nesta beckoned the harp, wrestled with death for her sister and nephew, and bargained with the cauldron itself. 

“The next time you come trying to spigot me for information, you better have something worthwhile. A dagger and the occasional dance is not enough.” 

Out of her peripheral vision, Nesta could see that Eris’ pointed look had been thrown her way. “Oh I’m sorry, were you addressing me?” She droned, her boredom clear and blunt. “I thought I was just supposed to stand here and look pretty while you two squabble. And we haven’t danced in months if I remember correctly.”

“Perhaps if I weren’t conversing with an oaf, we could get a lot more done.” Eris preened, turning his eyes to the treeline. Cassian growled and turned away, shadows already coiling to winnow back home.

“You do what you want, Eris! I’m tired of this holier-than-thou, my-wants-are-greater than-yours attitude.” The heir of Autumn chuffed.

“Hmph, and yet you still serve Rhysand.” The winnowing energy shot to nothing, Cassian getting inches away from Eris’ face in a flash.

“Keep it up and I’ll finish what Azriel started.” Eris didn’t balk an inch, still as ever even in the great shadow of the Illyrian Commander.

Nesta dropped the flower, and interposed herself between the two.

“Enough.” She ordered, meeting the gazes of both men before she sighed. “Cassian, I want to talk to Eris alone.” Her mate’s eyes went wide, brow furrowing so deep it threatened to crush his nose. But she laced the words with just enough venom that he halted, thinking of the myriad of ways she would dress the Autumn heir down.

“Are you sure?” He asked. 

“I’m sure.” Nesta smirked, appreciating how far he had come from feeling like he needed to always be there. The Blood Rite caused him to be around her almost every second of everyday, often bursting into arguments about how he was suffocating her. But then he remembered the Bog, and the sheer power of death that turned the hag queen Briallyn to dust.

Even with the bulk of her powers given back to the cauldron, Nesta Archeron was touched by death eternal, and he was ever her devout servant.

“Go, I’ll finish up here. Rhysand will probably want to hear about this sooner rather than later.” Cass nodded, kissing Nesta on the head and lips before vanishing into the shadows. Then Nesta let the smile fade, and armed herself for a different dance.

“Nice job, mentioning Rhys to put a pep in his step.” Eris crooned, earning himself a withering glare.

“Shut. Up. You’ve been doing nothing but antagonizing him from the moment we got here. Wasting all of our time.” Nesta watched as Eris slipped his hands in his pockets.

“I thought you weren’t paying attention.”

“That makes one of us.” Eris rolled his eyes, trying to weave past Nesta’s bladed words.

“What can I say? It’s fun to poke the bear. Especially since I can’t get any actual diplomacy done with him. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Was it fun when Azriel was pounding your face in?” Eris frowned at Nesta’s barb. “Because I promise you, Cassian hits a thousand times harder.” The heir kept his scowl for a moment, then burst into a laugh.

“Trust me Lady Acheron, I’m not worried. Rhysand has him by the back of the neck and you have him by the balls. He won’t jump unless either of you flick the leash.” Nesta crossed her arms, half wondering how bad a slap to the face laced with silver flame would hurt.

But she reeled her thought back in. “And now he isn’t here, which means that we can actually get down to business. Unless you're keen on pressing the issue.” Eris, with his back to her, let his fingers interlock behind her.

“You know what? I do have an issue I’d like to address. Your cowardice.” Nesta blinked, unimpressed but mildly curious at what he meant.

“This will be good. Go on?”

“I thought we had a good rapport at Rhysand’s little party at the Hewn City. You know, the one where he let the masses scent Feyre nice and deep?” Nesta felt her anger crackle, but kept her lips pursed. “I heard what you had said about me, about deserving me because of how horrible a person I am. A brute and a piece of shit I believe were the words used?”

“How do yo-?”

“Rhys thinks he's the only one with a spymaster worth a damn.” Eris’ withering glare would have left a lesser woman prickling, but Nesta just clicked her tongue.

“Oh. Did I hurt your feelings?” She mocked.

Eris sighed, his face donning a weary smile. “No. I just would have figured the woman who stood up for the humans so fiercely wouldn't have fallen for cheap Night Court gossip, nor would she have such a low opinion of herself.” Nesta almost winced, remembering the comparison she had made.

The harshness of those days came soaring back to her: the back and forth with Cassian, the rage and hatred she felt for herself, and of course, Rhys’ sudden willingness to put up with her if it put the Night Court in a better position.

With how good he was at staging her for his political gain, she had thought he’d broken into her memories and taken notes.

Still, Eris had an immense amount of nerve to whine, and Nesta stepped forward with her teeth bared. “Let’s not pretend you give a damn about my self-esteem Eris, and you hunting after my sister and your brother isn’t gossip, and neither is what you did to Morrigan.”

“Since when have you ever given a damn about Mor?” The fae laughed, shaking his head. “Although, it’s good to know that she still hasn’t told the truth.” Eris let that hang in the air, taking in a deep breath of the spring wind. Nesta’s arms fell at her sides, watching as the viper’s mask Eris Vanserra wore slowly chipped away, as if blown down by the softness of the air.

“That did hurt your feelings, didn’t it?”

“I suppose I was more disappointed. I thought you were different from those sycophants Rhysand surrounds himself with, your sisters included. That you knew, there is always more than meets the eye.” Eris turned to have her and swallowed, and Nesta actually narrowed her eyes. He was nervous; genuinely nervous…

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I would marry you in a heartbeat, Nesta, and it’s certainly not because you look excellent in black or because you somehow managed to learn expert-level fae dance routines in a few weeks. I wouldn’t have made it this far if I was that vapid.” Eris had closed the distance between them, his eyes intense with smoldering flame.

“Males of Autumn are taught to be frank, not to waste our time when it comes to our true desires. We say what we feel, and we take what we want, and I very much want you.” 

“Even after I insulted you so?” Nesta scoffed, feigning mild interest despite actually being shocked.

“I’m a big boy, Nesta, and unlike Rhysand, I understand that the image I’ve cultivated for myself comes with consequences.” Eris began pacing around her in slow, playful steps. “From that first meeting, I could tell you took things seriously, fought with every word you had to keep your people safe. While Rhysand and his High Lady pleaded and appealed to some misplaced sense of heroic morality, you were pragmatic, used reason, and looked to our self interest to guide our decisions.” He leaned in, letting Nesta feel the warmth of Autumn in his presence. That’s what a true ruler does.”

