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joannasteez · 2 days

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strong!

pairing: roman reigns x black reader warning: explicit sexual content after the "read more". degradation and pain kinks! talks of roman losing the undisputed title (a sore spot for some of you lol) authors: fic based on this post. nothing else really. give it a like, a reblog and a comment. let me know what you think! word count: 1300 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @spritelucozade (others who have been asked to be tagged, your tag wasn’t popping up. not sure why)

the shameless scent of iron bothers him. blood about his nose. smearing through the delicate trim of his mustache. the cultivation of such a great mountain of hubris, shattered. undone and red, dripping easy to taint his tongue.

the roar of the crowd deafens his ears. his skin slippery from sweat and his muscles tight with pain from the labor of a great defending and the cold. he lays there, pinned and defeated. a rapturous celebration about him, bright and lively but not for him. his stomach twisting sickly.

the walk is long and silent. his ears ringing and split with an inward disdain. you sit comfortably in his dressing room. a disinterest in your eyes that sinks his heart. and all the words that refuse to pass through such pretty lips speak sharply to him still, through distinctive cuts about his face and taut reddened skin. an examination of him filled with pity. roman's stomach flips again, disturbed. he shuffles to a chair. breathy and his body loosely plopping against the seat. wallowing. you won't speak and he's wallowing. he feels bile in his throat. his eyes squeezing. an unceremonious rise before it falls back to the pit of his stomach.

a tissue paper tears. wet and dabbing at where he bleeds. your eyes falling over him as you stand between the wide stretch of his legs.

"you're bleeding...", you state. fingers curling in viciously to hold his jaw still, a harsh maneuvering that forces his eyes to meet you. softly dabbing stains of blood caked in his mustache still. the contrast making him weary. lightheaded. "...and without a title. what do you have to say for yourself?"

a ball forms in his throat. feverish heat over his skin. a stabbing pain behind the eyes that makes him bristle silently. of all the times to be so recklessly emotional. why now? why here? under such a thick blanket of silence and the scrutiny of your gaze. he was strong. he's still strong! so why does this feel like a great diminishing. a breaking from which he can not return whole again. your grip growing tighter. nails warring against the tenderness of overly worked skin. a stinging behind the thickness of his beard. water pooling steadily in his eyes.

small and defeated. barely registrable. "i'm sorry".

you near. perfume sweetening the iron scent in his nose. your breath warm over him. "speak. clearly".

"im sorry", roman chokes. the syllables awkward and new off his tongue.

a mirthless smile takes your lips. forming more and more disgusted by the second. "are you crying?", words like nails screwing into him. feeling worser than simple little drips of blood. "if you're gonna lose, at least do it well".

you discard the tissue. stalk back to him with less venom in your eyes. taking his face to hold in your hands. the warmth in your palms uncomfortable. a cross examination done by the slipping over of your stare. an appraisal. your thumbs running over the freckled apple of his cheeks to assess. not to dote. like the inspection of a beaten trophy, to gauge how much he'd fallen into lack luster. your knee slips in to rest between the thick stretch of his thighs, pressing firm into the unsoftened way of his crotch. a slim sort of panic undulating over his skin. remembering the pierce in of your nails. the stinging it brought his skin. he much prefer that than you holding him with such fragility.

he was strong. he is strong! he can bare the pain. he was made to last.

"my pitiful little loser", you tease. kissing along his face. a trail from his forehead down till you rest soft lips at the corner of his mouth. never giving him the satisfaction. giggling in his ear.

the tips of his ears grow warm. probably red. "don't say that", he breaks. voice horse and tired. groaning as you take his face to grip again. the feed in of it into his skin tightening the space in his tactical cargo pants.

"why?", fingers combing through wild hair to rough backwards. leaning over him. knee roughed into the ache of his dick. the spinning chair singing with a short creak as the back of it bends to take the weight of both your bodies. "that's what you are no? or are my eyes and ears mistaken? is your name cody rhodes?"

soft pretty lips around another mans name. his chest tight. his breath heavy. panicked and vexed and excited. "don't say his-"

your knee presses in. forcing a grunt from his chest. your eyelashes fanning beautiful as your lips twist scornfully. "you don't have ground to stand on..", the seam of your lips faint over his. "...to tell me who i can and can't evoke. four years of good work", the displeasure rife on your tongue. "great work, gone because of some petulant playground bullshit revenge. are you happy with yourself at least?"

roman feels high. like he can barely breathe. stomach coiling steady with a burning sort of ache. hands tingling with need. resigned to touching the handles of the chair instead.

"no", he gives. a whisper.

your brows pull. disbelief. your body standing straighter, your knee still pressed into him. his hips canting with ill-control. desperate for friction. "no?", your hand mushing his head. "no?!", sharper. angrier. "you did all that shit with a steal chair and you're not even happy? real shameful shit".

roman's naked chest rises and falls. heavy breaths and pleading eyes. his pants too tight now for comfort. stomach twisting about horribly. his cock throbbing in his pants.

your fingers slip delicate over his zipper. a slow release of it along with the buttons. the warmth in your hand gracious as you reach and fondle your way in his underwear. seeking the hard heat of him with your knee still pressed into his balls. his eyes dim and weary. "maybe the top of the mountain was too high for you", you give. an easy go of words at the corner of his mouth. a slight tremble in him as he spits over your hand, feeling you work him thoroughly with a sweet twisting in your wrist. "maybe winning for so long was too much", voice pitying. babied and teasing. like he was small and unfit. "you rather suffer without a crown, than bare the weight".

a string of spit from your lips to the reddened tip of his cock makes a greater mess of him. the grip in your palm tighter by the second. warm and unrelenting. the base of his core nearly undone.

"its easier being a coward than enduring".

his head shakes. he was strong. he is strong! perfectly made to endure. "i held it for four years".

you laugh. he moans. his jaw lax and his muscles burning. "and now you're a loser", your thumb circling sweetly at his tip. his hips awkwardly rocking into the press of your knee. "the people saw you bleed. they saw you fail. main event status revoked".

his fingers grow more weary. for the title. for a microphone to plead his case. for the supple touch of your skin. anything but the cold metal of this chair.

"need to touch you". he pleads. desperate. nearly undone.

"you don't deserve it", you clip. nearly kissing him. he can feel it. the hesitation of your lips. full and soft. hovering over dangerously. "be happy i'm giving you this".

"please".

his spine throbs hard. a harsh rut in his hips as you stroke him tight.

"you gonna finish? or is that gonna be a dud too".

and the relief is sweet. an unloading of his shoulders. bursting and full of heat as he comes against your hand. "go ahead", you relent. and his arms work swiftly. embracing your body as his damp face falls into your belly. lightly trembling. groans tumbling off his lips.

he was strong. 1300 plus days. he is strong! made to last.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns smut #joannasteez

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cinewhore · 2 years

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dropping in here to rec a tv show called “the bear” on hulu. i feel like you’d enjoy it. its great. super chaotic but great!!!

Ah!! So many folks have been telling me about this show..I’ll give the first episode a look! Thank you ❤️

#joannasteez

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thesamoanqueen · 3 months

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Hold me

Warnings: 16+

A/N: finally joining the seven paragraph thursday challenge, tagged by @dreamsinfocus @joannasteez. Its just one shot about my kink hope y'all like it, addio~

It was the way they caressed her neck, insinuating themselves between curls, gently rubbing that portion of caramel skin behind her ear until their movement and his breathing lulled her to sleep. They held and protected her, as if wanting to prevent someone from stealing her during the night, taking her away, away from the warmth and security that only them, only him, could give. They were an almost childish reassurance, simple and good in the true, profound essence of that word, there to cherish and love her in the most banal and undervalued gesture a human being could have made. A certainty that was never missing, unexpected, always, everywhere, requests or not.

