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retro-rezz-the-est · 11 months

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Don't Leave - Roman Reigns/Female!Reader

Summary: Immediately after his devastating loss to his cousins Jimmy and Jey at Money In The Bank, Roman finds you in the back as he looks for an outlet for all of this newfound pent-up energy…but this may lead to something else as well.

Word Count: 14,197 (jfc that's more than I expected)

Warnings: degradation, choking/throat squeezing, biting/marking, hair pulling, spanking, oral (male receiving), fingering (female receiving), edging (for both parties involved), unprotected P in V action (please be safe and wrap it before you tap it irl tho), Roman being his Tribal Chief self (because that’s a warning all on its own), a bit of manhandling here and there as well….y’know, the works :3

A/N: All of this comes from three connecting factors: 1) Roman being the sexy ass WHORE that he is, 2) my own brain finally starting to work in tandem with my damn writing fingers, and 3) an all-caps DM from @stargazerofgoldenwords demanding that I write this so full partial blame goes to her. So here y’all go…for the bitches and the bros and for all the non-binary hoes ^3^ (I also haven’t written a full-fledged smut in I believe over three years so….I hope I did good lol)

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

This…This can not be happening.

How is this even possible? What’s going to happen now?

These thoughts and more rush through your mind as you stand board stiff in the back, your eyes seeming to be permanently glued to the large monitor in front of you while gasps and cheers from the remainder of the locker room fill your ears alongside the blaring bass of The Usos’ theme.

Roman told you to stay in the back for a reason, to only come out after he’d won and embarrassed the hell out of his cousins for ever turning their backs on him, so he could make examples out of them as a reason to never and not turn your back on the Tribal Chief.

He wanted them to remember this night, to remember the ache in their bones, the wear and tear of their joints as he slammed them against the mat over and over again, the blood and sweat staining their skin as he and Solo dug into the twins with everything they had left within them.

They would learn their lesson tonight, and they would learn it well: you do not mess with the Tribal Chief because if you do, you will feel a pain that you have never known before.

He was going to show everyone why he and he alone was the head of the table, why he was unstoppable, and why only those who followed him and his lead would prosper in the end.

But, none of that actually mattered in the end, not as you stand staring at the monitor, hands covering your mouth in shock.

They…They did it.

They actually managed to do it.

Jey pinned Roman, pinned him for the first time in over three fucking years.

Blow after blow to the foundation of The Bloodline, week after week from the cracks being exposed to Sami’s turn at the Royal Rumble that set everything in motion to the goddamn explosion that occurred during Roman and Solo’s Night of Champions match.

After all this time, The Usos finally got one over on the Tribal Chief, they won the Bloodline civil war.

They beat the Tribal Chief, destroyed his so-called “Island of Relevancy”, showed the world that he is still just a man and can be beaten just like the rest of them. Roman Reigns is not as invincible as he claims to be!...

….but Roman?

Roman is pissed.

You can see it all processing in his eyes in real time, all of the noise around you fading into the background along with the roaring cheers from the London crowd: his loss, being pinned, the fact that despite being a champion he has lost his stance, his placement at the head of the table.

Because what use is there of an Island of Relevancy if you’re the only one standing on it?

Your hands drop from your mouth and fall to your sides; how the hell…? What the hell is happening? Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as those around you celebrate his demise, hands clapping shoulders and drinks beginning to be passed around as the show draws to a close.

You can practically see the floor falling out beneath Roman’s feet as he slides out of the ring, dejected and defeated with a raging inferno blazing bright and hot behind those fierce eyes of his; his entire world, perfectly constructed with seemingly no flaws whatsoever, has shattered in front of his very eyes.

Rage twisted and contorted Roman’s facial features into something unrecognizable as he sat on the floor ringside, kicking his feet and screaming his anger out into the universe like a temperamental child. Baring his teeth, hissing and gnashing his jaw like an uncaged animal…

Frankly, it scared the shit out of you to see live.

He’s shaking, actually shaking with all of the hate and virtiol that courses through his very veins. The bright lights of the arena, hot and beaming down on his skin? The way his hair sticks to the sides of his face and the heavy furrow in his brow? The way his entire body aches from the brutal punishment of the match?

None of that matters now. None of it will ever matter now.

His anger, his regret, his disappointment with himself as he comes to terms with the true loss of yet another faction of his, people who he loved and cared for turning their backs on him again…his mind was a maelstrom as he gripped his face and pulled at his temple, and not even the pain from that could distract him from the truth in front of his very eyes.

His own family, his own blood, has betrayed him, the image of Jimmy and Jey standing above him displaying on every and all of the large screens inside the arena. His heart pounds in his chest and hs blood boils; they can’t just get away with this. They will pay for their crimes against him, against their family, against their Bloodline!

The blood, the sweat, the tears and the pain he had poured into their family, all the work that he had put in to make sure that they all ate, that they all got opportunity after opportunity after opportunity….all for nothing.

You watch as Solo picks himself up from the floor and stumbles his way over to Roman, Paul’s face a complete mess and whirlwind of emotions as he rushes over with Roman’s smorgasbord of titles cradled like infants within his arms. You can barely hear what the latter is saying to the Tribal Chief over the cheers of The Usos’ celebrating and their theme blaring through the speakers, but it’s most likely some sort of consolation and a promise of revenge due to the bright red of the shorter man’s face.

Even after all of this, after everything that these men have just gone through, Jimmy still attempts to reach out to comfort Roman as he sits ringside on the floor, you watching as Jey pulls him back to his own side; Roman is a lost cause to them now. In their eyes, they’ve destroyed his corrupted faction, they’ve cut off the hydra’s heads, and now?

Now, they’re done with him, with all things Bloodline-related as the descend back into being “the ones”.

They are the new Tribal Chiefs around these parts, not Roman.

Not anymore.

After what feels like an eternity of the fallen party sitting in stasis outside of the ring, they all stand, Roman wrapping an arm around his midsection and another hand around his shoulder as they all walk backwards back up the long runway.

His eyes stay locked onto his cousins as the camera pans from him to them and back again, Solo’s eyes filled with an incoming storm and Paul’s lips seeming to move at a mile a minute with how quickly he seems to throw insults the way of The Usos.

But the two in the ring just smile.

They smile and embrace each other after a hard won victory as the entire WWE Universe embraces them as well, and all that does is piss Roman off even more.

Your body somehow finds the will to move, your feet ungluing themselves from the floor beheath them before you begin to move your way through the small crowd of those watching from the back.

You tear your eyes away from the monitor you were watching and beeline it straight to the guerilla position where they’re set to return, and you can still hear the thunderous cheers coming from the fans as Jimmy and Jey continue to celebrate the fall of the Tribal Chief. Maneuvering your way through throngs of people, past production, past *everything*...you have to find him.

You have to find him, and fast.

It’s like your feet barely even graze the ground with how fast you walk, the light tapping of your heels echoing off the walls around you as you make your way closer and closer to Roman and…oh.

You can just barely see him over the heads and past the shoulders of the cameramen, the interviewers waving their mics in their faces, over the glinting bald heads of Pearce and Hunter that’re shining with sweat as they attempt to get a word in with Roman before they try to rush him in the direction of where the press conference is being held…but it’s as though he doesn’t see any of them, his eyes dark and filled to the brim with something nasty.

You’re not even the prime target of his glare, steel-cut and piercing all that come across it, and even you feel the brunt of it, shivering where you stand behind the cloud of people vying for his attention as he moves his way through them. For the reporters and the interviewers, their mics in shaking hands as cameras flash in his face, all of their questions die on their tongues the second his eyes sweep over them.

“Roman. Roman!” you hear Pearce call out to him, Hunter, Solo, and Heyman in tow close to his heels. “Damn it, Roman, listen to me!”

“We need to get you out there, Reigns. Just give a quick statement about the match, about The Usos, and then-”

Pearce and Hunter’s requests fall on deaf ears as you move to the side, the crowd of people following Roman’s path as he walks down one of the arena’s large halls.

“Excuse you, Hunter? Did you not just see the utter and complete farce that was the match our Tribal Chief just had?! There will be no statement to be made, and no appearance at any press conference shall be had unless it involves the absolute dismissal of what was clearly a farce of a loss!”

Paul’s demands make his face grow a bright red as he follows Roman, clutching his titles as his head seems to grow three sizes from the fury written across his face. “Jimmy and Jey, they’re cheaters! Conmen who have embarrassed your Tribal Chief in front of millions of people time and time again! We demand retribution! A rematch to set things right again! Do you know how much Roman Reigns has brought to this company? How much prestige he’s brought to these titles, to these championships?”

Paul jostles the titles in question in his arms, brows furrowed and steam practically pouring out of his ears. “This is an outrage! This is a scam! You two should be ashamed of yourselves for even allowing this to happen to a force like Roman Reigns-”

His incessant, constant stream of words and potential curses are paused by Solo’s hand slamming into his chest, Heyman’s eyes going wide as his mouth falls open before quickly closing it and stepping back to Roman’s side.

Roman pauses his stride, eyeing Hunter and Pearce so viciously that you yourself are shrinking into your own skin; he very clearly doesn’t want to be bothered right now, so why even try to ask him of anything at all?

The look he gives both men, the silent communications that occur between them seems to be more than enough for them to back off in their pursuits, stepping out of his way as their phones begin to ring constantly.

“We have to get some sort of response out of him, right? I mean, he’s the champion right now, we can’t just let him leave-”

“Let him cool off for a second, Pearce,” Hunter tells him, running a hand over his own stressed face. “He’s in no mood for any of that right about now.”

Roman continues to shove past and maneuver around those in his way, his steps as loud and threatening as his demeanor. Through and through, seconds by seconds that seem to stretch on forever until his eyes finally, finally gloss over your figure leaning on a nearby wall, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as your mind begins to turn.

And the very second that his gaze locks onto yours, time slows to a screeching halt.

There’s something in there that you rarely saw in him before, but that you’ve been seeing a lot more of recently.

That anger, that frustration, all of that adrenaline mixed all that hate and vitriol coursing through his veins…he needed to get all of it out, every last drop before he makes another misstep.

He needs you.

Shouldering his way past various sports reporters and camera people, he quickly makes his way across the hallway to you, his large figure towering over you as you begin to shrink further and further against the wall. He’s panting, partly from the resulting emotions following his match and partly from how rough the match in question ran his body.

His hand finds your wrist, gripping it tightly and without a single word from him, he pulls you from the wall and begins to walk away again, Solo and Heyman striding behind him while the media frenzy behind you all follows along.

“Roman, wait-”

He turns his head to the side and makes eye contact with you again, the look in his eyes telling you everything you need to know.

Not now.

All the words you were going to say fall right back down your throat and you gulp, the intensity in his eyes making your knees weak as you try your best to keep up with his pace. It doesn’t take long for your group to head back to his larger-than-anyone-else’s locker room, Solo being the last one inside as he shuts everyone else out besides himself, Heyman, you and Roman.

Paul quickly sets the championship belts aside on a nearby table while Roman runs a hand through his hair, running a hand over his face before taking a seat on one of the benches.

It’s quiet in here, all too quiet albeit for the clamoring noise outside…and this silence does not make you feel hopeful at all.

You all just…sit in that silence for a few minutes, stewing in it as the reality of what had just occurred mere moments ago finally sinks in for all parties involved.

“Wise man…”

All eyes fall to Roman as he stands to his full height, the sound of his voice booming like a lightning strike. This is the first time he’s spoken anything since initially leaving that ring. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?” Paul asks, somewhat shaken still.

“Leave us.”

That seems to garner a reaction from Heyman, the shorter man wringing his hands in front of him before clasping them together. “But…But, my Tribal Chief, we need to deliberate, come up with a plan for this Friday night on Smackdown! We need to strategize, to concoct a plan for how we’re going to deal with those nuisances that are The Usos…we cannot just-”

“I said, leave us. Or do I have to ask you again, Paul?”

His words send a stream of ice down Heyman’s spine, causing the man to stand upright as Roman turns to face him. His aura, what he radiates from within…you do not want to find yourself on the other end of that; it feels like a wall slamming into you at mach 10, wrapping its edges around you until you’re damn near suffocating in it.

“I…I understand, my Tribal Chief. I will leave you two to yourselves.” Paul bows out when he says this, his eyes flickering to the ground and away from Roman’s face before standing and quickly waddling back towards the locker room door, opening it to a barrage of sports media and cameras all vying for the chance to ask Roman even one question.

“The Tribal Chief will not be taking anymore of your unimportant questions at this time as he begins to take his rest after his extraordinary showing in tonight’s match. All questions, comments, and concerns shall only go through the Tribal Chief’s wise man - that being myself - and I shall relay them back to the Tribal Chief in due time. Thank you, and good evening to you all.”

Heyman’s words just spark another wave of noise from the now growing crowd of individuals at Roman’s door while Roman looks on at Solo who stands in the corner by the door, looking on at the onslaught with a scowl permanently tattooed onto his face and his arms crossed over his chest.

Roman nods at Solo, jutting his chin towards the door in a silent request for him to leave and luckily, the other man follows his order without another word, though you doubt he would have spoken otherwise. He throws a look in your direction, but not one of malice; this one has more…hurt lingering within it, a nature of distraught that you’ve never seen within him before he takes his leave after Heyman and slams the locker room door behind him…

…which leaves you alone, finally alone, with the unhinged beast that is Roman Reigns.

Being in a space with Roman Reigns, you can feel how much of himself fills it: his aura, his stance, his voice, his demeanor…no matter how big or small a room, you can damn well tell that Roman’s in there. You could practically sense it in the air when he arrives, hairs rising on your firearms as all around you grow silent. However, as long as you are not his prime target, you will most likely walk out of that room unscathed - emphasis on most likely.

But being alone in a space with Roman Reigns?

All of those feelings? All of those senses get hiked up to an eleven, the very room that the person is in feeling as though it’s shrinking around them as it seemingly pushes them closer and closer together.

And you, right now, are that poor soul in question.

Your hands grip the hem of the shirt you’re wearing - his shirt, the one that he gave to you and told you to wear once you were supposed to come out after the match was over…after he was supposed to win - nervously, your eyes falling to the floor and sticking to the shoes that you wear.

You see Roman’s feet walking towards you before they pause, then moving in the opposite direction as they head towards the locker room door as well…only this time, your heart rate rockets straight to the moon once you hear the sharp clicking of the door’s lock turning, that noise bouncing off the walls of your mind like an echoing cavern.

The silence in the room is unbearable with a tension so thick, you can cut right through it with Roman’s steely gaze. It’s all too warm, too stuffy, too suffocating while you stand there, your teeth making a home in your bottom lip as you shift from foot to foot.