“How observant of you.” Nesta replied, taken aback by the words but remaining guarded all the same. Autumn was a home to many a sly fox after all.

 And of course, ever the sly fox, Eris changed his tactics to keep things interesting. “You were supposed to rule your own little court once, correct? An inheritance waiting for you in the mortal lands.” Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Please. Continue to remind me of what I lost.” Eris raised a brow, ignoring the bait. “The humans would never have a fae rule over them, and I’m pretty sure the other nobles have worked with the queens to cannibalize my father’s fortune.” 

The ships and soldiers he bought were the last Nesta would ever see of it; her father’s presence in the world reduced to a gravestone and the memories she and her sisters would carry forever.

“A shame. I would have loved to have seen what you could have done with such wealth and power on your own, unshackled by the chains of family.” 

Nesta narrowed her eyes at the word; did Eris know what happened to her? About the House of Wind and the tensions between her and her sisters. And why in the Mother’s name was he bringing it up now in the middle of what was essentially a love confession?

“How do you know all this anyway? You’re spies can’t be that good.” Nesta prodded.

“Trust me. They are, but it certainly helped that Bryallin was quite thorough in her research of you. I got a peak at her thoughts while she ‘had me under her spell’.” Eris grinned as he unbuttoned his coat, moving the lapel to reveal the dagger—her dagger—strapped at his hip. “I should thank you, but the way. Your blade kept my mind from breaking under the weight of the crown.”

Nesta tensed as the heir of Autumn reached for the knife, but relaxed as he unbuckled it and handed it to her. “You can have it back if you wish. I took it out of respect for Rhys’ attempts at winning my favor, but it very much wishes to return to its maker.”

More questions roved over Nesta’s mind. Did he know that she had lost the majority of her powers too? The weapons she had Made each still carried great amounts of that original essence, yet only Ataraxia remained hers. This offering could be both an implication that Autumn knows Nesta lacks her past strength, but maybe it was also genuine.

“Keep it. You might need it again.” It was true, but also Nesta didn’t want Rhysand to have all of the things she had made. They thought they were being subtle but the Inner Circle had always been keen to pry what was hers away for their own benefit, be it the weapons, the Trove, her identity.

She supposed that things had improved with them since she and Cassian officially ordained themselves as mates, having a small ceremony whose mix of extravagance and modesty was a careful negotiation between the two of them: small enough that Cassian wouldn’t be teased by his brothers for eternity, but big enough that Nesta felt like she would remember it forever.

And she would; it was the first step towards accepting her role in all of this, towards making peace with the fact that she was now fae, and no longer human…

Yet still, she couldn’t entirely shake the stares, the judgment. Amren had opted for an indifferent peace between them, but their old days of training and dropping bits of thousand-year-old wisdom had long since ceased. Azriel was always his kind, quiet self, always reaching out and checking in when he could. Then there was Morrigan, brown eyes alight with fury every time she glanced at her and Cassian together. 

Mother forbid both Cassian and Azriel talk to her at the same time, lest the blonde’s head go up in flames.

Nesta had long since resolved that she was good enough for Cassian, that she did deserve his love and her peace despite what she had done. But between Morrigan’s clear disdain, Rhys’ constant shifting between hot and cold, and her mate’s often blunt refusal to defend her in most situations, it seems the family that this Circle claimed to be was only for her sisters.

She supposed that was why she opted to make her own, with Gwyn and Emerie.

“My offer still stands.” Eris boasted, snapping Nesta out of her rumination.

“What? Of marriage?” She guffaws. “Please.”

“Already fully bonded to the brute then?” Nesta turned to him, letting a little silver blaze through her eyes.

“You call him anything but his goddamned name one more time, this conversation is over.” Eris paused, then backed off, taking her seriously.

Perhaps that was the strange appeal of it all, this little dance they did. He actually took her at her word.

“Is it so hard to envision?” He said. “You, in vibrant autumn red, a crown of gilded leaves on your head.”

“Your father spending every waking moment plotting my demise?”

“I never knew you to be one to back down from a challenge, and my father would be a fool to even hope to wrestle with you.” Eris gently took her hand in his, and watched as she let him bring it to his lips. “I myself would find it the utmost pleasure, and in truth, I believe you would be an exemplary queen, no matter whose court you ruled. I humbly pray to the Mother that you would grace mine.”

He pressed his lips to her knuckle, and Nesta couldn’t help but stir slightly at the heat of his lips warming the skin. Perhaps she should have let Cassian stay. “There’s not a single humble thing about you, Eris Vanserra.”

“True.” He said, letting go of her hand. “I very much will enjoy bragging about being one to kiss the hand of death.” The two stood there for a moment, eyes locked like two fires struggling to snuff the other out. Nesta’s hands had balled into fists behind her, embarrassed at how Eris of all people was getting to her.

It was just words, grand claims he would never live up to, all to worm his way deeper into the Night Court and get whatever it was he really wanted.

Nesta had Cassian—loved Cassian. He may not have been willing to stand up to Rhys, or actually said that he loved her. But it was more real than whatever dream Eris Vanserra was trying to sell her, and she would not be another Lady of Autumn.

No, silver flames would rip the Autumn Court apart before she ever let that happen.

Eris’ gaze broke first, whipping to something behind her, something that had urged him to unsheath her dagger and call an orb of flame into his other hand. Nesta turned to see, and lumbering through the trees in gilded, horned splendor, was the High Lord of Spring.

“I warned you about what would happen the next time you trespassed into my lands.” Tamlin growled, green eyes spearing the two as his claws dug into the earth beneath him. Eris just smirked.

“If you’ve finally set on cutting your life short, High Lord, I do appreciate that you’d do it in a fashion that grants my Court a lovely expansion.” Tamlin’s lips parted, revealing ivory teeth the size of daggers.

“An expansion you wouldn’t live to see.” He snarled, taking a step forward that thundered into the earth, sending birds fleeing from the trees. Heart pounding, Nesta shot a hand up, turning to face Eris with a grave scowl.

“I’m not dying in the Spring Court because of your stupid fucking remarks.” She muttered, before turning back to face Tamlin. “We were just leaving.”