It was the feeling of them on the small of her back, to guide, not force, accompanying her through any moment, letting her know that he was there, behind her, covering and supporting when she could find a way herself. It was seeing them open doors, move obstacles, take anything before her mouth could even bother to ask, to offer, serve and provide. Almost bodyless, ghosts in her peripheral vision, supporting actors who in her mind had stolen the prize from whatever great broken promise every nobody shouted before in her face.

It was the strength they showed by keeping her upright when she bent like a tightrope walker on her heels, acting as her anchor and then softening as soon as her strength returned. The ardor with which they held her soft hips, encouraging the obscene movement of her body in the ecstasy of pleasure, the dangerous, frightening possession with which they tightened around her throat, suffocating moans, grabbing, slapping, claiming every portion inside her wet folds and even outside. The heat, crave, with which they burned on her skin, between her lips, on her thighs wrapped around his solid body, against her chest shaken by tremors and prayers. Rough, arrogant, confident and hungry.

And the imaginary circles they drew on that bare finger, the one he always kissed with persistence, commitment, not one by chance, that one, without explanations because they didn’t need them. And she had pretended to don’t understand, not to see, to ignore, keep her feet on the solid ground and reality, but sometimes they pulled her up physically, like a little dreamy girl, like something more special, promising and she ended up looking for them as air in her lungs. No shadow of the past could stand a chance against those fingers, those hands that she had fallen madly in love with.

Them and not just them, she admitted at least to herself, because in her own words she couldn't - not yet - but she hoped to make up for that lack with the same tenacity that those fingers showed in keeping her anchored there, with him.

- You're stuck with me...- she heard Roman laugh, forcing her to raise her head, moving away her dark eyes from their irremediably linked hands, tearing a dangerous, uncontrollable smile from her lips that he ended up miming too.

- God help you - and his grip got tighter, holding her there in that lovely trap, always.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @reignsangel444 @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @love-islike-abomb @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @reignsx @reigns-central-blog @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @thedonsfactory @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @joannasteez @2baddies2furious @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @usosthetics @mahi-wayy @jxtina-86 @harmshake @southerngirl41 @blkbutterfly816 @spritelucozade

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns oneshot #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x you #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x y/n #roman reigns x female reader #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic

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333creolelady · 4 months

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Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Masterlist

(updated frequently )

Black Afab/OC X Roman Reigns (Pirate Au)

Synopsis: Unlikely foreigners meet under strange circumstances that send them on a quest for more than treasure.

Cover art: @joannasteez

Story Warnings: Heavily Detailed Sex, Racism, Violence, Mentions of past abuse, Mentions of past child abuse, Mentions of past SA, Mentions of discrimination, Mentions of colonization, Gore, Alcohol use, Drug use, Angst, Profanity, Critiques on the British Monarchy. Grief, Minors DNI.

Contains: Romance, Drama, Fantasy (sci-fi), Action/adventure.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue (short)

Story playlist link

Alternative playlist

Face claims 1 ,

Creative process for LOTBB 1, 2

Questions about LOTBB: Here, Here,

#roman reigns #Romannreignsau #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x reader #pirate au #the tribal chief #wwe #wwe smackdown #the head of the table

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whatdoeseverybodywant · 12 days

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LAST SENTENCE TAG GAME

i stole this from @mrsmungus

RULES: post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

It’s been six months since he had Kiyana in his bed and he was feening for more.

@harmshake

@empressdede

@msbigredmachine

@wrestlingprincess80

@kill-the-artiste

@theninthwonder

@southerngirl41

@raya-hunter01

@sheyaish

@kyleoreillylover

@solefae

@joannasteez

@paigereeder

I don't know seventeen people writers on here lmao and thats on me

#tag game #wip #rebuild & restore #joe's back yall

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msbigredmachine · 3 months

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💖Beginners' Guide to MsBigRedMachine's Fanfics💖

Thank you once again to two of my faves @southerngirl41 and @harmshake for the tags!

Intro: I'm Ada! I write fanfiction mainly for Roman Reigns, but I expanded to Jey Uso and now I've added his twin Jimmy, lol. Also have a Samoa Joe fic lurking somewhere.

Pairings: As you'll see in my masterlist, ALL my OCs are Black women. Dark skin, light skin, caramel, slim, big...all beautiful Black baddies. Also, being Nigerian, I aim to incorporate more Nigerian names in my fics too. Sorry, I don't do slash of any kind. I've been asked before and it's just not my thing.

Warnings: Smut, angst, drama, more smut. No one under the age of 18 should read my stuff or interact with me on it, or you'll be outed without hesitation.

So where to start reading...?

---

My first fic: My first-ever one was actually an RVD fic called Shattered Rose that I never finished, when white women were my OCs. I know wayyyy better now😬

My longest fic: My first baby, Into The Deep End. March 6, 2024 will make it ten years since I first published it on another platform. I worked so hard on it as a stress reliever when I was studying for my Masters, and to know that it still gets so much love on all the sites I've posted it on truly warms my heart. Targets is my second-longest, I really enjoyed that one too.

My shortest fic: Definitely Wait For You. Marian tagged me in a "Seven Sentence" challenge and this was the result. I'm terrible with <1000 word fics and it was truly a challenge, lol.

My most popular fic: So, there's three answers. Overall, Into The Deep End for sure. But for my one-shots, I still get messages and quotes about Power Couple (Roman/OC) and On Sight (Jey Uso/OC) to this day.

My personal fave fic: Lol this answer changes all the time. They're all my babies, I really can't choose. Each time I re-read one, I fall in love with it.

---

💖About me💖

30+, a qualified lawyer/attorney by profession. I've been writing all sorts of stuff since I was a child. There's something about putting your imagination down on paper that is so liberating and I really enjoy it. Maybe one day I will have the courage to actually publish something.

I've been posting my fics on tumblr for years now. I'm truly happy to have met such great authors along the way, and I appreciate all the likes, reblogs and especially the amazing comments and feedback. Forgive me for all my late responses, work and Nigeria's WAT time zone messes me up lol.

Thank you all again, and enjoy!

Click here if you're not yet on my tag list and you want to be added.

---

Again, tagging everyone: @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80 @southerngirl41 @alyyaanna @squishyguishy @jstarr86 @murrylove @thewarlordsworld @mzv11 @cozyaliensuperstar7 @nayys-world @hunnidmilly @cyberdejos2 @papireigns-05 @niknakbucks92 @captainwithoutmakingitlove @sovereigngoth @aisharmi @kennedi0818 @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @herwickedlittlesins @harmshake @fame-ass-ers@questionable-behaviour @tribalchiefreigns @2-muchsauce @thatbxtchsblog @raya-hunter01 @marchi36753 @lovelysuccess @christinabae @wooahmiri @thatonecarebear @tabletheofhead @rheaanddamianfan @vebner37 @hanley1577 @princessesareforsuckers @-naturally @joannasteez @bbygirlky18 @lilucey @theninthwonder @melaninsugababy @chocovibesonly @msbluehaz3 @scarlettnoir01 @heerah34 @empressdede @tbmotw @darkangelchronicles @visionarymode @marasdeathnote @aintnorainbows @meggylynnloves @shantinextdoor @harlemblipster @trc-punzel @afterdarkprincess @nbanenefrmdao @sassginaswanmills @purplehairgawdess @holisticcoach @girlwhogaf @royalkay23 @heyitsnajabrinee @stoner2k @reci1996 @catxo @iamimanim @lookmais @ts1mp0ne @shonny09 @lizzyd1ish @gomussy @m3llowww @skyesthebomb @final1miya