What do you say to him? What do you say at all? Do you commend him on a match well performed? Do you take Heyman’s route and curse Jimmy and Jey’s names until the breath runs clean from your lungs and you’re all hot in the face as well? Do you take Solo’s approach to things and just say…nothing? Nothing at all?

What can you possibly do to even try to rectify things for him? Make things any better than they are at this moment in time?

All of these questions and more surround your brain and hold it hostage, unable to think of anything else. Is there anything that you can do to make him feel better? You’re supposed to be his, his girl…but with something as monumentally damaging to him as tonight was, so is there anything that you can do?

You don’t even notice him making his way towards you until he’s almost directly in front of you, watching your every movement like an unbound predator stalking its oblivious prey. The room around you grows way too hot way too fast as he continues to move your way, his footsteps soft yet booming as loudly in your ears as your own heartbeat.

As he takes one step forward towards you, you take an equal one back. One step forward, one step back.

One forward, one back, and this little game of yours goes on and on and on until you’re cornered up against the furthest wall, Roman’s hands pressing against the wall at the sides of your face. His chest nearly touches yours in the process and its rise and fall nearly matches the way your own does but you hold your breath and pray to the gods.

For what, you wonder?

For solace? For comfort? For a way out from his grasp, or a way to sink further beneath it? Space to breathe or to suffocate in all that is Roman Reigns? Entirely everything from him and absolutely nothing of him all at once? You don’t even know for sure but unfortunately, those prayers are left unheard and unanswered.

You hear him call your name, the syllables he speaks wrapped in a depth that twists and turns your very core. He doesn’t have to say much to grab your attention, after all.

“Look at me.”

But, can you? Can you really?

You can’t even bring yourself to do that, lest you wish to crumble beneath his unwavering gaze.

However, Roman is not one to take no for an answer; he never really has, especially nowadays. So when he speaks to you again, the very atmosphere of the locker room seems to shift and change under his words, underneath the dominance that is just solely and utterly him.

“I said, look at me.”

His fingers are suddenly underneath your chin, thumb and forefinger gripping it with just enough force to pull a strained noise from the back of your throat as he forcefully tilts your chin up so that you have to look up at him.

The soft gasp that you let out when you finally look up at him, into those dangerous eyes of his…you can see what it does to him by the roll of his shoulders as he stands to his full height, towering above you so much so that the too-bright lights that illuminate the locker room get blocked out.

You didn’t really get the chance to truly look at him through the monitor you were watching the match from and not even as he stampeded his way through the throngs of people all vying for his attention…but now?

Right here, in this moment, any and all words you could have possibly said to him evaporate on your tongue as your feet remain glued to the floor, your pulse thrumming through your entire body.

The wide panes of his chest stretch with each and every deep breath that he takes, his heart beating so damn loud that it fills the room and suffocates all other noise besides it. You feel the leather of his glove brushing against your chin where it wraps around his fingers, the force behind his grip being just strong enough to let you know not to mess with him.

Roman’s entire form from the waist up glistens with sweat and you can already see the soon-to-be bruises on his shoulders, his arms, his chest, his abdomen already begin to show.

His eyes are dark, darker than they have ever been before as he towers above you, slightly panting while his aura threatens to swallow you whole. There’s an obvious anger lingering within them, the deep-set betrayal and agony over losing his family and his undefeated streak finally sinking in along with the newfound uncertainty of the future to come…but there’s something else there in those eyes of him, something that makes sweat bead out along your brow and has your thighs clenching together as you dig your teeth into your lip so hair that it nearly bleeds.

Something more.

Roman sees this, what he does to you, and has to resist the urge to crack a smirk; you’re so easy to toy with. He can barely say a word to you, can just look at you only to have you a trembling, whimpering mess before him.

It’s reasons like these that drives his need for you so through the roof, and tonight means no different to him at all.

Just as he thought, you let out a whimper when you meet his eyes, your body threatening to go limp in his hold. His presence is just so much and it does so much more to you than you’re ever willing to say, but you absolutely love it either way.

You don’t notice him beginning to lean in closer to your own face, too stunned to even think of moving before he’s all that you can possibly see, his hair almost framing your own face as he tilts his head slightly to the side.

You can feel the warmth of his breath as it fans out over your face, spicy and hot and smelling of the cinnamon gum you saw him chewing earlier in the day. He tilts your face in the opposite direction, sighing as his eyes leave yours before he leans forward to press his face against the crook of your neck, burying his nose against the skin while the hand that remains on the wall curls into a fist.

Another gasp leaves your throat when he steps forward again, your hands unchelching themselves from where they rest at the hem of your - his - shirt as his chest presses against yours, warm and built and smothering in all the right places. When you raise your arms up from your sides to run your fingertips up his chest, over his shoulders, over his forearms, you can feel him just barely shiver beneath your touch.

His body calls out for you just as yours does him, and you can feel the buzz of all the energy still coursing through him, driving him up the wall as he leans further into your touch. And when you flatten your hands against his skin, the groan that he lets out rolls through our entire body, his chest vibrating against yours.

You feel him moving against your neck and you stretch further to the side to give him room, his lips forming into words that he wouldn’t dare say aloud with others nearby as his gloved hand moves from your chin to grip the base of your neck.

You know what this is, you know what this means; you’ve been here in this position before with him, especially much more recently with all of this newfound familial drama that’s dropped itself at the other end of his table.

With the seemingly endless amounts of adrenaline crawling beneath his skin, the cinching, tight feeling of his skin and the burning sensation that bubbles deep within his core, it’s no wonder why he’s cornered you like this, why he’s closing in on you, why he’s so bent on draping you in him.

I need you, baby, please.

Those spoken yet unspoken words he uttered into your skin make your eyes widen as a similar heat begins to spark within your own core, Roman trapping your leg between his own and pressing his cock against your thigh. It makes your skin crawl in the best ways possible, what he does to you, the anticipation mixed with everything that he just is making your mind hazy.

Your hands rise from his shoulders up the base of his neck, curving further up towards his hair before wrapping your fingers through it and gently pulling his head back up to face you, your eyes meeting his once more (how the hell did they manage to get even darker?).

Despite the fear that runs through your veins, despite your hands being in his hair and on his skin as you lead him towards you, he’s still the boss around here.

Roman still calls all the shots, no matter who or what stands before him - including you.

And even despite that as well, your body still wants him just as much as he wants yours.

It’s not even a want anymore; your body needs him, it desires him.

As for Roman, your body, your comfort calls out to him like a siren’s song, wanting him to pull you deeper and deeper into whatever’s going on within his own head until your entire body knows nothing but him, nothing but your Tribal Chief.

The fatigue that you know he feels is beginning to set into his bones, into his soul, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care because he needs you, more so than he ever has in the past.

The sparks are beginning to show between the two of you; there’s nothing in this world like spending a night with someone like Roman Reigns, and you’re about to experience that firsthand once again.

You see the slight raise of his brow as he scans your face, that miniscule action asking you for permission, for your go-ahead, for you to allow him to lose himself within you and to use you as he sees fit for the time being…

…and the nod that you give him right back is all that he needs to see.

It’s the only thing that he needs to see before surging forward to plant a searing kiss to your lips, the fist that’s curled against the wall, moving down to grip your waist as tightly as the hold he has on your neck, digging his fingers into the soft material of his shirt that adorns your figure.

You only get about half a second of realization before you notice that he’s on you, completely covering you with his body as he presses you up against the wall even more. Your hands move from his hair down his neck, grazing his jaw lightly before your nails begin to dig into the exposed meat of his shoulders.

He’s actively stoking the fire that’s now beginning to blaze within you, and you absolutely love it.

The leg that’s not actively trapped between his now finds itself wrapped around his waist right as Roman’s tongue slides between your lips, curling with and against your own before quickly taking over the kiss. And you let him, of course; he needs this, he needs you, and you’re willing to give him whatever’s necessary to satiate his incessant energy.

The way he knows how to pluck your body like a finely tuned instrument with the way he pulls moans and gasps from you, the drag of fabric on skin, the way his body seems to move perfectly in-sync with your own, pushing and pulling until the two of you radiate more hear than the core of the sun…there’s just something about kissing Roman that makes your toes curl and your cheeks ripe with heat just by thinking about it, let alone actually doing the deed.

It’s all fiery passion and full of the aggression he shows in the ring, the possessive nature he has over you to keep you close and a part of him always, the need to show you exactly who you belong to as he pulls you in so damn close that all you can even think to experience is just him and him alone…it’s a conglomerate mixture of beauty and pain and pleasure and you're drinking in every single drop of it.

You feel his teeth begin to sink into your bottom lip, the contact against the already red and raw flesh making you jump in his arms as he tugs on it harshly before letting go. Your eyes, hooded and blown out, meet his again, and you can practically read the words in his mind as his thumb reaches up to lightly brush over it.

You don’t get to do that, anymore. Only I can do that to you.

You watch as he thumbs over your lip again before coming back in for another kiss, your teeth nearly clashing against each other from how harsh the two of you collide. It’s messy, a battle of tongue and teeth that turns in his favor so damn fast, and you can’t resist the urge to just crumble beneath it.

Your arms loop around his neck and hold him as close to you as possible, not wanting to part from him for even a second until your lungs burn from a lack of oxygen so you’re practically forced to. But even that isn’t enough to stop the contact between the two of you, your nails digging into any piece of his exposed skin that you can possibly reach.

The smell of him fills your brain and flows through your very veins, hands holding onto you for dear life while his kiss steals all sense from your mind. Roman has always been able to do this but tonight, you lower your guards and have him take the reins (no pun intended), have him lead the way, follow his motions.

And his motions lead him to start moving backwards, pulling you away from the wall as your leg falls from his waist. Lips still furiously locked with yours, he effortlessly maneuvers the two of you away from the corner and towards a nearby bench, wrapping his arms around your waist before pulling you down harshly onto his lap.

You thought you could feel him before while he captured you in his stare against the wall, helpless to anything but exactly what he wanted to do with you?

Well, think again.

Your pelvis presses right up against his and the two of you let out a combined moan, your breaths mixing together before he shifts you over his thighs to press you against him even more. You start rocking yourself back and forth on his cock through the dark cargo pants that he wears, feeling it throb and jump with every pass. And your desire for his grows as well, the space between your thighs growing more damp by the second with your juices beginning to now stain your inner thighs.

The small shorts that you wear underneath Roman’s large shirt soon grow more uncomfortable than you’re willing to bear and Roman seemingly notices this as well, running his thumbs over the skin above your ass before not so gently pulling them down your legs. The second you feel the hit your ankles you kick them to the floor below, not giving a damn where they land as your lips remain slotted with his own.

Your hands run down the planes of his chest and circle your fingertip over the space above Roman’s heart, feeling the thrum of energy coursing through his being. His own hands run over your thighs, over the curve of your ass and up your spine as you shift even closer to him, the feeling of your soaked panties as they rub against the bulge in his pants making you pant against his mouth.

You feel his hands drift under the hem of your shirt, the mix of his skin and the leather of the glove he still wears making sparks fly. His lips move from your own down your jaw, the force behind the action making you gasp. Across your skin and over the curve of your ear, down the expanse of your neck and over your collarbone; there’s nowhere that’s left untouched by his eager mouth while his hands roam the heated skin beneath your top.

His teeth graze your skin lightly, causing your entire body to tremble with anticipation right before you feel the sharp stinging of his teeth digging into your flesh, a moan much louder than you should have let out escaping you. Roman’s tongue joins the fray as well, soothing the sting of his bite with each one that he gives you.

One by one, one after another he lays claim to your skin, a reminder to the entire world that despite everything, that despite everyone in his life…he still has you.

He still has you and you’ve let him have you.

The need to feel him, to feel his body even more so consumes your entire mind, your soul, your being, so you take the initiative and grip the hem of your shirt and raise it up your body, pulling it over your head and tossing that to the floor alongside your discarded shorts.

The bra that covers your chest is a lacy one, the same shade of bright red that adorns the glove on his right hand that matches right along with the panties that just barely cover your ass. ‘Figured that you might need a distraction in hindsight. I hope you like it…”

Your voice is small in volume but loud in its tone as you speak, quickly glancing down at his chest where your nails dig into the meat of his pectorals as he raises his head from the crook of your neck, your skin alight and buzzing from him marking it.

Oh, he likes it, alright. He fucking loves it.

Roman’s hands reach up to trace the details in the fabric, his thumb brushing over your nipple and making you arch into his touch. His brows slightly raise with intrigue; this was probably a surprise for him later, for when he won his match…well, not anymore.

Now, the sight of you in this number, one that you had put on just for him, mixed with the need lacing your voice and the lust swimming within your vision…it’s all so much, damn near too much for him to bear, his cock now actively throbbing and throbbing in the confines of his pants.

He needs you now.

“On your knees.”

His low tone shakes you right out of your lust-fueled haze, your eyes snapping open as you pant on his lap.The darkness swirling around within his eyes shows he means business and what Roman wants, Roman gets in spades.

You try your best to move from him, to escape the warmth and desire he’s so graciously provided for you in his own time of need but your methods of moving prove too slow for his tastes, Roman’s non-gloved hand reaching up to yank your head back by your roots, you yelping at the sudden pain.

“What is with you all not fucking listening to me today? I said, I want you on your goddamn knees, now.”

You try your best to nod with his hand in your hair, swallowing down the pathetic noise that threatens to break free before scrambling off his lap and sinking to your knees on the locker room floor, never once breaking eye contact with him as you begin to watch him tear his glove off. The sharp ripping of the velcro cuts through the thick fog that’s filled the air , leather being pulled between his teeth until finally, the damned thing is off and is tossed aside as well, his hand returning to the back of your neck.

Spreading his legs for you as slowly as he possibly can, he keeps your head solely directed at the intimidating bulge that lies within his pants, watching as your eyes flicker back and forth between his own eyes and what lies ahead for your future.

Roman’s nothing if not a beast, both in and out of the ring, and you can’t help but shudder when you gently plant your palms on the outsides of his thighs, looking up at him with the widest eyes you can possibly muster up.

You lick your lips nervously, your heart beating even faster in your chest as he literally talks down to you, your hands beginning to nervously run up his covered thighs as they make their way to his zipper.

And with each notch of its teeth that come undone, with every second that passes that turns into a minute and then to an hour, you manage to push past the nerves that run wild through your veins and undo his pants, slipping your fingers beneath the dark boxer briefs he has on and tugging them down along with his pants to reveal the true monster that lies before you.

Roman’s cock falls from its confines with a dull thud as the head connects with his stomach, leaving a clear splotch of pre-cum where it lands.

The shape of his cock, thick as a tree trunk and just as heavy and absolutely perfect as it is…the space between your thighs aches with the countless memories you have of him fucking you senseless with it,pounding into you and making you see stars over and over again-

“I’m not gonna tell you what to do here, princess. Or, are you too much of a dumb whore to even think for yourself now?”