“Until your next little get together, witch?” He replied, tail still swishing in anticipation of Eris’ next barb. It nearly left his lips, until Nesta blocked his way.

“Leave, Eris.” She demanded. “I’ll deal with this myself.”

“You think Cassian would let me live if I left you here alone, with him?” Nesta scoffed, the modicum of respect she had just developed for Eris vanishing.

“Did you not just profess your undying respect for me, or has that all gone out the window now that a monster has shown up? Are you going to protect little old me, Eris?” Nesta laid the mockery on thick, and the Heir of Autumn indeed found himself in an awkward position. Leaving Nesta with Tamlin was unwise, and Cassian would indeed flay him living if he found out he left her here with her sister’s tormentor. 

But if Nesta believed she could handle it…

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” He whispered, sheathing the knife and winnowing away in one fluid movement. Nesta sighed, relieved that she could now dictate the conversation without pig-headed males puffing up their chests.

What was it Bryce had called them? ‘Alpha-holes?’

“Protecting your little alliance?” Tamlin growled, emerald eyes now trained firmly on the eldest Archeron.

“You’re operating under the assumption that I want to deal with you at all, much less fight you.” The beast narrowed his gaze at her. “I don’t need Eris riling you up, and frankly, this is actually a good opportunity.”

“For what?” The High Lord prodded, head tilting to the side in confusion.

“I know what you did for Nyx.” Nesta stated, keep her tone neutral and her hands at her sides. Tamlin paused, caught off-guard with denial already poised on his lips. Quickly, she cut him off. “Feyre was searching for him for hours. She knows that house like the back of her hand and still couldn’t find him anywhere. That, and you left shavings on his pajamas.” 

Tamlin grunted at himself. How could he be so stupid as to leave his gods-damned sheddings about?

“And what do you have to say about it?” He grumbled, bracing for Nesta’s near-mythical rapier wit.

“How about thank you?” He blinked again, half inclined to check his ear to ensure nothing was in it. “Rhysand might be knocking on your door sometime soon, so I figured I’d show my gratitude before he mucks it all up.”

 “Gratitude for what? He’s not yours.” Tamlin replied, looking down as he scraped his claw against the ground.

“He’s my nephew.” And a chance to have someone in the family who doesn’t despise her on some level. At least, she hoped that would be the case; Rhysand was a master of pouring just the right amount of honey and poison to craft a specific vision, and she often found herself lamenting about how one day, the happy Nyx—who she gave up her powers to save along with Feyre—would disdain her for all the Inner Circle held her accountable for. 

But that worry was reserved for another day.

“You’re…different.” The High Lord noted, finally shifting from his prep to lunge to a seated position. “You’re not as…bad-tempered.” 

Nesta practically laughed; what a nice way to say ‘not as much a vicious bitch’.

“Things change, High Lord. I’ve recently learned the world is much bigger than we think, and that all this scheming and politicking on this pitiful little continent is nothing more than a waste of time.” Nesta thought back to just a short time ago, about Bryce and her world, the Asteri, her time with Ember and the small kindnesses Bryce’s mother had offered. The squabbling here in Prythian left it weak, vulnerable, and it was by Nesta’s blind faith alone that Bryce had the chance to take on the Asteri and save both of their realms.

She had resolved to start getting things back on track a long time ago, and if that meant dealing with her sister’s vicious ex-lover—be it solving things diplomatically or mowing him down for someone else to take his place—then so be it.

Gwyn and Emerie urged her to give the former a try before the latter; taking on the Blood Rite was one thing, but as strong as they were together, taking on a High Lord was a fool’s errand, even for people as seasoned as Cassian or Azriel.

 “Your court borders the mortal lands, meaning like it or not, you’re an arbiter of what comes in and what goes through. I may be fae now, but I still care about the humans, and while it may not look like it, I engage in these meetings out of a hope that I can get something out of it that will let me help them in some way.”

Tamlin gave a hollow laugh. “Eris Vanserra and the Autumn Court are the last people to ever give a damn about humans.”

“I know, that's why it’s important to keep an eye on them the most.” Tamlin blinked at Nesta’s claim. “When you’re gathering allies or resources that are sympathetic to your cause, that doesn’t mean you ignore your biggest opposition. I figured a High Lord would know that.” The beast bristled at her last comment, but Nesta reeled her fangs back in. 

“And despite what you may have done to my sister after she di-,” She paused to correct herself, “After she changed, I remember that you filled our father’s coffers and let us regain our nobility, when you could have left us out in the cold to starve and die. You let Feyre come back to us, even though it meant eternal imprisonment for you and your people. And you made sure Nyx got back from his little adventure safe and sound.”

Nesta brushed a hair behind her ear. “A person who does all that can’t be all bad.”

Tamlin glanced down at the grass, thinking hard on Nesta’s words. Nesta’s. Supposedly the most vicious of the Archeron sisters. This whole conversation was almost surreal, and he felt a strain in his chest that felt an awful lot like…hope?

“I’m going to go now.” Nesta stated, waiting for a reaction before calling her powers to winnow her away. If Tamlin still pounced on her after all this, she was going to be really disappointed.

But no. Tamlin simply let his stare rise to meet hers again, before turning to walk away. “Have your meetings somewhere else.” He murmured, Nesta chuffing as the shadows carried her back to the Night Court.

[otdiaftg]

They have time to kill in Atlanta, so as soon as Wymack confirms their gate hasn't changed he lets them wander the airport for an hour.

Andrew's lot spent most of that time wandering from one store to another. Aaron picked up a book while Nicky loaded up on junk food. Andrew disappeared, but Neil finally spotted him near a glass case of figurines. It was an odd thing for Andrew to be distracted by, but Neil didn't have long to think about it. Kevin and Nicky were two seconds away from getting into it because Kevin was trying to put Nicky's snacks back on the shelf. "It's not all for me," Nicky insisted, trying to wrestle out of Kevin's grip without dropping anything. "There's enough to go around." "No one needs to eat this before a game," Kevin said. "Eat some granola or protein if you're that hungry." "Hello, there's protein in the peanut butter," Nicky said. "Let go of me before I tell Andrew you're outlawing chocolate. I said let go. You're not the boss of me. Ouch! Did you seriously just hit me?" "I'm walking away and pretending I don't know you," Aaron said. "Traitor," Nicky called after him. "Kevin, just let him go," Neil said. "It's not worth fighting over." "When our defense is sluggish we all suffer," Kevin said. "You aren't serious," Nicky said. "We've got how many hours until serve? This will all be out of my system by then. You can watch me take a shit if you don't believe me. I didn't think you were into that kind of thing but—ha," he crowed when Kevin stomped off. He flashed Neil a triumphant grin, oblivious to the way the store clerks were staring at them. "I am a master at persuasion." "Or self-delusion," Neil said. Nicky's eyebrows shot up. "Oh my god, did you try to make a joke? Did it hurt a little?"