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ceceslibrary · 17 hours

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CECE'S FIC RECS 2

BTS

Updated: April 28th, 2024

Fic rec list 1

Namjoon

Namjoon Drabble | rkivepetals

Jin

Golden Boy | kpopfanfictrash

When it Rains | cravetive

Yoongi

Just for me | luv-gukkie

Between the Titles | highvern

Relief | ressjeon

Jhope

Bound | explicit-tae

Heaven Sent | aquagustd

Love Quarrels | mirahuyooo

Make Me | violetsiren90

Sticky | starbandit

Jimin

Dressing Room Quickie | swanlakebaby

The Pitfalls of Silk | ctrlhope

Taehyung

Summer Heat | tastefully-in-luv

Jungkook

Sin For Me | c0llisiion

When I see you cry it makes me smile | kooberist

First Place | kooeater

Is you is or is you ain't | ki-yomii

Press Play | jj-one

White | hoseoksluna

TEMPEST | kooktrash

Will it Fit? | jeonsweetpea

The Boy is Mine | joonberriess

OT7

Little Do You Know | yoongiofmine

Ateez

San

Backstage Back Shots | kitten4sannie

WWE

Jimmy Uso

Pool Party | shes2real

Jey Uso

Trouble | solefae

Sugar Baby | von2dutch

Roman Reigns

Tension | heauxvibez

Strong | joannasteez

Michael B. Jordan/Erik Killmonger

Erik and London | nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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joannasteez · 6 months

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nsfw alphabet | romans reigns

pairing: roman reigns x black reader

warning/authors note: self explanatory. explicit content below! minors please do not interact. i been wanting to do one of these for a little minute so here it us.

(A) AFTERCARE

the throb in your spine is sweet. but it is torture. it aches. takes the course of your muscles, leaving you limp and short breathed. dragging moans pass into whimpers, the split of your ears and that wayward blur of vision taking you fast. he was good, too much even, making a mess of you to please his own needs. an insatiable desire to see you broken and undone. he loved you, a natural dedication to you like the sun to it's sky, but he loved to wreck you just as easily. pull you to pieces just to build you whole again.

so he holds you close, like a soft mold against the wide build of him. a tender grip of hands and light kisses to your pulse that will away those harsh thumps of blood. he kneads and caresses. slots the wet of his tongue till its between your lips, taking you in for a tender kiss. whispers delicate into your skin, sweet nothings, that sound like everything. "so beautiful". fingers warms. soothing. "feeling so good on me". his mouth lazy and loving. "you were made for me".

and you preen, nudge your nose to his and wrap your legs tighter. maybe in the hope to stick to him.

(B) BODY PART

theres always a favorite, but whats more important is the occasion. for his more amorous needs, when his skin grows skittish and hot. fingers flexing with need, twitching at nothing in the hopes to touch you soon, he will absolutely bring his mouth to your breast. squeeze and pinch and groan till he's had his fill. flick and roll his tongue at the hard of your nipples, messy drips of his spit slipping down past his mouth. and he groans. takes his time and feels you tremble in his lap, breath hitching as you grind at him for some form of friction.

but when he isn't that needy, struck by lust. his favorite part of your body is your neck. it's where his lips go, if not at your lips, they trail the skin there at your neck. at home, at gatherings. quick pecks and lingerings kisses. it's intimate and possessive.

roman had resolved himself early on to the idea that, if he was gonna come undone anywhere, that it'd always be inside you. the tight mess of your heat too incredible to ignore or forsake. he'd groan, something strangled and rugged, hips rutting wild and ill controlled, and when he was ready, he'd pull from the softness of you slow and watch his spend drip lazy.

but you'd changed his mind. or rather, you'd given him a different perspective. in some summer country villa in the dead of the night, surrounded by melted candles and the lulling scent of lavender. you'd been particularly fired up and demanding. "kneel", you'd told him, and without much fight he'd dipped his tongue through your slit. committing the taste of your clit to memory. every moan you made hardening him till his dick ached from the faintest touch. but he worked you good, pleased you, and when he was through, you took him, hot and stiff in your hand and ran him through the soaked mess of your pussy. and there he stayed. rutting and groaning, till his speed and control broke to nothing and he came there. just at your clit. chest rising and falling deep.

your fingers rubbed and teased his cum at your slit, arching and spreading as he watched. he felt the possession in it, a silent claim that you were his.

(D) DIRTY SECRET

you're a charming woman. you make people smile. so when the guys on the roster meet you, it's no question that their hand shakes come with a brighter smile, something more genuine than before. and their eyes linger a little longer when they think roman isn't looking. "i like your shoes", but its really your legs. "i like your dress", but it's really your figure. "you look nice today", but they'd rather say beautiful, their eyes flitting to your lips.

but he hates that part of him would like to watch. he would like to see you with someone else, only to have you after, and have them realize that the difference is jarring. they'd pale in comparison, because you were made for him, or rather that's what he'd like to believe. it's all voyeurism for prides sake, a simple means for his ego to swell. so he keeps that tucked away from you, in the deepest parts of him. where the control of it is strong and true.

(E) EXPERIENCE

its not about how experienced he is but more of what the experience is like being with him. his in ring persona is manipulative and domineering and a lot of an asshole. he takes pieces of all those things and sprinkles them throughout the loving ways he takes care of you. teases and controls the pace, between kisses. whispers of sweet nothings in between taunts that leave you desperate for more of him. when he grunts, and urges you to "take it". when his hips grind and an awfully harsh beat moves his heart at the dazed sight of you. "my good girl", he'll say in praise. and "i love you", when your eyes take his own in a deep stare.

but sometimes the tribal chief bleeds into his eyes, suffers the softer parts of him to quiet and he becomes merciless, even in his mercy. tosses and pulls at your body to have you exactly where he wants you and when you spasm hard and soak his skin and sheets a sodden mess he scoffs. feigning disgust as you spurt wet and unrestrained. narrowing his eyes at the shivers your body takes, your voice small and sobbing. begging. “im sorry”, you cry, thighs wet from the seemingly endless onslaught of him. feeling him press into the arch of you back. his knee bending for a better angle. a more brutal pace. he sneers in a taunting manner, reveling in the weight of his power. “no, no youre not. you love coming for me”, his breath heavy. “so fucking needy”.

it's an intense experience.

(F) FAVORITE POSITION

missionary, missionary, missionary. with your legs bent to your chest, spread and aching. well yes, of course. BUT. those lazy days, afternoons, nights, whenever they are, moments on the couch still. when the lights are low and the breeze is a little more than just chilly. you find your self hot, skin damp, nothing more than moans and a mess of whimpers, hips taking a slow ride atop him. the pace lax, his lips sticky from the filthy roll of your tongue. "take your time sweetheart", his palms spread and caressing at your hips. working through the ache. "get what you need", soft and sure. "fuck me till you come" as his hips push upward, a tender nudge into the clutch of your slick heat. hot and hard and patient for you.

(G) GOOFY

playful during? not so much. maybe when you both have had a drink or two. not drunk but buzzed, and you're not so steady. not as poised and put together. a little clumsy and falling over him. he's kissing your skin, leading with tongue and ending with painless nips of his teeth. you giggle and squirm, and he tries to get you to still. to concentrate, but you giggle more. more and more and it makes this big burly man atop you snort. a cute silly little moment before you're kissing him and asking him to take you slowly.

(H) HAIR

yes yes yes, he trims. not enough to be bare but its clean. it looks kept, but who gives a fuck about that when he's got a head of hair like he does. its this raven black color almost. inky and long. sticking to his skin, falling over his eyes and at the soft line of his lips. it whips up when his head nudges hard, slick at his back threatening to fall over once more as he pushes his tongue to taste the inner warmth of your thighs. your fingers pulling through it to urge him. his hair is always soft. like fine silk running through your palm. and when you rough at the root, pleading, enough to give him a firm guide to where you need him most, he grunts and waits for another tough short pull because he's such a damn tease. and sometimes when need overtakes the natural authority of him, his hair will get messy, splay out and over till its everywhere, fluffy and kind of damp, as he kisses you with sticky wet lips. sloppy and full of breath. his tongue drunk and his eyes threatening to roll. he clings to you like his own strands of hair. utterly addicted.