You blink once, twice, three times as heat rises to your face, wiping the spit that threatens to fall from the corner of your mouth before you move forward, dragging your nails along the smooth skin of his upper thigh.

And as much as he loves to mark you and lay his claim to you, you love doing the exact same thing to him as well.

You live for the hiss he lets out from the pain of your nails, your teeth on his skin and grazing his pelvis as you move closer to his cock.

Such a man, such a being before your very eyes, and he’s all yours tonight, just as you are all his.

You let your nails and the tips of your fingers drag up the sides of his shaft, the length almost as long as your entire forearm. It’s a beautiful thing to see first hand as you admire him, your touches light and fleeting as your wide eyes continue to pierce his. You watch his abdomen clench and ripple when you catch his more sensitive spots, his hips bucking when you run your hand over the large vein that runs up the side.

A smile begins to grow along your lips as you watch him, his other hand running over his face and jaw. You can’t help but to admire him like this, slowly but surely as though you have all the time in the world to do so.

But, based on the absolute storm lingering within Roman’s eyes, you can tell that he’s in no teasing mood, the hand at the back of your neck squeezing threateningly before you finally get the hint to keep fucking going.

So, you do, tightening your grip around the base of his cock and stretching your lips around the head, letting the warmth of your breath wash over it before slowly beginning to sink your mouth down on him.

And, oh, what a sight he becomes before you.

“Fuck, that’s it…” he moans, watching through hooded eyes as you manage to slide the first few inches down your throat. With your smaller hands, you can barely wrap one of them around him fully - let alone two - but you try your best anyway, making sure to jerk the parts you can’t quite reach yet.

The ache between your legs becomes too much to bear as you begin to bob your head up and down, lustily taking him in while your eyes begin to close. With skin sensitive and hot to the touch, you take one hand off of him and begin to run it down your body. Over the curves of your breasts and as they threaten to spill from your bra, down the line of your abdomen, over your pubic bone and thumbing the lining of your panties, you let out another moan when you start to grind your clit against your fingers.

You don’t think that Roman notices it, the shift in your demeanor and the way your shoulders tighten up when you slip your fingers beneath your panties, the way your breath catches and your hips jump as you tease yourself…but he does.

He always does.

“Aww, are you that desperate, baby? You couldn’t help but touch that needy little pussy of yours? I can hear it all the way up here, you’re so wet for me.”

You can practically hear his smirk while he talks, but it still makes you hot all over. Spreading your wetness over your lower lips, you spread them and rub the pad of your finger over your bare clit, your body jolting at the pleasure it spikes through you.

“You want to touch yourself, fuck yourself with those tiny fingers of yours?” he asks, seething at the feeling of your teeth grazing the vein along his shaft. “Then, go ahead. Get yourself nice and ready for me…”

“..and don’t forget about me either, sweetheart,” Roman chides, briefly pulling you from the head with a soft pop before thumbing your lower lip. “Don’t make your Tribal Chief play second best to your needy fucking cunt.”

Your thighs clench and close in around your hand, a soft “yes” falling from your open lips before he presses your face right back against his cock as you begin to take more than you did before. You try to make your mouth as slick with your own saliva as possible, stroking his shaft in tandem with the swirling of your tongue around the head.

His hand lightly connects with your cheek. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, my-”

“And don’t speak with your mouth full, baby. You’re better than that.”

He glares at you as you rise from his cock again, panting softly. “Yes, my Tribal Chief.”

“There she is, that’s my good girl,” he tells you, patting your cheek condescendingly. “Now, get back to work.”

The copious amounts of spit from your mouth mix with his pre-cum as your hand glides along the warm skin, the sound just as loud and slick as the ones coming from between your legs. It doesn’t take long for him to take back control, roughly guiding your lips back to his cock before letting you do what you do best.

As your throat grows accustomed to his girth, you shift yourself on your knees and slip a finger between your folds, circling your hole with it and gingerly slide it in, choking around Roman’s length in the process.

A bright flush begins to run wild under his skin as he tilts his head back, the soft sounds of his huffs and groans making the space between your thighs almost uncomfortably wet as you continue to touch yourself. His other hand runs through his hair, pulling at the roots while his face scrunches up in pleasure when you twist your fist around the head just right.

It fills you with a feeling that you can’t describe, seeing what you do to him in moments like these.

“Shit, princess, keep going…” Roman’s near breathless now, his chest rising and falling more rapidly as his hips buck into your eager mouth. Eyes hooded, his attention stays on you while your own remain closed, focusing all of your energy on making sure your Tribal Chief is as primed and ready to go as you are.

You ease another finger in between your folds along with the first one and curl them as they drag along your inner walls; it’s not enough, it’s never enough when it’s just you because your fingers aren't his, your touch isn’t the same as his. Roman’s fingers fill you twice as much as your own do, the phantom feeling of them stretching you to the brim as they graze along that one spot wracking your body with shivers.

The room is brimming with the wet sounds of your motions, your juices dripping down the hand that remains at your core while your eager lips and tongue schlick up and down his throbbing cock, the noises coming from the both of you getting swamped in the mess of it.

The sight and sound of you struggling to take his length seems to light a fire under his ass and his grip at the back of your neck grows tighter, Roman starting to force the visible stretch of him taking over your mouth and throat even more so, bucking his hips against your face and making sure that you take what you’re given.

“Oh, you wanna please your Tribal Chief, baby? Well, then, take all of it.”

With that, you feel him wrench your head further down his shaft, your throat closing in around him and squeezing as you choke on him. The hand in your hair tightens the further down his shaft you go, your throat tightening with each and every inch you take, your gag reflex fighting for dear life as you struggle to take him fully.

The few inches you have left to go get wrapped in your fist, your fingers shiny with your spit and noisily stroking him until he presses down on the back of your head just that much more for you to

He needs this, he needs you, and you’re going to take everything he has to give you, just like he asked.

So you brave through it, tears in your eyes with your lungs burning and begging for air, you bare through it for Roman, and the loud moan that you get from him in response makes the fire licking within your core burn all the more brighter.

You try to speak with his cock in your mouth, your garbled attempts at calling his name making him shove you further down. “Do that again, princess. Moan for me again while you get that pussy nice and ready for me.”

And moan for him you do, hearing your blood rushing through your ears as the sensing the heavy press of his hand on your neck squeeze tighter and tighter, Roman intently watching and feeling the length of his cock stretch against the walls of your throat.

It’s not long at all before you feel the telltale signs of your own orgasm approaching: the tightness coiling within your core, the curling of your toes and the pulsing in your abdomen, the sweat beginning to bead on your brow, the way that the pace of your hand around his cock and the hand between your legs seems to uptick bit by bit as the seconds go by…

You’re not at all shocked that Roman catches whiff of this too, hearing the now sped-up sounds of your fingers thrusting in and out, in and out, over and over again as you soak your panties clean through. “Don’t you dare cum, don’t you dare fucking cum. Only I can make you do that, you got that? Me, not those pathetic fucking fingers of yours.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Your voice is muffled and your throat strains while you attempt to speak as you try your best to breathe through your nose, feeling lightheaded the more you try.

But his words make you feel not and sensitive all over, the hairs on your arms raising as your heart beats rapidly in your chest, gasping when he lifts your head from the base to tightly wrap his fist around it.

“Fuck!” you hear Roman yell before his hand tightens around your hair again, yanking your mouth clean off his cock, drops of spit and his pre-cum dripping down his shaft and catching the too-bright lights of the locker room. You sit before him panting and wheezing, taking in precious breaths of air as you cough and open your now tear-filled and blurry eyes for him.

Your throat and your chest burn from the abuse they’ve taken, the back of your head and neck sore from all of his manhandling while your knees ache from the carpet on the floor of the locker room digging into your skin…but you know that he still needs you, because he’s not done with you yet.

You try to wipe your mouth clean of the mess, your makeup now completely smudged and running down your face as the mix of your saliva and his cum drips from your chin and stains the bra you wear but he doesn’t allow it, taking your chin in his hands and leaning forward off the bench to steal your precious breath away once more with a kiss so fiery that it ignites a fire within you from the inside out.

“Get on your back,” he growls, hand creeping up the sides of your neck and giving it a tight squeeze. “I need to see how ready for me you are.”

Slowly, you pull your hand from your ruined panties and tug them off your legs, kicking the damp scrap of fabric to the side where the remainder of your clothes lie just as he stands from the bench, towering over you and staring down at you menacingly. You reach around your back to unclasp your bra and shimmy it down over your arms, the nearly ruined item soon following all of the other clothes you’ve discarded until you’re finally exposed to his wandering, hungry eyes.

That’s the push that he needs to trail after you as you spread your legs for him, the sounds of him languidly stroking his cock to the sight of you teasing yourself with the wetness that stains your hand.

And what lies in front of you is just as godly, the sight of him shuffling his pants down his thighs and exposing the beautiful tanned skin that you just had your palms running over, stroking himself to the sight and sound of you pleasing yourself with flushed cheeks and the marks from your nails covering his chest and shoulders…the whine you let out cuts through the air and you can’t resist the urge to reach out to him, to call to him and bring him to you-

“You get what I give you, baby, when I want to give it to you and how I want to give it to you. Not when and how you want.”

Roman kneels to your height, his knees hitting the locker room floor with a dull thud and begins to stalk towards you, sirens wailing off inside your mind right as he crawls over your body looking every inch the beast that he claims to be.

“Roman,” you mewl, feeling him run his palms up the flushed skin of your legs. His hand latches onto your wrist and pulls it from between your thighs, holding it up to the light and watching your juices drip from your fingers before slipping them into his own mouth.

You watch as his lips close in over them, his tongue swirling around them to catch every last drop of your essence before slipping them from his mouth with a dark grin. Your aroma, now more potent than ever, fills his lungs with every single breath he takes, even more now with the taste of your arousal staining his tongue.

Every nerve and thought in his body roars at him, screams and demands for him to bend you over and fill you with his cum, to take you over and over again until everyone in this entire goddamn arena knows exactly who the hell you’re with, you’re spending your time with and who’s dealing with you.

Paul, Solo, Jimmy, Jey…they’ll all know exactly who the fuck runs things in this little circle of theirs, this fight for true and utter control.

And it will happen, you just have to wait a tad bit longer for it.

You’re so warm as you lie beneath him, your nails digging into the meat of your thighs as you wait in ample anticipation for his next move. Brushing his hair back with one hand, he slowly runs them up your body, over your plush thighs and past your dripping core that beckons him in closer.

Over your waist and up your chest until he takes your breasts in his hands and rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, pulling on them and twisting them until you cry out his name. The pain makes sparks ignite in your core and Roman refuses to let up on his hold despite the noise, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and biting down on it as he plays with the other one.

Those hands of his, the same ones that bring you pleasure are the same ones that have brought his own family pain, and that thought is not lost on Roman as he continues to play with you, reveling in the litany of pitiful noises leaking from your trembling lips.

He will not show you the same pain that his cousins brought onto him, nor that he had brought to them.

For you, things are…different.

You’ll never leave his side at the head of the table, never abandon him for some other, higher purpose; you’ve said so yourself before tonight many a time.

Your legs wrap around his waist and lock him in as you dig your nails into the carpet you lay on, it already starting to dig into your skin. But you need more from him; more of him on you, around you, more of his touch and his mouth and his cock, just more.

With your feet, you try your best to shove his pants down further over his ass and down his legs, only managing to get so far before he stops you with a firm yet quick slap to your ass.

He doesn’t even have to remove his mouth from your breast to tell you anything, glaring up at you while his tongue laves away at your nipple before moving away from it and suctioning his mouth onto the other.

Your entire body trembles; what does he have planned next for you? What more could he possibly pull from you as he manhandles your body, squeezing and grasping at you like you’re going to somehow sink into the floor if he removes himself from you?

And then all of your questions are answered when you see him rise from your chest, his lips plush and a shade of bright red as a thin line of his saliva connects them to your breast before it snaps. You feel him press down on your waist, making you relax further against the floor until he wraps his hands around your ankles and begins to fold your legs into your chest, your knees grazing your face just so.

“Hold them,” you hear Roman say damn near under his breath, the depth in his voice making you whine as you wrap your hands under your knees to keep your legs raised. The trembling of your body increases as your anticipation grows and everything in your body tells you to close your eyes and look away from him, but you just can’t.

He’s beautiful in the way he gazes down at you, zeroing in on the way the walls of your cunt clench around nothing and shine with your arousal under the light, licking his lips like a caged animal. He might as well be one anyway with the possessive nature that consumes him when he has you, when he’s with you.

A hitch in your breath comes and goes when he moves even closer, gripping his cock firmly with one hand before using the other to spread your lower lips, the sound of him spitting on them reaching your ears before you feel it. It’s slick, it’s obscenely nasty as he swipes his cock head through the glistening mess, spreading the wetness around even more so as to get you as well as possible before you feel the hefty warmth of the head slapping against your folds.

The weights of it, and the thought of what’s to come have you arching your back into the sensation, desperate to reach your hands up to grip him and pull him into you, to have them just get it over with already and to make you see stars. And you do flex your fingers in his direction, squeezing the space beneath your knees and spreading your legs further for him to tease and prod at you while he just stares on with a smirk slowly beginning to grow along his face.

“Patience, baby, patience,“ Roman murmurs, sliding the head of his cock through your folds and nudging your button with it. The action sends a bolt of lightning jolting up your spine, causing you to dig your fingers into the flush of your lower thighs, and toss your head to the side with a small whine.

“Please, Roman, I need it. I need you, just fuck me, please –“

He shushes you, placing a finger to your lips before slipping his thumb between them. You instinctively wrap them around the digit and pull it in deeper with your tongue, swirling the muscle around it before he slowly but surely post it out. “I said to have patience, baby girl, so don’t be greedy. Just lay back, be a good girl, and take what your Tribal Chief gives you.“

He ends his sentence by dragging that wet thumb over your lips, down your chin, and rests harshly against your clit, grinding his shaft against your folds as he plays with you. You feel like your heart is about to fly out of your chest with how fast it’s beating, watching as he moves even closer to you and presses himself even harder against you.

“Nice and wet for me, princess…you did good for me back there.” You revel in the small bit of praise, a ghost of a smile floating over your lips until you feel the blunt head of his cock brushing up against your entrance. “You still ready for me?”

You can’t nod your head fast enough. “Yes, please. Roman, I’m ready for you, I’m ready-”

At the feeling of him finally stuffing you full of his cock, his chest keeping pressure on the backs of your legs and folding further into yourself, tears begin to prick the corner of your eyes at the newfound pressure.

The familiar burn of Roman pushing into you but by bit, inch by gloriously thick inch, has you itching to latch onto him in any way that you possibly can - and you eventually do, removing your hands from holding your legs to placing them on Roman’s shoulders as soon as he gets close enough.