Day: Friday, January 12th Time: 2:30 PM EST

[fiddles-ifs]

Merry Shitscram everyone !! have backstory

Kaylen's nose is especially oily today; you can see her pores working overtime to clear the sweat out, hair clinging to her forehead from the new choppy pixie cut. It makes her look like a dance mom at fifteen.

"You're so fucking sad I get a charity tax break just for hanging out with you," she says, smacking your roller blades to get you to break. Doesn't work. Never will. And there's no ref to break it up, so she just stops, fingers tightening on her own stick.

The ands -- Kaylen, Aiden, Dylan, and some other douchebag teen from your grade -- like to fight dirty, but their chirps could use some work.

"Nice Letterkenny reference, dipshit," you say. "Are you going to play or not?"

You're barely out of face-off when Aiden comes from left and shoves his bulk up against your shoulder, trying to wrestle the puck away. He's not very fast, but he's pushy, and big. Sandwiched between him and Kaylen -- who is fast, but an opportunistic vulture -- is a disaster until someone from your team manages to help you out of the hole.

But Dylan has his legs wide open, staring dazedly at the powerlines overhead. You do some mental math, just as Aiden and Kaylen get distracted by shoving matches from your side. You're alone in the vast expanse of concrete and sky. You might have just enough time. You wind up, stick blade parallel to the high wires.

The slapshot you punish him with comes in front of a thunderously loud crack, composite hitting asphalt; the puck looks like a bullet. You worry you might has misjudged the angle -- it'll put a dent right in his shin, and you can't deal with that right now, not with parole chilling the sweat on the nape of your neck. But then it zips right between his knee guards, into the net, ripping a hole through the beat up rope. It's fine -- the goal is battle scarred with pockmarks from years of abuse.

And you win.

And that's all that matters.

Your whole team freaks the fuck out, slapping the top of your head, jostling you for good luck. They almost knock you off your skates.

"Fuck you, Robin!"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth, Dylan?" You have to shout to be heard over the sound of teenagers still raging. "Probably not, because she looks like a dog's shaved asshole. Doesn't stop me, though!"

You stick your tongue out and glide back down the pavement -- you'd snow him if there was snow, but alas. You'll make do with kicking a little grit onto his shoes.

"Dick," you hear him mumble, just as Aiden skates up by him to try and balm the wound.

"Yeah, that's probably why their parents dumped them on the side of the road."

Everyone freezes -- except for the ands, who just laugh, the four of them tittering by the net like fucking hyenas.

"What did you say?" Your voice is cold. Sharp. Violence hiding in it. Someone puts a hand on your shoulder -- you don't give a shit who. It doesn't matter. It never matters.

"Ignore him," they say, trying to sand the edges down so you don't get in trouble. Looking out for you. (In your mind's eye, in the present, you try and imagine what Bautista looked like as a teenager with her hand on your shoulder.) "He's stupid."

And they keep laughing, even when you shake off the hands trying to keep you contained.

Nobody's laughing when you break your hockey stick in half over Aiden's head. There's a lot of screaming, actually.

(You look back on it now with a sort of numb-feeling shame, clinically picking the scene apart. Aiden was lucky you didn't seriously hurt him. You had a lot less control in those days.)

Parents come rushing out of apartments, pulling kids apart. Someone has a t-shirt pressed to Aiden's head. Someone else has their arms around you, pinning your hands to your sides while you kick and scream.

"If your little trailer trash foster mutt ever comes near my kid again, I'll call the fucking cops!"

"I am the fucking cops, lady!"

You're only a little bit calmer when your dad sits you down with a long-suffering sigh, hands on your arms like you might lash out again.

"What the hell was that about?"

You keep your head bowed, heavy with shame — your dad doesn’t ever yell like he did outside. Doesn’t like doing it. Says it makes him feel like an ass; and that’s about the one thing you’re embarrassed over. Cracking your stick over Aiden’s dome was darkly satisfying.

You explain, agonizingly stilted, what Aiden said to you.

Dad lets that settle for a bit. Then, he sighs, hangs his head, and gives your arms a gentle squeeze before he looks up again. His glasses are perched right on the tip of his nose, now.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.”

“He’s a douche.”

“I know — but now he’s going to keep coming back.”

“Why?” You don’t mean to sound so wounded.

“Because he’s a douchey teenager, and as long as he thinks he can win, he’s going to keep coming for you. The best thing you can do is walk away.”

(You loved your dad — but he was wrong. The best thing you can do isn’t walk away.

The best thing is to make sure they know they will never win.)

[cobra-creampuff]

Hi Jack! Some totally random questions to take your mind off things -

1. Ian and Mickey have saved up enough to take a short vacation. Where are they going?

2. What weird/fun/silly ways do they decorate their West Side apartment?

3. Who controls the radio when they drive around for work?

4. What kind of takeout do they get so regularly that the restaurant knows them by name?

5. Are they still wearing the camo outfits for work? And how many times has Ian gotten distracted by Mickey wearing camo?

1. They bicker about going to various tourist spots around the country for weeks, interspersed with both of them at some point doing the pengu pout and saying Well Now I Just Want A Staycation - until finally Ian asks Mickey to take him to Mexico and show him around. Mickey reminds him he wasn't exactly having a fucking gap year abroad or some shit, and that if Mickey really does "show him around" where Mickey went a lot of those places are going to be dangerous and not strictly legal, and Ian says something unbearably sappy about how that makes it Perfect For Them, so much more than any Normal vacation.