(I) INTIMACY

the feeling was an odd one, something new and less known to him. this breaking in his bones, in the wide stretch of muscle, where strength holds fast and his resolve proves unbendable. its a tension in him that splits even till it grows raw to the touch. every one of your kisses making him shiver till groans push hard from his chest without restraint. his spine throbs and in the deep parts of his ears resound this heavy pulsing. his nape shivers at your touches there, delicate and tender. your skin soft and sweet to the tough build of him. you hum and purr, a moan and a kiss, his hips slow to move but persistent for the tight vice of you. he breathes heavy, warm. cursing the ache in his gut for the way it coils and burns unashamed. his eyes watered with yours, welling till a tear slips free. "tell me again", roman pleads. his fingers nailing into the sheets, the brown of his eyes earthy and sincere. "tell me please". and the seam of your lips play along his, sharing his breaths, the pound of his heart rolling into your chest. your arms about him, clinging desperate to savor. his forehead rests against yours and you whisper amongst the silence. "i love you".

(J) JACK OFF

its a mixture of preference and occasion. alone and needy, he’ll conjure up the filthiest fantasy. your body, your skin, the wet take of your lips and the tender claw in of your nails to him. lines drawn from broad shoulders to the slim curve in of his waist. begging with tears, with short faint breath. please please please, you’d beg. his wrist stiff and his palm tight as he strokes hard, trying to replicate the shape of you. somehow soft and unrelenting all the same, powerful enough to bring him to his knees. and when the dream is vivid enough, the blur of his imagination coming into something defined, he can almost feel you. and just there, amongst the rain of a shower, he’ll come. groans broken and stuttered in their escape.

but it isn’t always like this, left by himself to work through the tension mounting in his bones. sometimes the air is more sultry, more sensual than the emptiness of white bathroom tiled walls and warm prickling water. sometimes he’ll melt into your touch, into the leather of the sofa. he’ll whimper and curse, breathy and fighting for patience, finding himself undone and ill suited to do anything but beg for you to be near him. and you’ll kiss the skin behind his ear, trail lazy and seductive till you take his neck as a place to taste. to lick and suck, teeth nipping to tease. and your hand goes strict, this steady wringing of your wrist that coax’s his hips to lift, chasing the feeling. he huffs, struggles to fight the unraveling that awaits him, breath hot and delicate as he nudges into your neck. lips attempting to kiss, to gain some form of control, but he grasps at nothing, left dazed in his own desperation. he mumbles, incoherent.

“fuck i-“

“please”

“oh-ah…shit”

every muscle in him tenses, a stillness where his breath hitches, before his nerves rattle wild. he drags through a groan, chest pulling in and pushing out, breath after breath as he comes.

(K) KINK

say it with me. overstimulation. roman, within the boundaries that have been set, is menacing. he schemes, he plots. he thinks methodically, and he acts out his ideas in ways that you have only ever briefly dreamed of because trust is a scary thing to give. he'd of course only step as far as you'd let him, but roman was a big man, and so the distances he could cover were more than enough to meet your every desire. and he took to ropes easily, their weight, the strength of a knot as it wrapped about your skin, tight but not too much. the supple inner flesh of your thighs bare and bound, your pussy dripping with anticipation as darkness loomed. the tie around your eyes silky and assuring. you could feel him staring, a grand statuesque form roaming about the room as you laid spread and shallow breathed.

the bed dipped and you fought against the pounding in your chest, begging for it to still with shudders. the seconds drawn slow into minutes.

his mouth this gentle skim above yours, tongue slipping to run faint. "breathe babygirl".

you chase the phantom of his lips for something. a kiss, his tongue, anything. he chuckles dark, a rumbling from his chest that leaves you eager.

"you trust me?", he asks. fingers running in a clever maneuver toward where you ache for him. his thumb a sweet delicate caress at the pulse of your clit.

you body melts into the bed, back arching as your hips buck for friction. "ahh", the length of his middle and ring finger burying deep till they cover wet to the knuckle. "oh fuck me, i need-"

"not yet", he cuts. his fingers resting idle in you. letting you throb and pulse. letting you feel and rest in the depth of his touch.

(L) LOCATION

let's set the scene shall we?...steam, a thick cloud. water raining with a prickling heat. the cascade of it stressing a warmth into your skin, but nothing that beats the heat of him. the tower of his body, taut and statuesque. he's all muscle and power, the pull and push of his hips is vicious and beautiful. languid and tormenting. his mouth drapes your neck, trails lazy till his nose nudges into wet hair. curses and groans deep, melodic. he ruts singleminded, the heart of his pleasure stored in the devious clench of your pussy. his breaths draw in, they release, they shudder, waver with weakness, drag and go broken, all done by the tight slick dripping between your legs. flowing till it trickles along the shower floor.

and he likes the echo here. the bounce of your moans from tile to tile, till it finds itself slipping clever into his ear. the shower differs from the bed, calls for something possessive and raw. the space doesn't open the way it would in his bed. here he stills your body, holds your hips and wills into your flesh the need to trust him. to trust the hold he has on your body.

your hand trembles, dainty and desperate. pulls his fingers till his palm rest just at the soft of your mound. you groan, weak and dazed. eyes threatening to roll.

"how's that sweetheart? you like me there? you like me stretchin' that pussy?"

a tear wells. your voice small. "yes".

(M) MOTIVATON

let's revisit his dirty secret, that slight voyeuristic streak in him that wonders about you with other people. and though he, in the deeper, more quiet parts of him, likes to fantasize about it, what gets his blood going more than knowing they wouldn't hold a candle to him, is the subtle and not so subtle ways you reject these advances. you feel the stares and the lingering touches, the charming smiles and the eagerness for small talk. and you indulge to a degree; coy grins, little intimate laughs where your hand takes to a strong arm that isn't roman's and that slight head tilt to the side as a whisper flows to your ear like some little hushed secret.

and these little events are all the same. wrestlers in a room, drinking and eating, chatting about everything and anything.

it's a little easy to slip into a few drinks, to get comfortable. sometimes overly comfortable. and while it doesn't always happen, there are moments where the air pushes beyond flirty into something more solid and the veil is lifted. you pull back, feeling roman's eyes turn cold, because the game is only fun for you when he's playing too.

"whats one more drink?", someone from the roster will ask. completely taken by your charm. a hand attempting to reach for the lower dip-in of your back to guide you to the bar. "one too many", a soft smile. quick and naturally small about your movements as you slip away from them and back over to roman before anything else can transpire.

"having fun?", he'll ask.

"not anymore", a gentle pout. standing under the burden of his eyes. the grip of his hand at your waist a little more firm than usual. trying against his will to calm.

he hates to love this little game.

"we gotta fix that".

but the fix is a blunt stroke of his hips. hot fingers and an even hotter release. it's this odd chain reaction of waiting and watching, till the possession in him unfurls broad and stifling. his palms twitch and his nose flares. you could have anyone and anything you wanted, this he knew for sure, but you were here with him. choking on the heaviness of a moan as he fucked rough into you against the sink of a bathroom.

"he'd never have you, none of them would. not like this, so desperate and ready to come".

pride blooming in his chest, the soft warm pull of your heat greedy and unsatisfied as you drip against him.

(N) NO

roman won't do anything non-consensual based, and nothing that could directly compromise his hygiene or yours. he's all about trust and a shared experience, and if anything goes against that, he won't even consider it.