That fire he had stoked inside of you now grows to an inferno the more of himself he bullies into you, stretching you out to fit his cock just right is making your mind hazy. The quick and constant fluttering of your walls around him makes him groan, dropping his head to your knee.

Your nerves fry and your eyes cross as he continues to move, every single wall within you absolutely crumbling because of it. And It feels like forever and a day has passed before he eventually bottoms out inside you for the first time tonight as you nearly lose your mind on his cock, your toes starting to curl and your thighs flexing.

The guttural moan that leaves Roman’s chest rocks you to your very core, the sound of the wetness between your legs and the pressing of him against your ass turning your insides to mush. One of his hands rests at your waist and keeps you close, his body leaning on your own so much that his nose just barely brushes against yours.

You whine his name, the shrill noise and the desperate look in your eyes turning all dials up to eleven. The huffs and small moans leaving your throat, your body already run ragged before he’s really gotten the chance to fuck you senseless yet…it all just makes him want to ruin you even more.

He can’t figure out where to keep his eyes; he wants to look at all of you, from the way your chest heaves and your breasts move from your breaths to the way your pulse jumps at the vein in your neck to the apex of your thighs where your arousal stains and sticks to the skin of his pelvis, there’s almost too many options for him.

But when you squeeze down his shoulders and bring his attention back to the feeble look in your eyes, he can’t help but toss his head back and sigh because look at you, with your lip quivering just as much as your cunt is and the way you gently thump your head against the carpeted floor as his hand runs over your abdomen and presses against the outline his cock made inside you.

His ears fill with the sounds of your sex, your legs seemingly permanently glued to his chest while he wraps an arm around them, keeping you right where he wants you as his hips begin to move.

And the slide of him moving back and forth along your walls, his hips pulling back from your ass and dragging the head of his cock back towards your clit before moving back in just as slowly causes your entire lower body to twitch.

“Roman…Roman, please,” you beg him. You don’t even know what you’re even begging him for anymore: for more? For him to pick up his achingly slow pace? For him to close the distance between his mouth and yours so you can taste him all over again?

But he doesn’t appeal to your cries nor does he break when you seem to grow even wetter for him as he begins to thrust in and out, back and forth, dragging your hips higher into the air and folding you even further into yourself.

He still, however, refuses to look anywhere else other than at your face, in your eyes as he rolls his hips into you, dead set on ever single noise and jerking movement your body gives him.

His brow furrows; how could he not look at you when you’re like this, mouth wide open with your tongue lolling out of your mouth, pointed in the air as it tries to lick at his lips while you fan the flames of the fire you’re sparked inside of him?

You try your best to rock your hips in tandem with his own, bucking them as best you can whenever his pelvis meets your own and he bottoms out inside you. You can feel the head of his cock grazing that sweet spot along your walls, almost kissing your cervix every single time he bears down on you. His weight strains the muscles at the back of your legs when he pulls forward every time but you don’t care, you don’t care because all that matters is him and how well he fills you.

Roman doesn’t speak a word to you, only letting out groans and grunts with the occasional low-toned moan for your ears only, but everything that you hear makes your entire body vibrate with a deeper need.

Eventually, his pace does begin to increase, the erotic melody of his hips tap, tap, tapping against yours growing into him beginning to use his true power to make you cry out. And cry out you do, your brain now clouded with innsense waves of pleasure as your screams for more grow in volume.

You don’t even attempt to lower your volume and neither does he, not caring about whoever may be listening in from outside the no-that-far-away locker room door - and in the back of your mind, your last shred of sentience thanks Roman for preemptively locking it when everyone else had left.

The force behind his thrusts leaves you absolutely breathless as you stare helplessly into his eyes, moans and huffs flowing from your lips like a waterfall while the pleasure in your core ticks up bit by bit.

The faster he pounds into you and the longer he goes on, the more your walls close in around him like a warm, silken vice, your cunt tightening in around him and not letting him go at all. Your pleasure spikes when he moves his hand down slightly to pinch your clit, making you jolt as you arch your back as best you can.

The rug beneath you scratches against your skin as he runs you ragged on top of it, your shoulder blades and the top of your back taking the brunt of the burn. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes when you squeeze them closed, but the sharp sting of Roman’s hand coming down on your clit snaps them right back open again.

You hiss at the pain but it all just melts right back into pleasure all over again and it doesn’t escape his keen eyes, his flat of his hand coming down on the button over and over again. And you can’t resist the urge to rake your nails down his arms as your nerves flare all through your body.

The telltale signs of your impending orgasm are clear to you both: the dilation in your eyes, the way your thighs stretch and quake as he presses down on them and how quickly you begin to pant.

“Fu-uck, Roman, I need…I need-”

The feeling of Roman’s hand sliding up your chest and around your neck cuts you off, your breath hitching and your eyes widening. “You need what, baby? Don’t go all shy on me now? Or have I fucked all the sense out of you already?”

He sneers and squeezes the sides of your throat, making you gasp. “You get to cum when I say that you can, when I give you the go ahead…you understand me? Hmm? Nod your head for me, baby girl.”

You follow his orders to a tee, staving off your looming orgasm by trying to focus on something, anything that’s not the pulsating feeling between your legs or the way he drives his cock into you, the build-up in his pace doing absolutely nothing to stop it.

“R-Roman…” Your voice is weak behind the grip of his hand, his thumb brushing along the front of your throat and pressing down.

“Not yet, baby girl. I didn’t say you could cum yet.” Each word he speaks is enunciated by a powerful thrust of his hips, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each one. “Don’t you want to be good for me? Don’t you want to please your Tribal Chief?”

Your voice is soft when you attempt to answer him, crying out “yes, yes I do” as he plows into you harder than before, your back now actively rubbing against the coarse carpet every time Roman’s pelvis connects with yours.

He groans when he looks into your watery eyes, your cheeks stained with your tears and spit leaking from the corners of your mouth. Your face is a mess, your entire body is flushed right with heat, you look a mess, and it’s all because of him.

Your blubbering and the tears that flow from your eyes do something fierce to him as his own orgasm begins to crest, the way your walls grip his shaft driving him absolutely mad with desire. He has to bite down on his tongue to keep from letting go, the sharp pain making him curse as his hips begin to stutter.

“Shit!” he yells, abruptly tearing his cock from you with a wet squelch, your arousal dripping from the head and staining the carpet. Wrapping his hand around the base of his cock, he grips the base of his cock in his fist again before leaning in to plant a furious kiss to his lips, stealing what little breath you have left away once more.

It’s all teeth and tongue and fiery passion that stokes the already blazing inferno within your soul and when he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and tugs on it, it hurts so good that you whine against his lips and arch into his touch when he pulls away.

Your voice is weak and slightly hoarse when you ask, “Roman?”

“Over the bench, baby. I want you on your hands and knees when I cum inside you.”

That steely gaze from before makes its return and you visibly cower beneath it, standing on shaky legs as you make your way over to one of the nearby benches before draping your weary and sensitive body over it. You feel exposed in this position - even more so due to the fact that you can’t even see him when he pulls the globes of your ass apart to gaze at how slick and messy you’ve become due to his actions.

His hand comes down on the skin and you jolt, scrambling to grab the cold wood of the bench before he does it again…and again.

And again and again as the sharp, stinging pain rings proud and true all over the meat of your ass, heat blooming beneath the skin and radiating off of it. Roman’s hand comes down on one, then the other, and then spreads them with one hand to deliver another blow right to your sensitive folds, causing you to let out a high-pitched scream that has you nearly bolting off the bench.

“Stay still,” he tells you, his chest rumbling as he lays a more firm slap on your ass, another whimper slipping from you. “You only move when I tell you to move, baby girl.”

Roman continues to lay blow after blow to your ass and now to your achingly wet folds, rutting his cock against you as you grind back against him, More tears leak from your eyes as the stinging pain begins to melt into aching pleasure, a litany of broken moans and sobs passing through your lips right before he slides his cock right back inside you.

He meets no resistance and his hips meet yours damn near instantly, picking up his brutal pace right where he left off while you gasp for air. It’s like you can feel his cock all the way in your lungs with how deep he’s pounding into you, the sound of skin hitting sticky skin bouncing off the walls of the locker room.

Your chest presses firmly against the bench, your breasts aching from how firmly he holds your hips against it while his pace goes into overtime. Everyone outside be damned, the noises leaving your mouth couldn’t be silenced even if the damn door was broken down.

The sounds of his name and cries for more fill his ears and he drifts a hand up your back, trailing his fingers up your spine before wrapping his hand in your hair and yanking your head back against his chest.

“That’s it, scream for me,” you hear him say in your ear, the drop in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. You feel his lips trace the shell of your ear, biting down on it and then moving down to your jaw. His other hand grasps your chin and pulls your head to the side, his teeth grazing the side of your neck before he sinks his teeth into it.

And the yell that you let out because of it almost rattles the very walls that surround you as you weakly reach your arms back behind your head and wrap them around his own neck, keeping his head there as he plows into you. Your hips ache, your ass fucking burns from his pelvis colliding against it, everything on your body stings and aches and hurts but you love it, you love it all.

You can feel the marks and bruises that his hands,his lips, his teeth leave on your body already begin to bruise, and you can already tell that the ones staining your ass are going to make it hard to sit down or even walk for days to come…

But you’ll wear those marks, those bruises, you’ll wear everything with your head held high and with pride in your eyes because despite all that Roman’s faced these past few months, he still has you willingly and wholly and wholeheartedly.

The sweet kiss of your orgasm comes to fruition again and you can feel that wave begin to crest over; you won’t be able to last much longer if he keeps going at the pace he’s at right now, your toes curling as you dig your own nails into his scalp to pull his head from your neck. You instinctively squeeze around his cock, feeling his balls slap against your clit over and over again and making you jump and jolt around.

“R-Roman, please, ’m gonna…, I need to, please-”

He can’t help but groan as he roughly kisses the side of your head, holding your beginning-to-go-limp upper body close to his chest. “Fuck me, baby, you’re gonna cum? You’re gonna soak my cock and stain the floor?”

You feel him smile against your cheek when you nod. “I feel you clenching around me, princess, so why don’t you be a good girl for your Tribal Chief and cum for me? I want this pussy sloppy fucking wet by the time I’m done with you.”

The weight of him against your back side, the way he slips a hand between your legs and begins to play with your clit again, furiously rubbing the bud between his fingers as he pumps his hips even faster…it has your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you pant like a bitch in heat, Roman playing you like a finely tuned instrument and pushing all of the right buttons.

It all comes to a head when he starts to murmur in your ear,words and wishes of how he’s going to fill you up just like how you want and leave you dripping full of his cum all over the floor by the time the night ends, firmly grasping your breast with his other hand and twisting your nipple fiercely.

Blood rushes to your ears so damn fast that you can just barely hear the words that leave his lips but once you do…oh, the reaction that he gets has him cheesing something fierce, those sharp teeth of his bared for the whole world to see.

Your entire body shakes, completely vibrates with the need to cum as you fly closer and closer to that edge, clinging to Roman for dear life - but not before he tilts your head to the side and kisses you so passionately that you fall limp in his hold, his tongue meshing together with yours.

“Don’t hold yourself back anymore, baby girl. Cum for me, cum for me now-”

He speaks against your lips and your inner walls give way to your orgasm, that wave cresting and your body bending along with it as you soak his cock with a cry so loud that it rings louder in your ears than your bloodrush does. Your heart feels as though it’s about to leap through your chest and out of your mouth, your hands drifting from his hair and your arms wrapping around his neck behind you.

You can feel his heartbeat racing in his chest as it presses against your back and it’s just as fast as yours, and a final high pitched moan escapes your mouth as you soak his cock completely, his hips stuttering against yours while his thrusts begin to slow.

You audibly moan at the warmth that fills your core when you feel him jut his hips against yours and stays there, fully inserted within you as his own climax takes the reins.

It feels like a punch square to his gut when his cock throbs against that sweet spot that lines your walls, his resolve crumbling and his mind going blank for a few seconds. “Fuck,” Roman groans, the sound rumbling through your whole body as you feel him paint your walls with his cum, the head of his cock pressing snugly against your cervix while he grips your flesh and digs his fingers in wherever he can put them.

Your thighs, your chest, your waist, your neck, it doesn’t matter; at the end of the night, your entire body is going to be covered in his marks, whether you like it or not.

Your brain is scrambled and he rests his head on top of yours, massaging your clit to get the final jitters of your orgasm out of you before he finally lets you breathe. Your vision remains blurry from a mix of how tightly you squeezed your eyes shut and from the tears that still linger within it, your face remains a stained mess from your destroyed makeup, and you don’t even want to talk about the state that your hair resides in…but in this moment, you’ve never looked more beautiful to him.

But, he’ll tell you that soon enough.

For now, he simply cradles your trembling body to his chest, his cock still snug along your inner walls as he rocks his body against yours; over and over again, calming the rocky waves of your climaxes - both yours and him - as he begins to take his own breath and takes the first seconds of the night to finally think about the events that have occurred.

His blood, his closest family has betrayed him, left him in the dirt and dust and tossed him aside…and now all that he has left is you.

You and the strength, the stability, the everything that’s left of his Bloodline reside within you, and he can’t let you go.

He just can’t.

He won’t let you go, not now and not ever…not after everything tonight.

As time passes and when he doesn’t speak, you take the first steps. “...Roman? Are you okay?” you ask, your voice hoarse and your throat dry from all of your screaming.

“Please…” you hear him whisper against your back, pressing his lips to the back of your neck as he pants, still coming down from the force of his orgasm. “Please…don’t leave.”

Please don’t leave me.

And hearing that, hearing his voice crack slightly as his lips move from the nape of your neck upwards, curving up towards your jawline and around the shell of your ear…it breaks you, it utterly breaks something within your soul.

As you think back to the previous weeks, you could already see the threads of dissension within the eyes of Solo, the traps being laid by The Usos to bring the young man closer to their side and away from Roman’s.

The true and final nail in the coffin of the Bloodline, the removal of the Samoan Enforcer, the last shred of foundation that holds this entire empire of Roman’s together…you can feel it in his every motion, every single press of his fingers against your skin, every pull of his arms as he brings you in further and further to his own body: he’s terrified of losing everything, everything that he has left, everything that he is.

“I won’t, Roman,” you tell him, curling your body against his, allowing him to surround you with everything that he has and everything that he’s willing to give you. “I won’t leave. I’ll never leave, I promise.”

A few moments pass, and what precious moments they are. No words are spoken, barely any movements are made aside from the slight rocking of his hips against your own and the heaving of your chests as you both breathe, just…nothing.

A good nothing.

A good nothing that allows you both to just be in touch with yourselves and with each other.