2. I don't know basically anything about the west side place, and I really haven't decided what kind of living situation they end up in as Grown Up grown ups in the secret version with nothing I don't like in it that exists in my head yet. However, I think Mickey is a closet dork, and once he can afford it - both fiscally and emotionally - he starts collecting and displaying nerd shit. Specifically I'm thinking he's into X-Men and also pro wrestling, the latter of which is not exactly dorky in the same way BUT we're counting it here because he observes his affinity for it with the same type of nerd shit. He's got mini-figures (NOT lego, I'm talking like D&D model style minifigs) - wait hold up I was looking at the WWE site for ideas on what Mickey would have and discovered the action figures are Mattel branded. So yeah uh. Mickey gets X-Men and WWE Mattel branded action figures, and then gets force-Barbiepilled by The Algorithm qohugakaogks. ANYWAY. Re: decor, there are LED-lit glass shelves in the living spaces with Mickey's action figures on. Ian got him a "matching" set of Van Damme and Seagal for an anniversary, and they have a place of honor above the TV. Every now and then they will ~mysteriously~ end up posed as if they are fucking; both Ian and Mickey always blame this on the other.

ETA: At some point they're looking after one/some of the various children, and the action figures and Barbies get played with (while Mickey pretends very, very badly to be okay with it until he sends himself out of the room so he doesn't yell). Ian is also not paying attention; kid is being quiet but not too quiet, that's all he cares about. Then, after the kid is gone and things are picked up, they realize the Seagal action figure has been put into a Barbie wedding dress (dON'T ask Mickey why he has that!!). Mickey is quite disgruntled by this, and Ian laughs so hard - at the combo of the actual doll situation and the look on Mickey's face about it - that he almost makes himself sick.

3. I REALLY know nothing about their work, but uhhhh. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his pie hole.

4. There's this south side taqueria, maybe a hole in the wall or maybe a food truck. Even if/when they do move away to a better area, nothing beats it. Hell, even if they moved out of town entirely, they'd travel for it. I think I want there to be some kind of loyalty there that isn't just for the quality of the food (which is impeccable regardless). Maybe the owner would give one or both of them free food back in the day, or maybe had an opportunity to snitch on them but didn't, or idk their wedding is completely different To Me but there could still be some mishaps and such so maybe this place was the only one that agreed to cater day-of, or Terry like "blacklisted" Mickey from a bunch of locally owned places under Threat Of Terry and this place was one of few that would still serve him, or whatever. Like, the food itself is phenomenal and they'd have already been eating there previous, but then there was some personal element too that made it Their taqueria. They know everyone there by name too.

5. Mickey has never worn a single stitch of camo ever in his life :)

[queer-whatchamacallit]

New oc just dropped, talk to me about herrrrr

(All text written in the photo will be included in this long-winded list of everything I know about her)

Isabella/Bella/Bells Terzi

She/her

23

Enneagram 2

Mostly Romani, a lot of family initially from Turkey

Living with her parents who have pretty much always been hands off if not straight up neglectful

Family split mainly between Illinois and Louisiana

Has always been very loud and brash

Similar to Richie, has some weird word choices, says things how she thinks it without regard for whether the other person will understand

Has always been very active, bit of an adrenaline junkie

In high school, treated her volleyball team like family

Was a little more wild and into it than some other girls but they definitely thought of her like family too

Then, junior year, during the season, she got transverse myelitis and could no longer be on the team

Especially with it being such a fucked up time for her, it bothered her that they continued to bond and hang out together in a way she couldn’t

She isolated herself from them, and they tried to fit her back in, but she just dug her heels in further

By senior year, she had fallen in with a much different group that she never really connected with like she did her volleyball team

All of the stress along with the distraction of always feeling pins and needles through her legs tanked her grades, and she ended up kind of lost after graduation

She went from working at a Dairy Queen to a furniture store then it was The Beef that stuck

She got hired at 19 because Mikey could tell from her interview that she would be a blast to have around and hired her on the spot without figuring out any logistics of her chair, including whether she could even get to her station (barely)

She was hired with Marcus, and they instantly hit it off

She did not however hit it off with Tina, she reminded her a little too much of the kids she met in her horrendous job search in Napkins

They got off on the wrong foot, but they definitely got used to each other

She has this sort of tray that attaches to her chair, so if she’s just kneading dough or something, she can camp out closer to everyone else

She had this sort of challenge with Mikey going all the way back to the interview for him to come up with a joke about her she’s never heard

Almost a year later, he did it with “Oh shit, you’re trademarked and everything? Should I have been copyright claimed or someshit for hiring you?” When she told him about her transverse myelitis (TM)

She’s never been the best at deescalation, especially when she’s also pissed off, so her and Michael were definitely not great to have near each other at times

Because she seems so little (she’s really 5’7”/Carmy height), it shocks people that she has absurd, insane upper body strength

She loves arm wrestling people because of this, especially big strong guys

She has beaten Richie, Chuckie, Chi-Chi and Ebra (easily), but Mike and Marcus remain undefeated

She beat Tina and was way too smug about it

Saw what was happening to Mike, and became really abrasive toward him about it “Knock it off, stop being a pussy, and get your ass up” type of deal

Thinks about that a lot, especially since Carmy came to run The Beef

Was definitely uneasy at first, but didn’t mind the changes too much

Loves cooking for people, bringing joy, comfort food specifically

Didn’t super vibe with Sydney, seemed like she wanted to change too much, and Bella was definitely on Richie’s side for that one

Once managed to convince Carmy to do an arm wrestle, and he lost, but it was unclear whether he gave up to stop wasting time or if he really just has that weird bodybuilder muscle without much strength to it

Was kind of obsessed with Carmy’s additions to the dinner menu, just straight up Italian comfort food

With Review, everyone’s positive character arcs are what fucked them up (Marcus finding a passion in baking so he makes donuts instead of cakes and Tina brings Louie because she thinks he can learn here like she did), and her contribution was being more comfortable staying home on days where the pins and needles in her legs turn into definite pain

So she comes back, and suddenly, everyone’s inexplicably on edge

Then she’s the one to spot the fire Carmy started and yells for someone to get the extinguisher

But after they start talking about renovations, she gets kind of worried

It sounds less and less like the home she’s found The Beef to be, especially the menu

When they do the renovations, she gets a lot more space and her own shortened desk space and stove, and it heals her worries a bit, knowing that she’s still included in their plans for the future

She’s happy for Marcus, but she feels like she’s missing something when she tries his dishes, they’re great but they don’t make her happy

Throughout season 3, she struggles to keep up with Marcus’ exponential growth and strongly considers quitting, but she doesn’t want to leave the family she’s found

(And just like every other thing in season 3, we’ll be left in suspense to see how it resolves in season 4 lmao)

I only learned transverse myelitis existed today, so if I got anything wrong about it or more generally, the wheelchair user experience, I’d love to learn more and correct it

But yeah, I feel very strongly about her and I think you should too. I might even write a fic about her, we’ll see

[claudy-writes-stuff]

Hii

I would love to read:

Fred Durst x Reader

Jon Davis/KoRn x Reader

Chester Bennington x Reader

Any story would be nice. Maybe enemy or friends to lovers. Thanks already!