(O) ORAL

curtains sweep, flowing delicate. a soft glow taking to your skin as they sway, working to tame the harsh rush in of the morning sun. and the view from where he stands is picturesque. the drape of you against the sheets reminiscent of beloved paintings of old, far too fine and intricate to be handled. but here, he gets to touch you, form the heat of his hands to tender skin. and of course roman aims to be gentle. aims to caress light, to enjoy the feel of you without such harsh rushes of desperation. and he does it well, molds his lips to you unhurried, patient, there at your neck, the smooth plain of your shoulders, till they grow deep and lingering, teasing where your collarbone lives.

you shift awake, moaning with a drunken sort of awareness. tethered some still to sleep. your fingers roaming the wide stretch of his back. taut muscle and warm skin.

roman finds himself nestling in at where heat runs just at your inner thighs. so close to where you begin to yearn for him.

the steadiness of his patience feeling to you more and more like teasing.

his tongue licks warm and simple. riles up the rest of your nerves that dare still to sleep. and his lips move, in tandem with deft fingers. panties pulling over and away to make room for the heavy heat of his breath.

he’s just there, looming over the throb of your clit. eyes lazy and growing fascinated at the way you clench and release about nothing but the anticipation of his touch.

the tip of his nose leads the seam of his lips as they ghost and when he speaks, your hips chase that faint soft bed of his mouth. hungry for him.

“i had a dream about you”, he muses. suckling the skin where your inner thigh bends.

your voice breaks off the remnants of sleep. tone coarse but still to him so damn sweet. “yeah? about what?”

“doesn’t matter”, he hums. a wet gentle strike of his tongue at the tip of your clit. testing the reflex of your hips, a satisfied grin as he watches your hips roll and arousal pool. “you being there was enough”

you chuckle. hissing as his thumbs spread your wider, angling to push in and trap your clit. the nub pulses, forces an arch to form just at your back.

“you love to sweet talk”. words breathy.

“you love to hear it”.’

“roman…”, you urge. pleading his name.

he hums. “you ever known me not to take care of u?”

“no”.

“then relax for me”. command gentle and restraining.

his thumbs move, circling firm. but you need more.

he's touched you, but barely, not in the way's you've at many times known him to, when the air is heavy, your body's clinging and rutting one against the other, senseless and wild. in those times, the urgency takes him and possesses him with a more vicious sort of passion. storming with impatience. but his time here though, as he skims your skin and takes delight in the heavy bursts of breath from your chest, whiny and incapable of waiting, is endless.

and his restraint has much reason, if nothing more than to see you weak and undone. his kisses sweet at the light quiver taking your thighs, and the soft slipping lick he takes at the fat of clit. a steady downward stroke, moving to reach at the wet clench of your entrance, till he curls lazy, drooling with thirst, adding to the mess of you.

oh his restraint has much reason, mouth working till it covers over the whole of your lower lips, roman's hands like nails as they push to suffer your thighs under their weight. anything to spread you further, to get himself deeper into the taste of you. tongue prodding till it dips through to where you drip and throb, muscles clenching, begging for a stretch and to feel the fullness it knows he can give it.

he slurps obnoxious, your taste steeping in till it soaks his mouth. forces something raw out of his chest, a lax groan that rattles your bones.

and he holds there, suckling till he feels you grow weak into the bed. whimpers that break off fragile.

his touch, where ever it finds itself, is all passion. every flick and caress, every roll and kiss and tensing bite, every moan and every second he takes to please you is this raw form of devotion. a wordless sort of reverence that is singleminded in its plot to draw from you the finest pleasure.

(P) PACE

he's an all around type of guy, and the pace varies upon his mood, but you can always tell what you'll get before he even touches you. when those coffee brown eyes twinkle in their mischief, and his touch pours hot into your skin, you know he'll tease you till your nerves stress and your voice breaks with begging. the dip and roll of his hips shallow and unfulfilling. almost like he can't stand to see you happy and satisfied, and you hate to love him then. his taunting words and the amusement in his eyes, high off control.

but sometimes he reads more vicious. his touch is the harsh piercing of a nail and his hips knock into you rough as they see to your undoing. he spreads you wide and grows relentless, ego fed by the writhing of your body and the limp form your moans take. his pace is brutal then, stills your hips to dig into you till he's buried to the hilt.

and other times a softness overtakes him, washes him whole and drives him to the utmost gentleness. his ministrations grow tenderly deft, hips steady and patient. he takes the time to feel you, every short twitch and the lingering way you cling and pull at him, coaxes him deeper till you've taken every part of him.

(Q) QUICKIE

if he doesn't have to have a quickie he won't, but life doesn't work that way and sometimes, when the pull in his gut is far too harsh to ignore, he'll pull you aside and make quick work of sharing that neediness, till you're attacking him quick and breathy, kissing his lips wet and hasty. his hips rutting, sweat breaking at his skin, his forehead nestled into your neck as he chases that heavy pulling in his gut and the burn in his flesh that comes with release.

(R) RISK

he's not as much of a risk taker as he'd maybe like to be. he's very much all about his image and staying negative press free. and you of course respect his wishes, but there are times where he will indulge your riskiness, at private events mainly, where cameras are more than likely non-existent.

(S) STAMINA

his restraint will more than likely dictate this in a way. if he's hard pressed to release the tension in his bones, he makes quick good work of taking care of you before he does so for himself, and sometimes that can look a little quicker than usual but other times, more often than not, the pleasure can feel endless, with these short bouts of reprieve, right before he's back to doling out pleasure.

(T) TOYS

the voyeur in him can't hate your use of toys and you are more than proficient at pleasing yourself. can you bring yourself to a hair pulling release, completely breathless and ears split as you feel the undoing of your nerves, maybe not as intensely, but thats where he comes in. he's all about the collaboration, anything to see you twitch and quiver uncontrolled, to have you begging and pleading his name.

(U) UNFAIR

he's the BIGGEST TEASE, and definitely has more moments of unfairness than you do. he mocks you, denies you sometimes even, and when he's in a less generous mood, all in the name of seeing you squirm, he'll even downright ignore your advances.

(V) VOLUME

the volume is something that is shared more equally than not, neither of you more louder than the other. the both of you falling into your moments where words and noises are unabashed in how loud they can be. but it's never insanely loud. theres been a time or two though, at a hotel maybe, where a knock comes about a complaint.

(W) WILDCARD "do you trust me?" you'd asked him.

"yes", without hesitation.

and the rope wrapped tight about his skin was beautiful, something quite more artistic than you'd expected. his muscles bulging against the taut knots and tawny twine. his hair hanging long and damp, stray pieces sticking to him as his skin grew red with desire. his thighs spread and restrained, dick aching and standing stiff. in need of much attention. but you were not in the service of pleasing him. no you were very much enjoying the tremble in his body, the desperate way he chased your lips, and the lazy pass of his eyes as they took to the tight lace painting your skin.

you lean in, bowing forward, your nails resting at his thighs, lips running to ghost the seam of his. tongue escaping to lick a less than faint strip. and he rumbles, cock twitching, his chest rising the more you tease his mouth.

"you're so good. so obedient".

your hand itches to touch him, fingers delicate and controlled as you take his warm length to caress light. and he accepts what friction he can get, his head lulling back, hair swaying, a groan flowing as your touch becomes slightly more firm. his hips rut forward, and then your touch disappears. a frown taking your lips in confusion. you'd thought you'd made yourself rather clear.

"if you can't control your urges, then maybe you don't deserve to come".

" 'm sorry", the loom of your figure leaving him, and it nearly leaves him ill. "fuck, i'm sorry".

you hum, thumb reaching to sooth at his cheek. the only touch you can afford to give him as you watch him suffer.

(X) X-RAY

you could say so many things, but to put it short and sweet, he's above average, but not incredibly big. he's thick, veiny, and a bit curved. just enough to slightly knock the wind out of you. to have you feeling full.