After those few moments pass, you speak to him again, gently running your fingertips over his forearms. “Look, we’ll forge a new Bloodline, okay? Together. You and me and Paul and Solo-”

Roman buries his face in your hair at the mention of Solo’s name, taking a deep breath in of a scent that’s just entirely you mixed with tinges of him…a perfect combination, the perfect combination.

“If we can’t rely on your family to maintain this faction, this dynasty…then we’ll make a new one of our own. Bigger and better and more powerful than Jimmy and Jey could ever comprehend.”

A tense silence follows your words before Roman finds his own to respond.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You feel his lips curl into a smile against your head, another kiss being pressed to your hair as he thinks. You’re right, after all.

If his own family won’t stand at his side, if he can’t rely on his own bloodline…then you two will create your own dynasty…together.

And together, the two of you will take down and dismantle whatever is left of Jimmy and Jey, for all of the new hell that they’ve now brought upon themselves.

And that’s not a threat, Roman thinks to himself as he curls his body around yours against the cool floor of the locker room, not wanting to get up nor remove himself from the comfort and relief that you provide him.

That’s a fucking promise.

“So..can I get my clothes now? And, are we gonna get up and unlock the door, or…?”

You feel his chest rumble as he chuckles, his smile against your skin growing just that bit wider. “Nah, they can all wait a few more minutes. Besides…”

“...I’m not finished with you just yet.”

Oh, fuck…

Tag List:

@auraravenora77 @stargazerofgoldenwords @writinglionqueen @axelwolf8109 @adampage @doctorbrittbaker @neversatisfiedgirl @atiny-angel @reci24 @brownblackbeautiful @glowingz @lemonjvicey @moxxieswitchblade @beardedbarba @annoyedkayah2395 @theworldofotps @gold--gucciempress @shanie-is-komania @jazzy-tzw @colesterstrudel @claymorexpunisher @dori-the-rwby-addict @thephoenixreaper @thepalaceofmelanie @mistress-to-the-moon @sassymox @jeffhardyenigmawwefan @lynsrosegarden @thatpanpal @new-zealand-chic @auburnwrites @deepdisireslonging @bigpsychicbagelauthor @shortyiceheart @demonslunacy @snarkandsarcasmftw @thatnerdwriter @scuzmunkie @taryn-dibiase @luciddrreamss @xfirespritex @itsreigns @officialbroski10-blog @new-zealand-chic @rowinathequeenofpersia @roofgeese @p0is0nl0ve @flawlessglamazon @dreamlesswonder86

please please please lmk if i missed anyone (on the tag list) and lmk if you wanna be added to it/removed from it! tysm and have a blessed one 😘✌🏾

#rezz writes some bullshit #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x reader smut #roman reigns x reader fanfiction #wwe x reader #wwe x reader fanfiction #wwe x reader smut #wwe smut #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x you #oh my god...rezzy actually posting a fic??? with ACTUAL smut in it???? color me gooped and gagged and shocked to shit lmao #but please enjoy this y'all i spent way too much time overthinking this XD

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harmshake · 4 months

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seven sentence thursday!

tagged by @jeysbvck 💗

warnings: it is 18+, nsfw, smut, y'all know what time it is.

gif credit

It's late and you should be asleep...but Roman is keeping you up on the phone.

His gruff, deep voice is heavy and your whimpering breath is shallow as he keeps you awake with fantasies he purrs in your ear. Promises of what he would do to you if he were lying next to you right now...

"I have my lips where you want them, baby. Lickin' and kissin' on that pretty clit. I know you like that. Let me hear it."

Your next breath is an airy moan as you feel him in your mind with his head between your legs, his silky mustache tickling your skin as his soft lips press even softer kisses to your clit. You mimic the motion with the pads of your fingertips that become slippery as they glide along your slick sweet spot, that slick beginning to stick to your trembling thighs.

"You taste like you wanna cum...so sweet, so wet. Fuckin' delicious. Tell me, baby...you ready for me to make you cum on my tongue?"

— excerpt from yet another wip in my drafts titled "talk it through"

tagging: @dreamsinfocus @empressdede @carmenreigns @visionarymode @theninthwonder @southerngirl41 @sassginaswanmills @msbigredmachine

#i counted the dialogue as one sentence each. lol.#y'all my drafts are full of shit like this. 😭#random ideas i start writing on a whim (usually after seeing his big fine ass on smackdown).#idk if i'll ever finish this one but hey it's something!#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x female reader #spilled ink #spilled thoughts

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thetopichot · 7 months

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My roman empire is the fact that Auron legit KILLED Derek by fucking BEATING the absolute SHIT outta him then straight NAILED THAT MOFO ON THE DESK & then straight up went on a date afterwards & had the most heartwarming moment ever with Rook. I know that's not much, but I think about that shit at LEAST once a month.

#the cat speaks #yuurivoice #yuurivoice auron #damn this bitch has been doing so many side stories in the same fucking day #that some yakuza 0 type shit #also im still working on the fluff alphabet & im sorry its taking so long #shit has been happening to me like CRAZY #but i can tell ya one thing!#im almost done with alphonse #i have trouble writing characters that i dont talk on a daily basis 😭 im lazy & autistic #he is my roman empire #lol

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introspectivememories · 5 months

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i wish you guys could feel the way i felt when reading HOO and realizing in real time that "oh, riordan clearly does not care about the romans". like the downplay is insane!!! as if the greeks and romans were not two separate cultures!!! you cannot one-to-one the gods!!! jason never gets all his memories back, percy ends up remembering everything. jason struggles to fit in at chb, they make percy praetor in one fucking week! not to mention the very weird addition of saying that camp jupiter was part of the confederacy???? like he very clearly does not care about the romans

#i would say smth about rr having a very clear bias for percy but im not sure if yall are ready for that #like the minute i knew that he didn't give a shit about the romans was when percy decimated the cohorts during the war games #bc of his superior greek fighting style or whatever #like just say you like the greeks and go!! there is no need to sideline the romans like this #the way he writes them it's like the romans were just a knock-off copy of the greeks #as if they weren't two fully-realized separate cultures #whatever #jason grace #percy jackson #pjo #hoo

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novelconcepts · 8 months

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My brain will not let me process the whole of Usher until it throughly, and I mean throughly, analyzes everything about Juno. 😂 I absolutely loved her character. And she wasn't even really the point!

Oh my god, Juno is the best. I loooove Ruth Codd, I love her deliveries so much, and to have this outsider to the family who went through hell, thought she was getting the fairy-tale ending, and then…just got more bullshit piled on. Damn, dude. The fact that she just keeps trying even though these kids (almost all of whom are her elders) give her NOTHING in return. And she still shows up for them! She’s one of the only characters I sympathize with through the show, and I loved her whole “nah, man, I’ll take three years of hell over more time with you” thing. She’s brilliant.

#ask #the fall of the house of usher #tfothou spoilers #I’m not familiar enough with the details of Poe to know if there’s a Juno in his writing (I assume there is)#I immediately jumped to the Juno of Roman mythology instead #the wife who takes absolutely no shit. who is married to an absolute nightmare and who rises above #but mostly I just love how Codd makes her this hilarious relatable young woman #who genuinely feels for these people even though they treat her like dogshit #she’s so lonely and she wants so badly to have a family and I love her

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brookheimer · 1 year

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i feel very mixed on shiv's ending, particularly her choice to return to tom -- i think it makes sense from a thematic/character arc perspective and is a powerful yet devastating indictment of both shiv and the world that created her as well as showing that the cycle of abuse will always continue to cycle, that shiv will become her mother etc, but i also think it does not make sense from a character/internal logic perspective. it's a choice that makes sense from the writers, but not from shiv, not yet. it could've been a brilliant ending to her character, but is tainted for me by the less-than-ideal execution of it, which felt very rushed, making shiv's final submission to tom feel forced by the show rather than forced by the situation or honest to her character. the ending is not inherently misogynistic from the writers' side as i've seen some criticisms claim (it is a dark but real portrayal of misogyny within capitalist society and how it's internalized within the white women who end up at the hips of the CEOs who run it), but i do understand how it could feel that way. the show fails at building up to (and thus convincing us) that the version of shiv we currently know would so immediately subject herself to her mother's fate, so instead of it feeling like shiv's hand was forced by patriarchy to place herself into her worst nightmare, it instead feels like the show itself was the thing that forced shiv to take that route, which does leave a sour taste in the mouth. it doesn't feel like the result of a choice shiv would make or the impact of patriarchal society bearing down, it just feels rushed and thus wrong. shiv would've benefitted immensely from a few more episodes or even just a few scenes dedicated to teasing out her newfound willingness to subject herself to immense disrespect in order to remain close to power, but given that her entire character has always been defined by her inability to do just that unless forced to (which i don't think she was in this situation as she could've easily not waited in the car for tom, not put her hand in his, but she did), her return to tom feels hard to comprehend, and her near immediate submission to him hard to stomach.

(read more under the cut because jesus christ did this get long)

in my mind, at least, i've always understood shiv as being respect-driven rather than power-driven -- she wants power, yes, but more than anything she wants to be taken seriously and respected and seen as a legitimate player, and time and time again we've seen her blow up situations that would've been very advantageous long-term because she felt disrespected and needed to speak up and force people to take her seriously (which, ironically, typically results in the opposite). shiv's overarching goal is power, but her immediate necessity is always respect. her dignity is her number one priority at any given moment, even when it shouldn't be, even when it stops her from attaining the success and power she wants. i can kind of understand shiv going against kendall because of this -- she's always had a very, very narrow lens whenever she feels like she's being disrespected, and even though it is infinitely more humiliating for your (somewhat ex) husband to betray you and boot you out of the CEO position behind your back at the behest of your supposed closest ally (and for you to still vote for them after that!!!) than it is for you to magnanimously allow your brother to be CEO (which would publicly be seen as a choice, as telly etc said - sibs need to stand united behind one chosen CEO - rather than shiv being out of the loop and fucked to infinity), the narrowness of her vision upon seeing kendall about to win makes it impossible for her to think about that legitimately. it's not just jealousy, it's indignity: shiv feels she earned CEO through her machinations with mattson and feels genuinely sick seeing the loganified kendall grinning at the head of the table, hearing his "that's fucking right" and witnessing his cocky entitlement to the job that belonged to her. so, she does what she always does when she feels disrespected, when she feels her dignity is at stake, and impulsively blows everything to fuck, including her own best interests. that makes sense for shiv, at least somewhat -- i still think that as much as she wouldn't want ken as CEO she'd feel like at least w that outcome she'd be seen as a player and a deciding factor, whereas with mattson/tom she'd be viewed as a pathetic fucked-over nothing woman pawn etc (a situation of unparalleled indignity imo), but i can rationalize her choice to go against ken anyways as being part of the narrowed field of vision she always gets upon feeling disrespected by men in her life that makes it impossible for her to think strategically (and i guess even though the disrespect was greater and more humiliating from tom/mattson than ken, ken was the most recent most present and most lifelong source so that's all she could focus on; seeing him like logan was too much to bear). it's hard to imagine shiv publicly throwing her vote behind two men who publicly fucked her as humiliatingly as mattson and tom just did, even if the other option is kendall, but i think that's part of it -- it's fundamentally illogical, even from her disrespect-lens, because there's just something about kendall specifically being in charge that she's never been able to stomach. it's visceral and impulsive. it's not meant to make "sense." it's just what she feels she has to do to preserve her own dignity, even though it works directly against those same interests realistically. it wasn't executed very well, making it hard to entirely buy it given just how publicly humiliating the alternative is, but it can still be chalked up to her historically one-track-mind when it comes to indignity by the hands of kendall in particular. it's a last-ditch attempt for shiv to at least feel like she's maintaining her dignity, her self-respect, as counterintuitive as it actually is. it makes sense. i can stomach it.

again, shiv's fatal flaw (in logan's eyes and aside from her original sin of being a woman) has always, always been her inability to shut up and make the smart move in situations where she feels she's being disrespected or not taken seriously. if shiv stayed quiet during that dinner with the pierces, maybe she would've been logan's CEO, but no, she couldn't stop herself, she needed to feel she was being taken seriously, she burst out 'cmon, dad, just tell them it's going to be me.' she is unable to play it smart, to keep quiet, to win when winning means perceived disrespect. she's allergic to it. even on a personal level, she shoots herself in the foot constantly because of this: she is unable to let herself have the things she wants because she can't put herself in positions that open her up to disrespect and perceived inferiority. she can't be vulnerable because she needs to be respected. tom asks her if he could 'try to make love to her' in episode one of this season, and even though she clearly wants to, she says 'no, i don't think so, tom.' tom tells her he 'wants her, wants this' back in episode six, and even though she clearly wants that too, she draws back and says 'well then you shouldn't have betrayed me.' shiv is fundamentally incapable of allowing herself to remain in possibly advantageous situations when she feels at risk of being seen as lesser, of being disrespected, of being perceived as weak. that is her response to patriarchy. when patriarchal forces bear down, shiv is unable to grin and bare it -- she has a short fuse, a sharp tongue, and an inability to entertain even a second of being treated like The Woman, of being looked down upon, especially when it's for her gender. it's the one thing she cannot do, cannot let herself do, and it's why she fails to "win" over and over and over again. she shoots herself in the foot the second her patriarchy disrespect sensors tingle. she makes the wrong choice, the dumb choice, the one that makes her feel like she stood up for herself in the moment but ends up leaving her powerless and helpless in the end. that's the only explanation for why she chose to vote against kendall (the clearly better option for her long-term as she'd 1) be respected as part of the decision, as someone who helped choose the CEO rather than a Woman who got fucked over and had the door slammed in her face by her husband and close ally simply because she possessed a womb, and 2) probably be head of ATN or some other area of waystar, she'd have actual power within the company and be respected as a legitimate source of power rather than the CEO-to-be made CEO's humiliated wife -- if she was capable of making the smart, selfish choice in terms of power instead of having a hair-trigger reaction to gendered disrespect and cocky male superiority, she would have voted kendall. but she is not capable of doing that. she never has been. so she voted tom and mattson.