Sure thing Anon! Hope you enjoy (if my idea was similar to another creators idea I’m just gonna note rn this isn’t exaclty original but yh)

The Biggest, Stupidest idiot, Fred Durst x Reader, Enemies to Lovers

You got signed to be Limp Bizkit’s manager and also this bus driver thingy for them. You were the one driving the trailer for them whenever they went on tour, the first few days you enjoyed the job and it wasn’t hard. The guys were funny, Well, That’s what you thought, (That’s what she said), They we’re jerks sometimes. Especially Fred, Although it was just some playful pranks and jokes friends and all just playing and not legit, they got on your nerves. Numerous times where you couldn’t even count had Fred and Wes woke you up and tricked you that there was and emergency. As soon as you ran out the door then you’d get milk and feathers All over you, Even Lethal would come in laughing.

Sometimes the jokes or pranks were funny. Sometimes not. Just straight up annoying as fuck

You didn’t even talk to Fred for a few days after that, “Oh come on Y/N talk to me!” “Shut up Fred” was how it was last week. Today they were wanting to hangout at a local bar/Pub to relax and have some fun after their tour as it was kind of draining they were performing Al day, not to mention you’ve definetely been the workaholic these days!, You drove the bus as they were all inside. Fred being the loudest as he nudged Wes with his elbow. None of them really containing their laughter. Before Fred stopped and nudged you now “Atleast were driving and this time we ain’t getting a single scratch from a certain someone!” You shot him a side glare and slapped his hand “Shut up Fred” He only laughed and rubbed his arm. “Ow!” He said, shooting you a look, You rolled your eyes and looked away from him, Even in your contacts you had him named as ‘Annoying guy’ or ‘Jerk’

They didn’t wanna go to the bar instead they decided on going to go to one of their tours. They still didn’t finish them, “Hey Y/N pull over we want some snacks-“ Before John could finish his sentence Wes smacked him on the face. Before they started wrestling and Fred started recording “Yo look at this shit!” They were laughing their asses off. Your eye twitched. Why were they so annoying sometimes? You had already been in a bad mood because of earlier today, As you pulled over at the snack store you all got out the car. As if they were children they ran inside like kids first time seeing a candy store.

Fred wanted to bother you a bit. As you held the cart zoning out you were startled by a lot of things dropping inside at once. It was chocolates- Candies chips and all sorts- “Yo why’s there a apple in here?” Fred peeked in. He saw the apple just plain right sitting in the corner of the cart. It wasn’t even in one of those white small bags. “Who wanna play frisbee?” Wes took the apple and passed it over to the others. You scoffed and grumbled. Snatching the apple away. Making Fred pout, “Food isn’t to be played with, Stop and come on I don’t wanna be here all day!” Fred only nudged you. As you were paying Fred came up behind you wrapping an arm around your shoulders pulling your head and a bit of your body to him and ruffling your hair a lot. “Cut it out!” You snapped. He only held tighter and just whispered back “Nope”,

After what seemed like two years and a half. You arrived at the tour, getting out the car, it didn’t take that long for the band to be swarmed by the crowd and getting autographs. They were all distracted. You were sat in the back, Yet again. A bad habit of yours. Chewing your lip. Lightly blinking as you were in deep thought. A arm wrapped around you from behind, a slurred voice talking “You’ve got- you really looking fine today..You wanna come over to my place?” This wasn’t any of the people you knew, a creep randomly came in through from the crowd. Slowly pulling you behind a wall. You looked at him, panic clear in your eyes, his hand moved to your hip. Grasping it. You looked down. He started groping you, “Please don’t do that. I don’t feel comfortable” You tried to be polite and your eyes darted left and right as you panicked for help. The man seemed angry

He forced himself onto you and whispered “I know you want it. Stop playing hard to get” His breath reeked of alcohol and cigars. Wanting to make you gag, his hand went under your dress (or pants anything you can choose), before he could touch you there a fist connected to his face making you jerk back in fear and yelp. “What the hell is wrong with you? She’s saying no dude she doesn’t like you!” It was Fred. He snapped at the man before punching him again square in the face. Making sure to angle it near the man’s nose. Brisk sing it. Knocking him out cold. The others were trying to pull Fred away, Fred turned to you. His heart sinking into his stomach seeing you shivering in the corner of the wall. Big round tears in your eyes. “Come on Y/N let’s get you inside..” he gently took your hand in his and led you to the trailer or bus. Sitting down next to you, It was silent until you whispered “Thank you” to him, trying to wipe away your tears. He looked down at you. His thumb lightly brushing your cheek and wiping away your tears. His eyes glancing at your lips. “It’s okay, trust me when I say this. I’m sorry for bothering you with those pranks and stuff. I won’t do it again if it annoys you” He was very sincere, soft. And quiet. Unlike how he was so upbeat and loud. He gently took your hands into his and pulled you onto his lap. Taking your chin and making you face him, “I love you, Y/N, Please. But I just didn’t have naughty courage to tell you this” your eyes widened. You couldn’t react as his nose pressed to yours. Gently. His lips pressing on yours before he closed his eyes. His other hand gently stroking your hair back and away from your eyes.

“I love you too”

The band did make sure to take pictures of this moment and tease you and Fred in the future about it.

[bihansthot]

Bi-Han’s IKEA Adventure

Pairing: Bi-Han x gender neutral!reader

Rating: Teen Plus? Mature? (suggestive themes and lots of swears, no smut)

Summary: You and Bi-Han go to IKEA to replace a broken desk, unfortunately for you, you get lost and have to wait for Sub-Zero to rescue you.