(Z) ZZZ

he'll fall fast asleep rather quickly. after he's sought to your needs, he'll pull your body in close to share the heat of him, shape the silhouette of you with his warmth and allow sleep to take him. and other times, when you're last to sleep, roaming around till your restlessness is no more, you'll wrap an arm around his waist, attempting at a big spoon, but it's no use of course. and he'll remedy that by turning over in his daze, a soothing drag of a hum sounding from him as he's pulling you to his chest. effectively turning him into a body pillow.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x female reader #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x black reader #n f s w alphabet #joannasteez

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thesamoanqueen · 2 months

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Emotional support

Tagged by my lovely foreva honorary friend @wrestlezaynia for a WIP friday.

A/N: for @xxtremee (is not a big long story but I did something)

She knew that pose, he used it even acting as the Tribal Chief, in front of cameras. Even outside, however, it didn't mean anything good and the chaos erupted from his family was enough to make her know what had happened. She had observed him while she helped tidy up, she had seen him scratch his dark beard, listen angry comments and complaints, nod a couple of times. He was sad, even though he was a big boy and he was keeping it in silence, she was not a football fan, but for him years before it had almost been his dream career and it was enough to make her a sad about that defeat too.

Finishing putting away the potato salad in another lunch box ready for who knows which member of his huge family, she saw him leave them after a while to join her

- They fought in the final, its a win anyway – she didn't know how the football business worked, but she was a visibility and marketing conoisseur, it couldn't have hurt the niners to be in the Super Bowl for sure.

- Next year maybe we'll make it – Roman agreed with a slightly too heavy breath and she felt like hugging him, showering him with kisses, anything just to take away that face from him.

Maybe was not a good idea in front of everyone, not with the racket in the living room and his cousins and uncles threatening to tear the house down, but maybe she could lighten the mood.

-You know, if you need emotional comfort, I can help in many ways... - she proposed, casting an elusive glance much lower and Roman put down the glass he had taken to look at her - I was trying to be helpful, doing my part. I thought it might help to lighten things up a bit, my bad – she cut it short, falling silent when his sister, Vanessa, stormed in the kitchen, passing them both without a glance.

Roman kept the fridge open for her, giving her time to get some juice for who knows which one of the many kids who were running around and Y/N smiled at her too, when she left in a hurry, taking advantage of things to put down the potato salad that was still in her hand.

- It can help – she heard Roman admit, shifting his attention from his sister to her with ease and Y/N widened her eyes, surprise quickly turning into a giggle at seeing him show a more contrite face than when he joined her.

- I'll do everything I can to make you feel better, I promise – she said, patting his chest playfully while he leaned down to hold her again, laughing softly.

It may not have gone as they had planned, either for the niners or for him, but she was pretty sure that one way or another they would all find something to overcome the emotional trauma.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @reignsangel444 @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @reignsx @reigns-central-blog @kianalea04 @daguenoire @extra-11 @thedonsfactory @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @dreamsinfocus @tribalchiefdaily @2baddies2furious @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @mahi-wayy @jxtina-86 @harmshake @harlem11680 @southerngirl41 @blkbutterfly816 @spritelucozade

Tagging @joannasteez @racerchix21 @msbigredmachine @southerngirl41 whoever want to do it~

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns oneshot #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x y/n

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333creolelady · 4 months

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Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Ch.1

!black-Afab OC X auPirate Roman Reigns

Chapter warnings : descriptions of injuries/illness, paranoid OC.

Banner created by : @joannasteez

Songs this chapter : Whatever may come, An impossible choice, I'm listening

Alt PL songs this chapter: Me in 20 years, Rebel

Story Playlist link here <-

Alternative Playlist here <-

Next -> chapter 2

<- Back to Masterlist

She’s floating. Blackness surrounds her as a rush of sound penetrates her ears. She smells salt and sun. There’s a layer of grain that covers her body like sandpaper. She stopped fighting the current of her mind and let go a while ago. In the distance, her grandfather sings to her. She has no energy left to question it. She leans into the melody, trying to block out the loudness below her. That deafening whooshing of water that rings in her ears.

Just as she nearly feels the embrace of death, a splash of cold water blankets her body. She’s so weak she doesn’t wince, instead it pushes her further and further from the peace she so desperately seeks. She’s still alive. She can still feel it all—hear it all. The hoot of a bird, the blistering sting of heat on her chest, the death rattle in her sternum

" Let me go," she whispered to the world. How she wishes she could cut the string that tethered her to this wretched planet. The world was never kind to her. How much easier would it be to just leave it all behind? To never have to endure the stab of grief or the unrelenting sting of loneliness she felt almost every day? Death would be a clean slate. A salve for the burn of her existence.

Another splash of water hits her unreactive frame. Why is the world trying to shake her awake? What more should she have to endure ? She’s certain she’s paid her dues in tears ten times over.

" Ahoy!!'"

" Ahoyyyyy!!— GIRL! "

" Avast! "

Voices boom in the distance. If she wasn’t so cracked and fried from the sun, she’d open her eyes and turn her head. She senses a large presence next to her. A distant “thunk” in the water and a few seconds later she's being hoisted up from her lying position onto a harder surface. The hands that touch her are warm, large and calloused. A deep velvety voice calls out to her. " Alright now Dove, Hold on.”

She floating upward. The sounds of the ocean travels further behind her. Then her back softly hits a hard warm surface. The thumping of shoes startled her enough to make her open an eye. She starts with one, taking a moment to allow her pupil to adjusts to the light. She closes them again.

" Back up. Let the girl breathe ", a voice calls out in the distance.

"Where is she from?"

" Is this an omen?"

"Careful, she could be a siren!"

" The poor girl…”

Different hands fondle her now. They hold her flopping head still and check her pulse point. She’s still using all of her energy to attempt to peel open just a single eyelid

" She's alive. She's just unconscious. Heat exhaustion and maybe—-" This man with no face pulls back her lips to check her gums and then peels one her eyes open from the top. He checks her button gums once more.

“ Her gums are pale and bloody. She is desperately in need of fluids or she might pass on in the next few hours”, says the man. His voice is higher and heavily accented. He sounds foreign and aged.

“ Quick, give me that rag ", the velvety thick voice demands. He sounds like he’s in charge.

Droplets of water splatter her mouth. Her face scrunches in discomfort and then she slowly cranks her mouth open to let the ice cold water into her throat. Her aching dry throat weeps with joy. Finally some drinkable water.

Her head is propped against a hard muscular chest. That thick hand grabs her chin and supports her head, pressing her against him as to not let her waste a drop.

He inspects the beautifully wounded girl. Her face is swollen with cuts and bruises littering her face and body.

“You have a name, girl?”, he finally asks. His tone is hushed as if it’s just them two together. He’s trying his best not to scare her.

She makes a third attempt to open her eyes and she finally can see where the hushed voices were coming from. A crowd of men, maybe 20 or more all towered over her. Looks of concern washed their sun kissed faces. It takes a moment for her to register her unluckiness. Is this her final end? As if almost every moment of her life wasn’t hard enough, her exit was seemingly to be met through a sea of men. PIRATES. Depraved men.

“ You’re alright”, says the voice behind her. She looks up at the man holding her. She has no time to register his face before she’s scrambling away. Her voice is shot, she can’t scream. Her bloodshot eyes are far too dry to produce tears. She only makes it a few feet away before the mysterious man crouches down to her. His hands are in front of him in surrender.

" Easy… "

He watches her carefully. Her eyes are large and protruding out of her face in panic as she clutches her knees. She folds into herself. Suddenly there isn’t enough air.

"We won't hurt ya' miss ", a man steps forward slowly approaching her. She weakly stands up and reaches down into the side of her boot and pulls out a knife, swinging it crazily. The crowd of men don’t even flinch as she points it at them. Her harsh movements knocks her on her bottom again. She can’t take a deep breath, the room is spinning and there’s a pressure in her head that won’t let up. Her mouth opens and closes for relief before she begins to pass out again. She eventually slumps against the wooden edge of the ship, succumbing to the darkness again.