so what i still cannot for the life of me understand is what would compel this shiv, the one who cannot stomach indignity even when power's on the line, to immediately return to tom's side the second he beckons her, which is like five minutes after he becomes CEO (the job she was promised) by mattson (who gave it to tom instead of shiv because 'why get the baby lady if i can get the man who put the baby inside her?'). it makes perfect, cruel, devastating sense from a show perspective, and that's what most people are talking about, understandably. it's a devastating yet unavoidable, inevitable outcome. she's left with no other choice once she makes the decision against kendall, and patriarchy compels her to play the good wife to stay close to power. except, like... she does still have a choice. she does not have to go back to tom's car. she does not have to sit patiently waiting for him. she does not have to quietly congratulate him on his victory. she does not have to place her hand in his. these are all choices she made very voluntary. they're choices between maintaining her dignity and self-respect at the cost of future power versus maintaining the potential for future power at the cost of her dignity and self-respect -- the classic siobhan roy conundrum. she's been faced with it time and time again (even just five minutes prior with kendall) and she has never, not once, chosen the latter of her own volition. she hasn't been able to. that's her fatal flaw. maybe i could stomach her going back to tom if she didn't congratulate him, didn't place her hand in his when he expectantly held his out -- then some dignity would be preserved, maybe. but her complete and total submission for the sake of future power does not make sense with her lifelong inability to do just that. it makes sense that this would be her eventual endpoint, but we have seen nothing that implies shiv would so willingly subject herself to this feminine submission of wife and mother before person or source of power, to the complete and utter humiliation of being the quiet wife at the side of the man who knifed her in the back (and notably handed said knife by the man she thought her closest ally) in order to steal the job she fought for her entire life and, in her opinion, had earned. maybe she would come back to him eventually, for love or (more likely) for power, but it is incredibly hard to believe that shiv 'impulsive when faced with indignity' roy would be capable of immediately and publicly playing the role of the good wife after such intense and public humiliation at the hands of her husband.

really, the way i feel about the shiv ending is similar to how i feel about the daenerys ending -- unlike most people, i really wasn't that against the daenerys outcome. i thought it made a lot of sense and was interesting, devastating, and fascinating. i thought there had been a few signs all along and that that ending for her would make sense and be far more interesting than a Hooray ! Girlboss ! ending. however, it was poorly executed -- it was rushed. it did not make sense from where daenerys was at that point in the text. it could've worked, it could've worked brilliantly, but it needed more time to build and fester in order for her ultimate turn to feel earned rather than forced for the sake of the point the writers wanted to make. that's kind of how i feel about shiv. i get the ending and i don't think it's inherently bad or misogynistic or anything, but it feels like the writers saw the possibility for a shiv 'mommed' ending and immediately took it, with little regard to what actually made sense for shiv herself to do in that moment. outcome > character. that's frustrating for me particularly for succession because my like number one reason for adoring succession as much as i do is their consistent refusal to operate the way most media does (using the characters as instruments to achieve the plot/outcome the writers want), instead prioritizing following the characters themselves in a way that feels honest and real. it's character-driven, not plot or ending driven. i think that this fell by the wayside a few times in the latter half of this season simply because there was so much that needed to happen in such a short space of time (especially during the finale), but in my opinion, at least, the most egregious case is shiv. given more time, more development, more build-up, the last shot of her hand in tom's would've struck the chord the writers wanted it to -- and for some people, it did anyways! but for me, it rang out and fell nauseatingly flat. it felt hollow and wrong and unearned. shiv could end up becoming her mother, that feels entirely possible, but not in this particular sense, not yet. in what world would siobhan roy willingly choose to be seen as nothing more than a woman hanging off her husband's arm, especially when said husband had publicly humiliated her and ruined her entire life just five minutes prior? when, just five (metaphorical) minutes prior, she was the one poised to be CEO and everyone knew it? when now everyone will see her on tom's arm and whisper and gawk? she has become her worst fear, yes, but unlike kendall, it does not feel earned. it does not feel like she has actually become her worst fear. it feels like the show forced her to. not patriarchy or the situation or her own desire for power, but the show itself. that's what feels so shitty.

i wouldn't necessarily call the writing misogynistic as a result of this, as it's less a flaw of misogyny and more a flaw of bad, rushed writing that could happen to any character. it's the same as with daenerys -- although (somewhat unlike succession) there were many, many aspects of GoT's writing that were deeply misogynistic, especially in the last season (just look at fucking brienne), the core issue with the daenerys plotline is not one of misogyny but of time. they did not give daenerys the time needed to become the version of herself seen burning down the city. that could've easily been a focus of previous episodes, but it wasn't. they simply did not develop her enough for that turn to make sense yet. it could make sense, hypothetically, at some point down the line, but at that point it felt sudden, off-putting, and wrong. shiv could easily become her mother. that's been made evident especially regarding her relationship to pregnancy/children, love, and vulnerability (or the lack thereof). but for this ending to make sense, we would have needed to see signs of shiv imitating her mother's willingness to be relegated to the sidelines, to bring out the food while the men eat and make deals, in order to remain tangential to power. that is a concession shiv roy had never been willing to make prior to the last five minutes of the entire show. other signs of shiv imitating caroline or falling prey to patriarchal norms throughout the show are not enough to undo shiv's fundamental refusal to weather gender-related indignity even when doing so would benefit her. in my opinion, that's why the final five minutes of shiv's plotline were so unsatisfying.

shiv could become her mother, and her ending could be a devastating portrayal of the inability for even rich white women to escape their original sin of being a woman in a man's world, as well as a dark, ironic criticism of both women like shiv and the patriarchal world that breeds them into existence. but because the show did not develop shiv in this particular direction and because her entire character thus far has been defined by her self-destructive insistence on being respected at all costs, shiv's ending did not land the way it could've, or should've.

#WOOF okay this was long. not even gonna read it over bc if i do i'll never stop editing to it or adding to it and god knows no one needs tht #so if it's shit well. forgive me #but yeah this is just my take. i felt really unhappy w shiv's ending but didn't quite know why because the ending itself i can imagine bein #fine with but really i just feel very frustrated by the show writing over any agency she would normally have had in order to make their #point by the time the episode ended #honestly the more i think about it the more i feel this season should've had more episodes -- i think another season after this one would b #GREAT for me personally obviously but unnecessary for the show itself and possibly too much of a good thing #but at the same time the latter half of this season could really have benefitted from a little wiggle room and space to develop #so it wasn't just Sudden Mattson Likes Tom or Wait Did Mencken Disappear or Remember Roman's Sexuality or SHIV FUCKING SHIIIIV lolllll #ok. this is too long. post #succession #succession spoilers #long post #and i mean LONG #should i do a read more? i never know what the like courtesy is lmao #well . yall asked for it so here u go #shiv roy #succession meta #i guess #edit i did a read more this is disgusting LOLOL #100 #casey shut the fuck up about shiv roy

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panic-at-the-evrywhere · 4 months

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Thinking about how after the creativity split whenever it happened, that Roman and Remus didn’t hate each other at first. They were just brothers who loved to cause trouble with the other sides like brothers would. But when Roman sees the way Thomas reacts to Remus his instincts kick in and Roman is the one to make Remus a dark side and banish him to wherever dark sides are. Just imagining the last thing Remus ever saw as a normal side was his dear brother betraying him for the greater good of their creator.

Btw I have concepts for each of the dark sides about how they became that way so if you want to hear those I’d happy write a shorts fic series with all the sides!

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #holy shit I want to write this now #Jesus please someone want this I need to write it

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grim-has-issues · 3 months

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he said that he would not confess his feelings to faithful.

why?

because he doesn’t deserve her, he’s not worthy of her.

not that he “thinks” he doesnt deserve her or “thinks” he is unworthy for her.

he simply isn’t. every single version of himself knows it.

its as simple as that. theres nothing more to say.

the sky is blue, and albus doesnt deserve her.

humans breathe, and albus is unworthy.

#like holy shit #who write this script?!?#lucifer!?!#a million roses #that dreamscape episode is my roman empire #i think about it all the time #what i’d do to listen to BW for the first time #asmr roleplay #audio rp #goodboyaudios #fandom #gba bastard warrior #gba albus

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wisp-exe · 1 year

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tommy always knew he was being watched. the eyes he felt on him were like a comfort in the darkest of times. they were there for him when he would be left alone in the large house as a kid, and with him throughout his time in business bay. so of course, they followed him to the dream smp

they were his only friends.

however, sometimes he would wonder why they never helped him. they have been with him through it all, yet never lent him a hand.

back in exile he would beg and plead to be saved. their presence seemed heavier then. he would spend his lonely nights sobbing in the hopes they would respond. but they never did.

therefor, it was no surprise when they sat and watched as he died. as he screamed for help, they were the last he called for, right as his world went black.

later, dream would wonder who he was calling for.

tommy was dead. he was nothing and nowhere. little did he know that was because of their help.

dream attempted to revive tommy, but nothing happened. he would try and try until he started to panic. the book was supposed to work, so why wasn’t it? he had tested it over and over. suddenly, he felt eyes on him. they were so full of hate and anger.

—

got bored wrote abt tommys chat

#roman writes shit #tommyinnit #dsmp #dream smp

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brother-emperors · 9 months

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CAESAR AUGUSTUS AND MARCUS LICINIUS CRASSUS

this is about the spolia opima that crassus was robbed of lmao. like, yeah okay octavian could've asked him not to claim it, but nevertheless. a kind of theft happened there.

Fact and Fiction: Crassus, Augustus, and the Spolia Opima, Catherine McPherson

#this is one from the vaults I started a few months ago and finally finished. it’s always the furniture details that put things on hold lmao #the former co consuls are fightinggggg (?)#rome is built on top of other people. this is about both the imperialism-slavery machine and the way that all these guys would #politically devour their own generation to sit on a throne. etc. anyway. octavian specifically sits on a throne of other people’s #accomplishments. that’s a specific kind of debt to carry around your neck. or theft depending on who is doing what #this was theft. anything involving Agrippa was a gift so there’s an obligation to succeed which is it’s own kind of currency so to speak #sugghrhfh. every crassus always has to be like this. in my heart i always root for whoever decides to go up against rome #and then i'm stuck with the guy who should've got a spolia opima like. congrats on your win. i guess. i think. RIP.#ACTUALLY YOU KNOW WHAT. while im talking about this crassus. domina fucking sucks. what an absolute clusterfuck of a show #anyway. if anyone ever does augustan age politics again. octavia would be a great character if you want to invent shit #but also more importantly octavian should seduce crassus for this. thank you.#octavian #marcus licinius crassus.....christ how do i write down that he's the grandson of my crassus. i'll figure it out later #roman empire tag #drawing tag

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spookyghostbunny · 1 year

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ooooo okay hmmmm how about 11. “How can someone not be ticklish??” and 20"C'mon. Smile." with Lee howdy (he desrves more love) and Ler(s) of your choice? If thats alright with you?If not feel free to switch it around uwu -pandabuna

Fluff fluffy fluff fluff :3

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

"What! How can someone not be ticklish!?"

Howdy shrugged, putting the last of the toppings onto Barnaby's hot dog. "Not sure what to tell you, mate. I'm not ticklish." He handed the hotdog to the beagle with a teasy smile. "Unlike some other residents that I know~"

Barnaby accepted the treat, quickly chomping into it choosing to ignore the comment.

Wally stared at Howdy from his place on the counter. "I don't think that's true, neighbor." He said, innocently swinging his legs.

Howdy nervously scratched the back of his head. Sometimes Wally's intense gaze got to him. Luckily, Sally and Julie walked in to save him from an answer.

"Why is Wally on the counter?" Sally asked.

"He likes being tall." Barnaby replied, patting the smallest puppet's head with a chuckle.

Wally squeaked and batted Barnaby's paw away from his gorgeous hair. He turned to face the newcomers. "Howdy says he isn't ticklish, but I don't believe him."

"What!" Both girls shouted in unison.

Oh Wally. Always straight to the point.

"How can someone not be ticklish?!" Julie exclaimed, staring at Howdy in disbelief.

"That's what I said!" Barnaby mumbled through another big bite of hot dog. Wally covered his face to avoid getting hit from the specks that flew out of the dog's mouth. "Barnaby!"

Barnaby swallowed his food before apologizing. "Whoops! Sorry kiddo," he chuckled awkwardly.

Wally grumbled deciding to hop off the counter and join standing next to the girls. He had an important scheme to conspire with them. They lent over as he beckoned them closer, whispering his plan only for them to hear.

Howdy rolled his eyes at his friends antics. "Like I said earlier: I'm just not ticklish. Never have been and never will be." He said this confidently. He was lying of course, but the others didn't need to know that. He was the number one ler in this close-knit neighborhood. Him being lee seemed impossible.

Or so it seemed~

"If you'll excuse me- I have to finish something in the back." Howdy darted quickly for the caterpillars only room. He hopes he successfully escaped the conversation and that they would drop it since he left.

Barnaby had finished his hot dog so now watched the smaller trio curiously. His ears perked up, trying to catch what they were saying. What was so hush hush? Why couldn't he be in the loop?

Julie giggled and bounced In excitement while Sally was rubbing her hands together with an evil look. They got into position, acting normal until given the signal. Now Barnaby was really confused.

His confusion didn't last long.

Wally looked around, making sure Howdy was out of sight before walking back over to the blue pupper. He tugged on his vest, motioning him to lean down so he could whisper in his ear.

Barnaby's tail wagged at being included with whatever the mischievous puppets were up to. He leaned down, listening carefully as the bluenette told him the super secret plan. He smirked and nodded once Wally finished telling him all the details. "You got it, bud!" He winked, hopping off the stool to hide.

Now it was time for the master plan to begin.

"Howdy! Hurry! Wally is trying to steal your apples again!" Sally called, putting as much urgency in her voice as she could.

Howdy sighed in annoyance. This was the fourth time today! He hurried out to stop the little apple obsessed thief. "Wally! I told you-" He was cut short when something behind him restrained his top arms. "Get him!" That was Barnaby's voice! What on earth was going on!? The other three puppets surrounded him, each sporting identical impish grins. "What is the meaning of this!?" He demanded, struggling against Barnaby's strong hold.

"You said you weren't ticklish! We wanted to find out for ourselves if that's true or not." Sally replied causally, her excitement increasing at seeing Howdy's eyes widen in realization.

Oh dear.

Howdy tried to shoo them away with his free hands, but was rewarded with Julie's hands shooting to squeeze his sides. "Mmfff!!" He lurched forward with a muffled squeal. He closed his eyes shut, struggling to keep his smile down and laughter at bay. The caterpillar wasn't going to give these tricksters the satisfaction of a reaction. His hands grabbed Julie's wrists, but Wally and Sally took it upon themselves to both tickle his stomach.

Wally snickered. "Not ticklish, eh?"

Howdy shook his head. He was wiggling around like a- well- like a caterpillar at this point. But no amount of wiggling he did dislodged the skillful fingers seeking to free his laughter. Sally went all out with tasing the sides of his stomach. Wally on the other hand chose a more gentle approach, lazily tracing shapes like he was painting a picture. And Julie switched from squeezing to scribbling his sides up and down. It was a lot to take, and surprisingly the shop keeper was holding on pretty well.

"You're a tough cookie, aren't ya? C'mon! Smile~" Barnaby purred, nuzzling Howdy's neck wanting to get in on the tickling action too.

Howdy couldn't fight it anymore. His face instantly broke into a wide, wobbly smile. He scrunched up his shoulders, but it didn't protect him from the beagle's fluffy snoot.