Author Notes: “qīn” is Mandarin for bae/babe and is my stand in for “y/n”, you don’t have to read it but you’ll notice little things if you’ve read Earning Your Keep. Gouta is my name I made up for Cyrax it means golden. This one is dumb and silly but I spent too much time watching videos of walkthroughs of the IKEA in Harbin so hopefully it matches up. I haven’t been to an IKEA in quite sometime so please enjoy it with a grain of salt lol. As always please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it. Hope you lovelies enjoy!

“We get in, we get out, no getting distracted by kitchenwares or baby shit you understand me qīn? We’re here for a new desk for my study, nothing else,” Bi-Han grips your shoulders and goes through his game plan with the calculated precision that came from years of being the Lin Kuei’s Grandmaster.

“New desk and baby shit, got it,” you reply your eyes sparkling with mischief.

“No. No! No baby shit, just a desk!” He repeats sternly, his brows furrowing into an unpleasant grimace.

“Ok, ok,” you wave him off and shrug out of his grip to grab a trolly and bag to attach to it, “to carry the desk,” you cut him off before the cryomancer can question you.

“Ok, good. Let’s do this,” he takes a deep breath and an employee gives him an odd look as the air around him condenses and little snowflakes fall from his exhalation.

Bi-Han did not like IKEA, a fact you were well aware of but being in remote China left you with few choices when it came to getting new furniture. Your options were to wait months for a master craftsman to carve a new desk for Bi-Han or as you suggested make the pilgrimage to the IKEA in Harbin. The cryomancer reluctantly chose the latter as it was nearly impossible to go through all of his paperwork in just a chair. You just hoped whatever you found at the store was sturdier than his old desk which could not withstand the Grandmaster’s might, you bit your bottom lip as you thought back to the events that broke the desk in the first place. The force and might he had taken you on the seemingly sturdy wooden desk passed down for generations had been no match for Bi-Han’s vigor.

“Qīn, qīn, hello? Are you even paying attention? You’re blocking the walkway,” Bi-Han frowns and wrestles the trolly away from you.

You flush as you come back to the present, “s-sorry I was thinking about something else.” The dull ache between your legs reminds of the way he had held you down, the way he had thrust into you so deeply, the way he absolutely claimed you as his own. You lick your lips subconsciously and trot after the cryomancer as the two of you wind through the immaculately decorated faux rooms.

Bi-Han stops once you reach a room that looks like it has a suitable steel framed desk, “u-utespel-utespelare? Who the fuck came up with this shit?” The cryomancer asks no one in particular as he pulls out his smartphone to snap a picture of that tag. “What do you think about this one qīn?” He asks leaning on the desk to see if it was capable of holding his weight.

“Do you want the Hemler too?” You ask gesturing to the matching chair, chuckling at the cryomancer’s inability to pronounce the Swedish designs.

Bi-Han raises an eyebrow as he smirks, “did we break the chair too?” He asks teasingly, snaking an arm around your waist and dropping a chilly kiss against the nape of your neck.

You shiver from the cold, “first of all, there was no we, you, you broke the desk, you pounded into me so hard I still ache,” you spin around to accuse him. “Your father is probably spinning in his grave, that was an antique passed down for generations,” you continue as start looking at the desk nicknacks and other tchotchkes.

“Let him spin, he deserves no peace,” Bi-Han snarls and throws a plush polar bear into the bag. He lets out a frustrated growl as he remembers the other reason he agreed to go to this cursed store, “fuck me, we need more cups. Tomas was tinkering around with his grenades again and blew up one of the cupboards in the kitchen.”

You blink at him, unfazed at his sudden aggression brought on by the mention of his father, “is that what that noise was? I thought it was Gouta fucking one of the maids in the kitchen again.”

Bi-Han narrows his icy eyes, “no, he got in deep shit for that, he knows better than to try that again.”

“You’re awfully hypocritical for someone who fucks their lover on any surface they can,” you counter throwing a stuffed dinosaur into the bright yellow bag.

“First of all, I’m the Grandmaster, I can do whatever the fuck I want, where ever the fuck I want. Second of all, I don’t want to eat jizz,” he scowls at the idea.

You burst into laughter before shushing him, “keep it down polar bear, you’re scaring the employees.” You chastise as you receive a bewildered expression from one of the IKEA staff members.

He rolls his eyes, “even if they speak English, I doubt they understand the word jizz qīn, this is still China, or did you forget?”

You sigh, hating it when he was right, “we’re not accomplishing anything, why don’t you go to the warehouse and get your utespelare and I’ll go to the kitchenwares section and pick out replacements for Tomas’ accident.”

“I don’t like the idea of leaving you in this store unsupervised, you’ll spend the entire treasury,” the cryomancer grumbles.

You swat at his well-defined pecs, “so what if I do, you’re a thief, just steal more.”

“I’m not a petty thief, I’m a highly skilled, trained professional,” Bi-Han sulks as you reach the escalators to take you up to the kitchenwares and further on up to the warehouse.

“Shit,” you sigh as you pull out your phone only to realize it’s dead. “Ok look Polar Bear my phone is dead but I’ll meet you at the cafe in 20 minutes ok?”

“I’m not eating their shitty meatballs or fucking lingonberries,” Bi-Han states making a disgusted face.

You shake your head and laugh, “no meatballs or lingonberries I promise, we just need somewhere to rendezvous.” You stand on your tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek as you take the trolly back from him, “I need it more than you do. You’re big and strong and can carry the desk easily.”

“Cafe, 20 mins,” Bi-Han confirms as he steps onto the escalator to head to the warehouse. Bi-Han easily locates his utespelare and checks out with relative ease before settling down to wait in the cafe.

You wander through the kitchenware section buying more than just the cups you needed, you couldn’t help it though, everything at the Lin Kuei Temple was so old. You were honestly shocked that they had electricity and silently thanked Papa Zero for seeing the value in modernizing and improving the living conditions. You enjoyed cooking even though there were maids at the temple to take care of everyday needs. You grab a new sauté pan and a couple of cute hot mitts before finally filling the cart with nonbreakable mugs and regular drinking cups. Without your phone you don’t realize how long has passed and continue to browse for goods you had no need for, “hmmm do we need a cactus? Probably not, Bi-Han would probably freeze it,” you mumble to yourself as you browse the houseplants. Eventually, you find yourself completely turned around and lost somewhere in between the throw pillows and lighting fixtures getting distracted by star-shaped lamps.