Roman

A moment of silence passes between the men. They watch her limp body rise and fall. Roman tilts his head as he notices bruising around her neck as if she'd been choked. He squints in worry. She's in worse shape than he thought. She needed a bed, a bath and rest. There were no women on the ship to get her out of her torn nightgown. This was all just one big mess. He sighs in frustration as he picks her up again, the crowd parting a path to the cabins for him. He lays her flat leaving a pitcher of water and a glass near her bed. He then shuts the door behind her softly. The crew is still frozen after the jarring event of the girl's arrival.

A crew member speaks up, "What do we do with er’ capn’? "

" You lot’ keep your distance and don’t approach unless she addresses you directly. Earl, I need you to tend to her after she wakes up ", he grunts protectively. Earl was the Doctor and a Surgeon—a real one and the smallest man on the ship. He was also graying with huge glasses and a short stature. He was a safe bet.

“ Aye captain”, says Earl as he scurried off to get supplies for the girl. The men all slowly fall back to their tasks and the ship takes off again. Roman eyes her cabin once more before heading to his own small quarters. This does not and should not interfere with the plan. He plops down on his wooden chair and sits at his table, rolling open his map marked with black ink. He'd been familiar with the sea for some time. He might as well have been a fish by now. He knew the ocean more than land and this journey would make every hardship he endured worth it. He was one of few who were brave enough to make the quest.

A small secluded island sat on the edge of the world. He’d found hints and torn maps over the years. How the riches got there? Nobody knew. Gold, Jewels, endless riches. Many had made it there but nobody could seem to make it back. Some called it a trap by the gods. It was rumored to be a trip to hell. He was certain that he would be the one who would live to tell the tale through knowledge, science and destiny.

As for his men? Well they believed in Roman.

Over the years, he gained his crew by taking over other ships. The men with the better vessels usually weren’t the best lads. He always gave his conquered groups the option to leave but they stayed. He was a fierce fighter, a true beast with a sword should anyone be pinned by the other end of it. There were stories of his brutality to the men who wronged him. He was a fierce protector to those who swore to him. Cross him and he could make someone wish they were dead. This duality earned him acclaim and respect but also fear. Thankfully, his outstanding leadership made his crew true believers and in return they put their best foot forward. These were the men he would sail into glory with. If they found these treasures not a single one of them would have to work again. Not even their families- family.

"We need to dock soon Captain. We need more supplies for the girl—Medicines. She’s in a bad way. She'll need something for her throat as well. The fluids will help for now but not for long ", said Earl in a thick German accent.

“ Tomorrow we stop. I sense a storm coming, I want to get as far away as possible," Roman grumbles in displeasure as he takes a swig of spiced rum. Earl sees himself out and closes the cabin door behind him. Roman kicks his feet up and indulges himself as he tries to decompress.

Early the next morning he notices the clouds ahead. Roman sent his surgeon and his cabin boy to get supplies for the girl. Extra boots, clothes fit for sailing and night gowns. Whatever they could get their hands on would do. His surgeon would fetch her the soups, healing balms and medicine for her fragile state. By noon they are back at sea and rushing to get ahead of the storm that would even further set them back. Afternoon comes and he asks for updates often on the girl. Earl can see his worry which was unusual for Roman.

" I'm sure she’ll turn around. She wouldn't have survived all this way just to pass like this. There's a reason she's crossed our paths”, Earl pats his Captain on the back and leaves him to his solitude. Roman sighs in doubt. He is not too fond of seeing the spiritual side of things. He had a better understanding of miracles or magic. Immaculate conceptions of the universe producing luck seemed more digestible to him—it wasn’t religion or fate. In the back of his mind he believed magic to be science in some way. Pirate culture was superstitious at times, even bordering religious despite how violent the life path could be. Truthfully, he believed that if some devine being existed, he wouldn't have had such a hard go at life. Surely his suffering would have amounted to something ? Still, A single Dove sitting beside her as she clung to life in the middle of the ocean? The universe had it’s humor.

Dove

She wakes with a gasp. Her eyes peel open slowly yet she remains motionless. Immediately she notices the water and bread on the night stand beside her. Sitting up, she quickly grabs the pitcher of water and drinks from it like a madman. Gulping hurt, but she’d deal with that later. Right now she needed to replenish what was lost.

After she gets her fill, nearly making herself sick in the process, she truly takes in her surroundings. Her room is lit by a lantern and the rock of the boat becomes more noticeable. Ah yes, she almost forgot she was captured by fucking pirates.

She watches the door in fear, hoping she can use the pitcher as a weapon. She clutches the glass to her chest as the door knob slowly turns. She slyly raises the pitcher in a defensive position. A man peaks from behind the door. He's balding, short, with glasses and a plump mustache. His non-threatening appearance means nothing. A man’s horror knows no bounds and a monster has no specific look. That’s what she learned the hard way.

" Miss-" before she can compute what he's about to say, she throws the pitcher at the door. She misses him by a second and he slams the door shut. She can feel her pulse in her ears.

" Ma'am... I'm not here to hurt you. I'm the physician of this ship. I was just coming to give you medicine for your throat ," he calls from behind the door. She doesn’t answer.

" M-Ma'am. I mean no harm to you. Just wait one second I'II get the captain and he can explain-"

She throws her plate at the door in protest. She attempts to stand and the world spins. Her knees shake trying to support her weight. He goes quiet. The man with the glasses pokes his head from behind the door once more. She’s frantically looking for another weapon.

" My lady please. Don’t throw anything else—let me leave you with the medicine and I’ll go”, he says carefully. She stills her movements in the corner of the room, looking well on her way to being a corpse.

“You've lost a lot of weight and you will need bandaging for your throat. Do you know how….? ", he asks carefully. She just stands wide eyed, unmoving like an owl. Maybe her nickname should have been owl instead of dove with how uncanny her eyes were. Earl had seen eyes like that by soldiers shaken from war, never to be the same again. She had a tremor to her that left him uneasy.

He held a hand up in a pleading manner, “ I’m leaving now. Just know that an hour from now a man will come in with a tub of hot water, soap and a rag. We’re out of oils, salves and hair wash until our next stop so you’ll have to make due. He’s the young lad—you might have seen him. Anywho, he’ll be in and out and you’ll have an hour to wash up. Alright?”, Earl speaks frantically as if running out of time. She nervously nods her head, still trembling in the corner. Earl bows out with a troubled look on his face.

After the man left she ate herself into a stomach ache but eventually it subsided. A knock disturbed her thoughts and she returned back to the corner with a piece of glass in her hand. He announces himself and pushes a medium sized bin full of water into the middle of the room. It wasn’t filled to the rim in case of the rock of the ship. She could see the steam floating from it. It was boiled sea water with a herbal smell. The boy was tall, lanky and had an extremely young face. He couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16 years old.

“ Miss…your bath. The doctor added some medicine to it to help with your soreness. I’ll be back in an hour to retrieve it. Please be clothed by then ”, said the young man. He set a towel on her bed and a change of clothes before heading to the cabin door. He stopped just before exiting.

“ My name is Caden … my lady ”, he took off his hat briefly and put it on his chest in acknowledgment before putting it on and leaving.

She rushed to her door and locked it before stripping and sinking into the water with a hiss. It was just tolerable enough, slightly stinging when it touched her. She let out a long gush of tension while she flexed her toes. The water felt so good on her aching neck. She sank far enough to submerged herself in a cramped fetal position. She let the water work into her scalp and fill her ears. She stayed submerged for a moment.