Howdy was getting dangerously close to breaking.

"There you go, Howdy!" Julie cheered, her fingers wandering up to Howdy's armpits. "Laugh! Laugh! Laugh!" She chanted.

The others joined in on the chanting

"Laugh! Laugh! Laugh! Laugh!"

That did it. Howdy couldn't hold the ticklish butterflies in any longer. He exploded into loud laughter from holding it in for so long. (and because maybe his armpits were his worst spots shhhhh) "PFFFT- HAHAHA FINE! YOHOHOU WIHIHIN!!!" He cried, his whole frame shaking from the force of his laughter. His legs grew weak, but with Barnaby holding him up, he just kind of went limp in his hold.

Sally whooped in celebration, slowing down her tickling to make it gentle like Wally's.

"This is what happens when you lie to us. Neighbor." Wally teased, removing his hands altogether.

Some enough, Julie also removed her hands after noting Howdy's laughter turning a little wheezy.

Sally wanted to keep tickling, but one stern look from Julie made her stop with a disappointed pout.

Barnaby adjusted his hold on the shop keeper so Howdy was leaning against him while he recovered from the phantom tickles plaguing his nervous system.

"You alright there, pal? We didn't go too hard on ya, did we?" Barnaby asked with concern, rubbing his back soothingly.

"N-no. You're all alright." Howdy gave them a weak, but genuine smile. "That was.... actually pretty fun." He flushed at the chorus of "awws!" That filled the bodega.

Perhaps being the lee sometimes wasn't so impossible.

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

We need more lee!Howdy in this house. Sweet boy deserves it. This is a bit longer than intended, but I'm happy with it☺️

#welcome home tickle #lee!howdy #ler!barnaby #ler!wally #ler!julie #ler!sally #bonus points for whoever gets the hidden reference #wally is a little shit #just like a cat #wally is a cat #roman writes things

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harmshake · 1 year

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✨ UPDATE: "THE END GAME" IS HERE! ✨

Alright, I'mma keep it real with y'all...

I am having the hardest time finishing The End Game because of life and my heart just ain't in it at this time. 😭

I love Roman and Amanda, but rereading what I wrote so far is not giving me the ✨vibe✨, and I'll likely rewrite it. So, that's gonna take some time. I'm sorry!

Also...I just really wanna write about The Usos and Solo Sikoa. 🥴

I mean...my god, look at them. Jesus... 🥵

Like, my creative juices FLOWING right now...

So, here's my line up (all smut because 😼):

Solo Sikoa & The Usos x Reader: "Four Is a Crowd" UPDATE: Finally finished it after 80 years! Lol. This is Solo's big debut on my blog because Big Daddy deserved it. 🤭 Read it here!

Requests: (1) Jey Uso x Reader, (2) Roman Reigns x Reader, and (3) Solo Sikoa x Reader

Jimmy Uso x Reader: "Never Forget You" UPDATE: Finished my first Jimmy Uso fic ever! Really excited to write more about him. Sorry I wrote this first and didn't follow the order I made. Lol.

Roman Reigns x my oc: "The End Game"

♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️

Thank you all again for your patience and for reading as it means the WORLD to me to have found my people who also obsess over The Bloodline in a very unhealthy fashion. 🫶🏾

Tag squad (lemme know if you'd like to be added or removed) 🫶🏾

@harlem11680 @mzv11 @miyuhpapayuh @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @wickedsunfire @niknakbucks92 @vebner37 @flawlessvictory2020 @dreamsinfocus @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @jeyusos-girl @nayys-world @romanreignseater @msbigredmachine @purplehairgawdess @dayjlovesromance @solosikoasgf @mohawkmama @smuts-whore @po3ticb3auty @alyyaanna @murrylove @papireigns-05 @thewarlordsworld @vintage-pvssy @christinabae

#sorry again for the wait. 😭 i promise I'll be better. I'm new to this and idk how to schedule writing my fics with irl shit going on.#but i promise they'll be worth the wait. 🥵#especially the solo and usos one...like fawk #solo sikoa #solo sikoa smut #jimmy uso #jimmy uso smut #jey uso #jey uso smut #roman reigns #roman reigns smut #the bloodline wwe #the usos #poc writers #spilled ink

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just-late-roman-republic-things · 3 months

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Determinism, Dice Rolls, and Dickheads

So, @sextuscansextus posed a great question the other day: "If you were going to pin the BEGINNING of the downfall of the Roman Republic on the actions of one Roman, who are you blaming?" The pedant that lives in my brain immediately started asking more questions. Not to argue, but to explore. To enjoy. To attempt a political autopsy well outside my competence.

This post is my answer: who I blame most, and why.

Had the Die Already Been Cast?

Many folks (including sextuscansextus herself) have pointed out that the end of the republic was a complex process, and blaming it on one "key figure" doesn't really work. Historians don't just talk about the individuals who shaped history, but a web of other factors: geography, economics, religion, overvalued sparkly rocks, etc.

So, how much should we blame people like Sulla or Caesar? And how much should we blame systemic forces that pushed them and other Romans to act as they did?

A pure "systems" approach looks like Jared Diamond's book, Guns, Germs and Steel. It tries to explain why some societies colonized others, using physical geography and agriculture. Individuals could still make choices, but on a large scale, the societies followed the different paths permitted by their material situations.

Or, to more bluntly, Europe was destined to colonize the Americas because cows rule and llamas drool, wheat is better than potatoes, and Europe's coastline looks like it was drawn by a spider on cocaine.

This book is, shall we say, controversial.

Apart from issues with methodology, accuracy, and possible racism, the book invokes historical determinism. Determinism is the idea that events are inevitable: your behavior is determined by the state of your brain, your brain's state is determined by your genetics and environment, and every person is equally ruled by those factors. Free will is as nonexistent as Mark Antony's underwear.

Determinism Lite™️ might allow for individual free will, but still frames big shifts like the fall of the Roman republic as inevitable. Or, you might say it became inevitable after a certain event set it on the course to destruction. I think this is what sextuscansextus' question is really getting at. The point in Roman history when you say, "This is where it went wrong," influences who you think doomed the republic, and how you judge the leaders who followed.

But was it doomed? Did a civil war have to happen sooner or later? If an eagle had dropped a turtle on Julius Caesar's bald spot, would somebody else march on Rome instead?

Erich Gruen and Robert Morstein-Marx have other ideas.

Lucky Bastards and the Doomsday Clock

In The Last Generation of the Roman Republic, Erich Gruen asks: What was happening in Roman politics between 80 and 49 BCE? What changed, and what stayed the same? He catalogues every election, trial, law passed or blocked, military mutiny, incestuous clusterfuck - the detail is both impressive and mind-numbing. Then he compares it all to previous decades, and concludes...that in 50 BCE, the republic was not falling apart.

"But how can that be?" you may ask. "Look at everything that went wrong! Even the Senate house burned down!"

Gruen isn't saying there weren't crises during this time. What he's saying is that they don't reflect a fundamental decay in republican institutions, or mean the republic couldn't put itself back together. For instance, the burning of the Senate was followed by troops being called in to restore order and hold a trial for Clodius' murder, and Rome was then at peace for three years until Caesar invaded - for completely unrelated reasons. The two conflicts are not actually linked. And positive developments occurred in between them, but are usually overlooked by historians trying to explain why things went wrong.

Gruen's argument is multi-layered, and I can't summarize it all here. But he concludes that the Roman republic could have potentially survived much longer, if not for the personal, not systemic, conflict between Caesar and Pompey in 50 BCE. If he's right, then we can't say any of Caesar or Pompey's predecessors "doomed" the republic.

Robert Morstein-Marx takes Gruen's argument further. In Julius Caesar and the Roman People, he explores the lead-up to Caesar's civil war, and finds miscommunication, politicians waffling back and forth, and several times war was almost averted. Even after Caesar crossed the Rubicon, he and Pompey nearly reached a peace deal. And several times Caesar was almost killed in battle, only escaping through pure luck.

Neither the civil war nor Caesar's dictatorship were inevitable. So besides "important people" and "systemic factors," Morstein-Marx names another force of history: sheer, bloody chance.

Not all historians agree with Gruen and Morstein-Marx. But let's suppose that at some point, the republic was in danger, yet there was a chance of restoring it to its prior health and stability. Whether you think there was a 90% or 5% chance of saving the republic in 52 BCE, try thinking in terms of probabilities, not a path of cause and effect.

Let's call this the "probability model." There are people and events who raise or lower the republic's stability, going all the way back to its founding, when Lucius Brutus' sons tried to overthrow it. It's like the Doomsday Clock, which doesn't measure how long humans have before destruction, but our risk of things blowing up in our face. The Doomsday Clock can go forward (riskier) or backward (safer), just like the Roman republic could start stabilizing in 52-50 BCE before a civil war destabilized it again.

In this model, we can't really say there is a "beginning of the end," or one person who started it. There was a series of events during which the republic collapsed, but they didn't necessarily cause each other, or all stem from a single source. You might as well ask which raindrop flooded your house.

But don't worry. We can still throw rocks at a guy who's been dead for 2000 years. We just have to rephrase the question a little.

What Was the Biggest Hit?

We can't say one man caused the republic to irreversibly decay, but we can say some men struck bigger blows than others, or struck it at a worse time.

Personally, I really like Gruen and Morstein-Marx's analyses. I agree with Gruen that the republic had reasonable prospects to survive in 51 BCE, and with Morstein-Marx's argument that Caesar and Pompey could have resolved their differences peacefully. But I think the republic's chances dropped dramatically after Caesar invaded Italy and Pompey fled to Greece - perhaps from 80% to 30%, if you'll forgive me for pulling numbers out of my ass. And the odds got worse as the conflict went on.

For the next 20 years, Rome was in a nearly constant state of civil war, autocracy, or both. It's hard to overstate how damaging both of those were to every level of society. Men like Augustus grew up without having ever seen a healthy republic, and many of the men that knew how to run one were killed. Public offices went unfilled, infrastructure decayed, mouths went unfed. Even if preserving the republic wasn't impossible yet, it became far, far more difficult. So if we're gonna point fingers, I think we should be looking at 50-49 BCE.

A lot of politicians fucked up at that point. You can argue that Curio drove a wedge between Caesar and Pompey, that Cato shut down the peace negotiations, that Marcellus declared war first, that Caesar started the war for real, and that Pompey tried to play both sides and it blew up in his face. It's possible that if any of these men had acted differently, no war would have happened. But if I had to pick one man to blame the most...

The Motive Matters, Too

Let's go back to that point about systems versus individual agency. How far were these politicians' choices constrained by their culture and environment? It doesn't change how badly they fucked up, but when it comes to blame, I'm harsher on people who choose evil of their own free will, rather than because they feel pressured into it.

In De Bello Civili, Caesar tells us why he defied the Senate for a year and invaded his own country. He tells us he wanted to protect the tribunes' rights, but the tribunes only came to him days before he crossed the Rubicon, so it doesn't explain why he let the situation get so dire in the first place. For that, we must look at his other stated reason: dignitas.

He wasn't afraid of a trial, assassination, or the anger of his soldiers. He did it for his pride, public image, honor, whatever you want to call it. And he put that pride before the lives of his countrymen and the safety of his country.

Now, the ancient Romans might have thought dignitas was a better reason than we do, but we can't blame Caesar's actions on Roman culture, either. 140 years earlier, Rome had had another great general. His name was Scipio Africanus. His career shares many similarities with Caesar's, and he was likely one of Caesar's heroes. But Scipio never turned his power against his country. He actually turned down being dictator and perpetual consul, and when his enemies politically cornered him, he accepted exile rather than forcing an ugly, drawn-out fight. Despite that embarrassment, he remained a legend through Caesar's time and to this day.

Or perhaps you want an example closer to Caesar's era and situation. We have one: Lucullus, whom Caesar actually served under at Mytilene. 16 years before Caesar crossed the Rubicon, Lucullus was spurned for a triumph for his campaigns. He waited three years, living outside Rome all that time, before he finally got one. But during that time he demobilized his army and respected the Senate's laws, no matter how petty and personally motivated they were against him. He did not use the military as a threat.

When push came to shove, Scipio and Lucullus put the good of the republic before their own careers. Caesar did not. He chose to defy the Senate and take up arms against his countrymen, knowing full well he had other options available.

I blame Caesar not only for the size of the blow he inflicted on the republic, but also because the blow was so preventable, if only he had been a better man.

#holy shit this got long #it was super fun to write though!#gods i love talking about this stuff #jlrrt essays #historiography #roman politics #julius caesar #caesar's civil war #scipio africanus #robert morstein-marx #erich gruen #guns germs and steel #jared diamond #julius caesar and the roman people #the last generation of the roman republic #lucius licinius lucullus

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dangans-ur-ronpas · 1 month

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Chapter 19

(blowing a lil party horn and firing confetti poppers) YIPPEEEE

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

sorry to the ishimondo fans

this is the one with an execution!!!

@digitaldollsworld my bestie my lord my homie <333

Content warning tags: descriptions of injury and mild gore, character death, canon-typical violence, guns

< previous - from start - next >

“NO!”

Owada’s shout is loud enough to startle Byakuya out of the slight torpor he had fallen into, too busy trying to fend off the migraine that was threatening to make him sick. He jerks, eyes blinking open to see Owada leaning in Ishimaru’s direction, his entire frame tense and trembling with restraint.

“It’s okay, Taka, you don’t have to say it,” He’s babbling, talking in a rush. His complexion is blanched, with fear or desperation, maybe both. “It’s okay, okay? I’ll tell them. It’s fine.”

“You really should let him-” Kirigiri starts to say, but Owada shakes his head vigorously, his hair bounces side-to-side.

“No, I’m not gonna make him cover for me any longer. I’m not gonna make him- make him lie for me.” He cuts Kirigiri off, before drawing himself up tall. “I did it. Okay? I killed him. I killed Chihiro.”

“Mondo-” Makoto starts to say, but Owada barrels through him like a steam train. His voice has the same, strained quality of a whisper, but it feels shockingly loud at the same time, the only thing audible in the entire room.

“It was - I know I was calm. Earlier. When Chihiro told me everything. And - I really was supportive. I was happy for him, so happy for him, you saw me Makoto, that was all real. But-” He pauses to take a sharp breath, and Byakuya wonders if he looks as insane as he sounds, leaning over the edge of the railing, like a seasick man over the edge of a rocking ship. Spewing words like he’s trying to empty his stomach of them. “I was thinking about it after, and I just. I just got so fucking mad, I mean - we all have secrets, and mine is - I know it’s probably not the worst one here, but it’s something I’ve been holding on to for so long, and he was just. Flaunting it around? Like it was something to be proud of?” He snorts a laugh, ugly and demeaning. “If it was that easy, then what the hell have I been doing all this time?”