You look around and hunt for an employee to ask your way but can’t seem to find anyone, you look down to try and follow the tape arrows on the floor but much to your dismay there were none to be found. You try to trace your way back through the nonstop isles of displays but in the endless sea of rosenkärm, there appeared to be no exit in sight. “Heh heh heh shit,” you hiss under your breath.

30 minutes had gone past and Bi-Han was still waiting alone in the cafe, he checked his phone before belatedly realizing yours was dead and you probably were unaware how much time had actually passed so he decided to give you a few more minutes. He sighed and waited impatiently, 15 more minutes passed and still no sign of you, he hefted the heavy desk onto his shoulders before approaching one of the ideal cashiers. “I’ve lost my partner can you please page them for me,” Bi-Han reluctantly asks the employee in Chinese. “Their name is y/n but their Chinese isn’t very good, is it possible to page them in English?” He flashes the cashier his best convincing smile.

You freeze when you hear the page come over the loudspeaker and groan, “I know where you are Bi-Han, I don’t know where I am!” You let out a frustrated grunt and punch a pillow next to you before making an arbitrary left at the canning supplies. You’re led into a maze of bedding and start to feel anxious and overwhelmed, your breath quickens and your eyes dart around frantically searching for anyone. You still can’t find an employee but do manage to see a nice-looking couple so you approach them and in your broken Chinese make a gesture for going up an escalator, “zì-zìdòng f-fútī?”

They give you a bewildered look and exchange a few words and glances before gesturing behind you. You give them a hurried thanks before rushing off in the direction they pointed you to but much to your dismay you found yourself back in the kitchenwares. “You have got to be kidding me,” you sigh and try and think how you got to the kitchenwares the first time around so you could work your way back to the escalator.

Bi-Han paces back and forth by the registers growing more and more concerned, “can I leave this with you?” He asks the cashier and gestures to his utespelare. The poor cornered cashier nod’s reluctantly as Bi-Han sets the heavy desk down and begins his hunt for you. It takes a while for a Bi-Han to get back to the entrance what with IKEA being a veritable maze he decided the fastest way was to exit the store and go back to the original entrance. He shoulders past the casual families gawking and lounging around the faux living rooms set on his rescue mission.

You decide to stay where you were for the moment, not wanting to get more lost than you already were. “Sooner or later he’ll come find me,” you reassure yourself, you absently fiddle with a ladle that resembles a brontosaurus before shrugging and throwing it in the bag attached to the trolly. “I wonder if we need anything else,” you think out loud as you continue to peruse the myriad of utensils.

Bi-Han weaves in and out of the fellow patrons until he comes across the escalators, he prompts goes up one floor, and locates the directory. It doesn’t take him long to locate kitchenwares on the vertical post as he makes his way through the confusing aisles of condiments and pantry staples. Having been raised to be a master of the deadly arts Bi-Han would have been able to track you easily if you weren’t in a giant furniture store. If you were in the forest he could look for footprints or broken branches but since he was in an IKEA he kept his eyes focused on anything that might have caught your attention.

You look around the aisle more as you feel a dip in the temperature, at first you assume it’s the air conditioning but soon you’re able to see the tall cryomancer standing well above the other patrons. “Bi-Han!” You call out excitedly and start waving like a crazy person. You stay put though terrified you’ll somehow get lost between here and the ten feet away he is, and in your defense, there were an awful lot of home goods in the way.

His long strides quickly close the gap and his strong cold hands grip your shoulders, “qīn! You’re still looking at kitchenwares?! Do you know how long it’s been? How worried I’ve been?” Bi-Han berates you before getting worked up and going on a tangent in his native tongue.

From what you can tell he’s feeling a mixture of disappointment, relief, and annoyance. You can’t help but burst into tears and cling to him, “I got lost! I haven’t been here the whole time I’ve been adrift in a sea of fucking interior design! How many sheepskin rugs does this country need?!” You feel silly for crying and clinging to Bi-Han in public like this but it was a rarity the two of you got to be a normal couple and you had been an anxious mess since you got disoriented. You sniffle and try not to make too much of a mess of the cryomancer’s shirt.

Bi-Han holds you at arm’s length, blinks a few times as if he was dumbfounded, “you got lost? How? Qīn, there are signs everywhere…” The cryomancer gestures to one of the structural columns with signs posted on them.

You look at him incredulously, “it’s in Chinese! I don’t know how to read escalator! I can barely remember the word for it! I managed to ask a couple but ended up back in the damn kitchenware section.” You huff at him before stomping a foot in protest.

“I uh, huh. I guess they are,” he replies sheepishly, color creeping onto the cryomancer’s cheeks as he adverts his eyes. Bi-Han grabs your hand and the trolly and steers you back to the escalator. “I’m not letting go of you ever, I’m going to get one of those animal backpacks with the leashes for you I swear,” he grumbles as the two of you make your way to the registers. Bi-Han starts unpacking the bag and starts looking through all the unnecessary things you added, he sighs and shakes his head but doesn’t say anything deciding you had been through enough for the day. He keeps his hand wrapped around yours the whole time earning yet another bewildered gaze from the traumatized cashier Bi-Han had been chatting up earlier.

You giggle as the cryomancer refuses to let go of your hand thinking that maybe getting lost in IKEA wasn’t the worst way to spend the weekend. You can’t help but admire the way his biceps bulge and flex as he puts the goods back in the bag after getting the receipt. “Where’s the desk,” you ask him looking around as you two head towards the exit.

“Fuck. Don’t move,” he orders as he reluctantly lets go of your hand and goes back to the poor cashier to retrieve the whole reason they made this trip in the first place. The two of you make it back to the car before Bi-Han opens the door and buckles you in before loading up the back of the car with your purchases. He gets into the driver's seat and looks over at you as you plug your phone into the car charger. “Don’t do that to me again,” he whispers before he leans over to press a soft, cold kiss against your lips.

You grab his hand and weave your fingers in with his and sigh contently as you settle in for the long drive back to the Lin Kuei Temple.