Her bones sung their praises as she massaged her skin. She washed herself gently along with her hair. Once she was done she dressed in the men’s garments left for her and twisted her wet hair in small sections, pulling it up and away. It was her attempt to keep it from matting with limited products. She also applied the medicine and the bandages to her neck. She finished just in time as Caden came to retrieve the water. She didn’t feel as scared around him, likely because he seemed so young. Still, she carefully watched him as he moved the bin out of her room. He nodded at her and shut the door behind him once more.

Then she was alone again with nothing to do but think of the horrors that could be inflicted upon her. She played with the pirate's hat in her fingers, twirling it around as she thought of an escape. Perhaps she could fake an Illness or play insane ? She had to find a way off this ship. God knows what they could be planning for her. They could be getting her strength up just to —-

Dove jumps as the door opens and freezes like a fawn when a large man ducks into the cabin. He’s so large, his head nearly hits the ceiling. Her eyes widen as she stands slowly and makes her way to the corner. All her weapons are gone. Caden cleaned it all up.

“ The doctor said you’re awake. I thought I’d come in and check on you. I’m just going to ask you a few questions and I’ll be on my way”, his voice is so velvety, rich and calm for a man of his stature. He’s undoubtedly European born and very posh sounding with a tinge of foreignness in his accent. He couldn’t have been originally from Europe though. He’s at least 6 ft 6 with wavy long onyx hair. It’s shiny in an unnaturally healthy way. His eyes are a deep chocolate with a slight deep set almond shape, which make his features pop. His jaw was sharp and defined just like the rest of him. His skin is a light olive, likely due to his work in the sun. He’s got a full beard that connects across his face with dominant brows. His nose is broad and wide but straight. It compliments his full evenly proportioned lips. Her eyes trail down to his neck and then his chest. He was huge and cut, his shoulder never seemed to end. He wore a loose white short sleeved shirt that revealed his elaborate tattoos. He was covered in them, especially on his right side. He had a some sort of tribal tattoo that covered his collarbone down to his wrist. He wore black breeches with a sword tucked into his waistband and black boots.

Everything about him made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. He swallowed the light in the room. She felt her heart beating out of her chest. She was almost certain they had a plan now. They cleaned her up for HIM. That’s surely what this was. They bathed her and put a metaphorical bow on her, ready to serve the captain. She shakes her head, ducking into the corner.

Romans eyes widened in offense, “ Look I’m..not here to harm you. I just need some information about where you came from. So I can return you”, he says with a hand out.

She can’t go back either…..

“ What’s your name ?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer, she was frozen. She was trying her hardest to focus on her breathing. To mentally prepare herself for whatever he could possibly do to her .

Roman

Roman looked around the room awkwardly trying to find a way to calm this hysterical woman. “Why don’t I introduce myself? I hear that it’s what you’re supposed to do in these situations.”

Still no answer from her. He shifts with a hand in his pocket. “Uh…I’ll start— My name is Roman. At least I go by Roman. It’s not the name I chose but when you’re forced into the west it’s better to have a western name. I’m the captain of this ship,” he sighs.

The woman before him was a complete shell of herself. She wasn’t fully here despite being in front of him. She was also freighteninly beautiful. Full lips, beautifully coiled hair, eyes deeper than the ocean. Everything about her pulled him in and it seemed like everything about him pushed her away. He hated that. He hated being looked at like the cause for every evil in the world.

“ The men on my ship will cause’ you no harm believe me. There’s no need to be afraid. I can tell you more about myself—would that make you more comfortable? If I talk about something else?”, he asks.

Through her shaking he could almost see some semblance of a nod. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his thigh and sighed out, wracking his brain for some sort of information to humanize himself in a moment like this.

“ I’m from the pacific islands. My people reside on an even smaller island there. We were invaded by Germany. Some islands the French…others Spanish. I was taken as a child—aged 8 by German soldiers as a gift to Queen Augusta Marie Luise Katharina. I was kicked out of the court and left on the streets at age 15. I figured you were wondering why a man like myself could seem so…”, he doesn’t finish his sentence. He really meant proper sounding, civilized. Smart for a —

A brief feeling of regret washes over him as he contemplates if he should have told her. He didn’t tell many people his origins but he felt the need to now. It must have worked because she relaxed at bit at his words.

“ I had nothing. I volunteered myself on a ship in exchange for food and shelter. I mopped decks and hung laundry and cleaned chamber pots. I worked up the ranks doing dangerous jobs, joining fencing competitions and gambling. I won enough money to buy myself a haggered boat. I started sailing around the world and along the way I met my crew.”

Dove had stopped shaking now and swirled circles into the wood beneath her. There was something catatonically innocent about her movements. Like she was visiting a long lost part of herself for comfort. It worried him deeply.

“ I know you’re probably scared. You think you can’t trust the word of a pirate and most times you can’t. Please know that we do have some morals. I won’t allow them to touch you. I know the men I vetteed. Where I come from, a man who hurts a woman suffers are far worse fate than her ”, he promised.

Dove

Dove stared at him curiously. This dark, tall and looming presence confessed his troubled past. He was a victim of something bad too and for some reason it made her feel slightly better. She finally caught her breath now that she was thinking about something else. She’d heard of this “adoption” thing that royals did. Queen Victoria stole a boy from Ethiopia and the Queen before her, a boy from India. The British empire acted like it was some gift from god, believing Britain was a savior for children in “poor” countries. Really it was kidnapping and brainwashing. She couldn’t imagine how long a child must cry for their family after something like that. It was a murder of the soul.

And here was this hulking, quiet man laying out his story to her. His voice hadn’t raised an octave, not even in panic. She hadn’t spoken a word and yet he was so open with her already. He looked at her like he had been waiting for her for some time. The pain was so brief in his face but he hid it so well she nearly missed it.

She wanted to say something. In a moment like this one someone was supposed to share their pain too. That despite the fact that they came from other places, they could feel the same homesickness. She should say that she was a stranger in this world just as much as him. That even though she spent most of her life in England, every fiber of her being told her she didn’t belong. That she was a traveler from another world much like him. How lucky was she to meet someone from the outside. Someone who once lived a life outside of the poison and vitriol of Europe. Maybe he was like her. Yet when she opened her mouth the fear wrapped it’s hands around her throat and rendered her speechless.

His eyes widened in a hopeful way before they darkened with disappointment as she curled back into her self. She turned away in defeat. He slowly got up and walked to the door stopping just at the entry.

“ The doctor told me you were in shock. My apologies for not giving you more time to make sense of all of this. I was just rather eager to see you. I don’t run into many people like you—- seems you’ve triggered my homesickness in a way. I’ll check back with you in a few days”, he admits. His tone was defeated as he stole another glance at her and then quietly left.

She remained in the corner, scolding herself for not saying anything. She wasn’t entirely sold on the idea that his crew members wouldn’t try anything. However, she believed that if she laid low she might be able to get by until they dropped her off.

Roman

Roman went to bed that night puzzled. He didn’t know why he cared so much about this. She was a complete stranger who hadn’t spoken a word to him. Despite it all, he approached her with an openness that most couldn’t pull from him. He wondered if he came on strong. Perhaps she thought he was weak…or desperate.

Their encounter left him aching from memories of being a child and feeling alone. Longing to make a connection with someone who understood him. Next time he swore to himself would be more stern—more distant. She didn’t care about his story. She was the only woman on a ship of almost 200 men. She had bigger problems. In a few days he would get her to talk and send her on her way. Her story ends somewhere else and his begins with his treasure.

The way it should be….

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Note :

Don’t forget to like, comment and re-blog. ALL reblogs will receive a link to a sneak peek of next weeks chapter!

Special thanks again to @joannasteez who helped me during my writing process and actually gave me the original idea for the fic as well as designed the cover. Love you! ❤️

#roman reigns #the bloodline #wwe smackdown #wwe #Roman reigns au #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x oc #pirate au #the tribal chief #head of the table

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