His voice breaks, and for a moment his shoulders slump. But he regains his composure just as quickly, drawing himself back up with a shuddering breath. “I.. on the way back to the trophy room, I couldn’t stop feeling angry. It was like I couldn’t see anything else but red, I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. And when I got back I saw - I saw Taka, injured, and Chihiro standing over him -” He swallows. “It’s not an excuse. I know Chihiro would’ve never hurt him, never hurt anyone - but I was so angry and he was there, and there was a trophy on the floor, with blood on the corner, so I just…”

No one says a word. The implication of what he had done hangs over them all, like a fog - like a body, Byakuya thinks. Fukawa hadn’t been able to pin Chihiro as high up as Syo, but it feels like the boy was watching over them. A ghost listening silently from the rafters.

“...Then, tell us. If you did kill Chihiro, how did you do it?” Kirigiri asks at last, and Owada makes a sound crossed between a sob and a groan.

“I - I just sort of blanked out, when it happened. When I came to, he was there, and - I didn’t know what to do.” He lifts his face, and Byakuya can make out the shine of tears, the gray pallor of his skin. “So I took Taka to the nurse’s room first. And bandaged him up. And then I grabbed supplies to clean up the scene - that’s where I got a sheet to wrap Chihiro up in, and the gauze pads to soak up the blood.” He’s slowed down now. The words come tiredly, laboriously. “And then I…I was just thinking about cleaning up the room at first. That was all I could do, so I just did it. I wasn’t thinking about my survival or anything, or the fact that I might end up getting killed by this fucking bear - I just. I was planning on confessing to it all, but I didn’t want the place where he died to be so…so messed up.”

“Oh, Mondo…” Hagakure breathes quietly, grievingly. Owada’s head twitches, but he presses on.

“I went to check up on Taka, and when I came back, the body - Chihiro - he was gone. Sheet and all.” He laughs again, another twisted sound. “I thought, maybe it was all a dream? Maybe I was going crazy and Chihiro wasn’t dead, and all that blood was from Taka’s injury? I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to think. But I went back to what I was doing, and then a little later, the announcement went off. And you all know what happened after that.”

The room is silent for a long moment. No one says a word, and Byakuya can only just make out the sound of breathing, the only indication of life. And, a slight, quiet rattling; Ishimaru was trembling slightly, but still not uttering a sound.

In the silence, all Byakuya can feel is a storming, pitch-dark rage; rage for Chihiro, killed over something so pointless and without warning, rage at Fukawa for framing him, and rage at Owada for hiding it all. For losing control of himself in the first place. “So afterwards, Fukawa went downstairs and found the body. If we consider the sheet around Chihiro’s corpse and the scene cleaned of blood, that also helps explain how she was able to hold off Syo for so long.” He says, disgustedly. “But, the bloodied gauze in the library. I’m assuming that you were the one who put it there? Whatever happened to confessing?”

“I was! …I was, planning to confess to all of it. But then I saw Chihiro’s body, and - and as everyone was talking about Syo, I saw you holding the file and the blood, and I thought… I thought I had a chance. I mean, you were right there, and…I knew that Makoto wouldn’t have been able to back you up. I stuffed the gauze through the gap between the library door hinges while everyone was investigating.” Owada looks up for the first time, and Byakuya can’t see what look he’s wearing. And he feels glad for that; he doesn’t want to see whatever simpering face Owada has, pleading for forgiveness, miserable and sullen. “I know it was wrong, but all the pieces just seemed to fit together so perfectly, and the more time that went on, the more believable it seemed, and- I’m sorry. I really am.”

And Byakuya wants to scream.

What use is your worthless apology, he wants to rage. It wouldn’t resolve anything - in the end, he had still been accused, and humiliated, and now utterly disgraced. He was still blind and disabled. Chihiro was still dead. “All this, because you couldn’t decide if you wanted to live or die? Did you never consider if you deserved to?” He hisses, and Owada actually flinches back.

“I know I don’t. I’m sorry.” He repeats quietly, and he sounds so hollow and drained that Byakuya finds it hard to maintain his anger, all the heat and passion dissipating in an instant like smoke. It leaves him feeling empty, bewildered, and so, so tired.

“...Well. It seems that it’s time to vote, no?” Celeste claps her hands lightly, a smile in her voice. “Monokuma, won’t you please?”

“Since you asked so politely…I was still enjoying this dee-light-ful soap drama, but for my precious student, I will oblige!” Monokuma bounces up to its feet, one arm raised high in preparation to call the vote. “Everyone-”

“Wait.” Kirigiri interrupts. She hasn’t looked away from Owada once, her pale face turned towards him this entire time like a hawk. “Something’s not right.”

“Wha- what do you mean?” Hagakure asks. “It’s pretty cut and clear by now, right?”

“It’s suspicious. Why put in so much effort trying to pin the crime on Byakuya, and then confess so suddenly now?” Kirigiri rebuts. “And we still haven’t heard Taka’s testimony.”

“Man…come on, Kiri. Just look at him. I don’t think he’s in any shape to talk.” Hagakure shakes his head. “And - I think we shouldn’t push this on any longer than it needs to be.”

“Our lives are on the line. I don’t want to move on until we’re entirely sure.”

“He’s already confessed, though…isn’t this enough?” Yamada lets out a long-suffering sigh. “And, I can’t see any indication of anyone else who might’ve done it.”

“No, but Kyoko has a point,” Asahina interjects. “We almost got tricked once already into thinking it was Byakuya, right? We should be careful.”

“Yes. We should err on the side of caution,” Ogami agrees. “I can’t see the harm in having Taka speak, and…I cannot trust Mondo’s confession entirely. No matter how logical it seems.”

“He can’t,” Owada cuts in, that desperate tinge on his voice again. “I keep telling you guys- can’t you just leave him alone? Please?” He hangs his head low. “I know - I’ve done bad by you guys, I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, but please, just…he’s been through a lot. Can’t you cut him a break?”

“Erm…Can you kids make up your mind?” Monokuma is still standing, balanced precariously on the tips of its toes with one arm still straining upwards. “My stitches are ‘bout to pop, you know!!”

During this whole time, Makoto was silent. Thinking again, Byakuya recognized, as he usually does with his chin tucked under a curled finger, his foot tapping a quiet rhythm against the floor.

“Okay, then. Taka doesn’t have to talk.” He says slowly. “But in that case - Taka, can you please take off your bandage? So we can see the wound?”

“The wound-?” Owada sputters, taken aback by the sudden request. “Wha- Makoto, what are you…?”

“Something about the whole story has been bothering me. Mondo, I know that you, uh…sometimes, you react kinda strongly, I guess, to stuff that makes you mad, but you’re also really caring. I find it hard to believe that you’d twist up on Chihiro like that so fast.” Makoto drops his hand to a fist at his side, clenched tight. “If the trophy really did hit Taka as bad as you said - where he got hit by the edge of it - then the wound should also be really bad, right?” He turns back to Ishimaru. “Taka, please. You don’t need to say anything, but- please, just show us.”

“No way, he doesn’t need to-” But Owada stops suddenly, slack-jawed as he stares.

Watching as Ishimaru slowly unwinds the stained, white strips wrapped around his head with shaky hands.

—

“As I thought,” Kyoko says, as the last bandage falls away. “There’s nothing there to constitute that amount of blood on that bandage, is there?”

And it’s true. The pile of linen that now litter the floor around Taka’s feet is stained and spotted through with blood, but there’s no sign of an injury anywhere on his head. There’s not even a bump, or a bruise.

Makoto swallows thickly, before he continues. “Taka, you never hit your head at all, did you?” And Taka flinches, face somehow blanching paler. “You’re the one that killed Chihiro.”

“No, he didn’t, it was me-!” Mondo throws out an arm in Taka’s direction, as if trying to shield him from the accusations. “I keep telling you - I was the one who did it, I killed Chihiro-”

“No you didn’t. You were covering for him.” This was the worst. Mondo - he was violent at the worst of times, but ultimately kind, and extremely loyal - and right now, Makoto was going to kill his best friend.

“Are you stupid or something? Makoto, hey-” There’s a strange grin twitching on the corner of Mondo’s mouth, like this was some joke he could laugh off. “I’m telling you - how many times do I have to tell you? It was me.”

“It wasn’t-”

“It was!”

It goes on like this for a while. Everyone else is silent - or, it feels like they’re silent. Makoto can’t really hear them, not over the rush in his own head, or Mondo’s desperate, hysteric words, denying the accusation, insulting Makoto and everyone else, cursing, pleading, screaming. It’s the same as when Leon was condemned, when all he could do at the end of it was wail, ‘stupid, stupid, stupid!’ until Makoto pointed out the toolkit, the undeniable proof that it had to be him. Or, when it was Byakuya-

And he stumbles a bit, his rebuttal stuttering as he falters. He remembers the look on Byakuya’s face as he asked about his handbook, with the knowledge that he couldn’t bring it out himself. Not without revealing it to Monokuma. And therefore forcing him to admit it by his own words, the one thing he wanted to conceal from everyone else in the room. The betrayal, the hatred - just thinking about him made Makoto want to disappear.

But there’d been no other choice. Kyoko told him as much when they were investigating; ‘There’s a likelihood that you will have to reveal his secret during the trial,’ she had said, as they inspected the still-damp floorboards of the trophy room. ‘It may be the only way to clear his name.’

He’ll hate me for it, Makoto had protested, and she had just shrugged and turned back to inspecting the trophies, one of which had small dots of blood at the corner of its marble base.

‘Would you rather live being hated or die knowing you could have prevented it? He’ll get over it if he wants to survive.’

Easy for her to say, he thinks, as Mondo screams something at him, an barb so ugly it made him feel equal parts furious and sick with guilt, because Mondo would probably never say such a thing otherwise if it weren’t for this. She’s never had to do this before.

“Dammit, show me the proof! If he did do it, what’s the proof!” Mondo shouts, accompanied by a loud bang as he slams his hands against the railing. “You don’t have any goddamn proof, you little shit! So don’t just stand there and say shit you don’t know!”

“That’s enough.”

For a moment, it’s hard to place who said that. The words were spoken so quietly, after all, and so raspy it was hard to discern whose voice it was. But Byakuya cocks his head, and turns to look in Taka’s direction with a frown.

Taka is still as still as ever, but one hand rests on the bannister, and he’s leaning forward. “That’s enough, Mondo,” He says again, louder, before coughing into his elbow, clearing his throat. “Please…just stop.”

Mondo looks like he was slapped across the face, mouth agape in shock. “Wh-what are you saying?” He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a sob than anything. “Taka - bro, it’s okay, you fell and hit your head-”

“Mondo. That’s enough,” He repeats. His eyes are hollow; Makoto finds it hard to look him in the face. “I killed Chihiro.”

Kyoko is the only one who speaks up to ask: “How?”

Taka talks slowly, haltingly, as if trying to dredge the memories up. “It - it was after Mondo left with Chihiro and Makoto. To the cafeteria. I was still cleaning, alone - when I’m alone, I think. About things, my family outside the school, if they’re alive, my secret, my grandfather - and then Chihiro came back. Alone.” He sways slightly, steadied only by his hand, white-knuckled against the wood. “And - as he was talking - I was still thinking - and -”

He pauses, taking slow, deep breaths. No one says a word. Makoto’s not sure if he’s even breathing.

“It just - it wasn’t fair. Him, confessing it - it was so easy, for him. He was so happy about it. My grandfather - if you knew, you would hate me. That’s how it’s always been, everyone who’s ever known about it, hated me. But he was so happy, and he -” He takes another deep, shuddering breath. “It was an accident. I - I just pushed him, I didn’t think I pushed him hard, but he hit the shelf. And, the trophy…”

It’s not hard to figure out what happened afterward. Makoto can practically imagine it, though he doesn’t want to; Chihiro going up to Taka, and Taka, too caught up in his own trauma, backing away, combatting his own fury and dread. And Chihiro, walking up closer to check on him, only to get shoved bodily backwards, into the trophy shelf, and then-

Mondo is shaking his head, tears falling silently down his face - muttering ‘no’ under his breath, over and over, like a mantra. Taka turns to him, a sad sort of smile tugging at his mouth.

“Thank you, Mondo. For trying,” And he sounds so genuine and so incredibly sad. “But - I can’t let my family be disgraced anymore. I can’t let anyone die for my sake.”

“No, no, no,” Mondo repeats, and despite his size, he shakes like a leaf. “No, don’t, don’t, Taka,” And his voice breaks. “Don’t- Please don’t, I won’t be able to take it, I can’t take it, Taka- not again-”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, don’t you dare fucking apologize-! Just-” He breaks down fully now, and turns away, one hand raised to his eyes.

“Forgive me,” Celeste interrupts, still wearing her indecipherable smile, unnatural red eyes narrowed slightly as she addresses Taka. “But I recall you were the first to suggest sharing secrets the night Monokuma revealed the motive, no?”

Taka recoils slightly at that, bowing his head. “I…I was. I thought - I could be prepared. If it’s the right thing to do, I could do it. But-” he turns away, his brows twisted into a scowl. “I…”

“Enough.” Kyoko sighs. “There’s no point in making pointless allegations. We have our explanation. There’s nothing left to say.”

And she casts Makoto a look, which Makoto interprets immediately, and he sighs.

—

As Makoto explains, it started when he and Chihiro were walking around the first floor, planning to find and talk to everyone Chihiro had yet to disclose his secret to.

After they had spoken to Owada, Chihiro went to talk with Ishimaru alone - Ishimaru, who was so rule-abiding and careful that no one would assume him to be of any danger - and that was how he died. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, and completely by accident.

Owada was the one who found the body, and to protect his friend, who was reeling from shock, he concocted a story as he wrapped the corpse in a cloth and mopped up the blood. To claim that he killed Chihiro, that Taka was merely injured, and therefore protect his friend from harm.

It was during this time that Fukawa was in the library, making her own confession, before Byakuya’s swift rejection sent her fleeing. As she went down the first floor, she saw the body, and with the cord that was tangled around her ankle, she strung it up outside the library door in a poor likeness of Syo’s handiwork. In some twisted display of vengeance, or a demand for attention, or something; and when it was done, overwhelmed by the blood and exhausted by her own perseverance, she took the sheet to the bathroom with her and collapsed, where Kirigiri found her moments later.

Byakuya listens to him explain it through a fog, feeling distant from it all. As if he was merely observing it from behind a broken, filthy screen, the sounds tinny and the visuals shot. He watches as Owada clings to Ishimaru, screaming for mercy at Monokuma’s feet. He watches as Ishimaru is dragged ruthlessly away anyway, behind the steel doors of the execution chamber.

He watches the execution, from behind a glass window. Ishimaru standing in a gleaming white car, the sunroof pulled down, driving through a street lined with the black-and-white shapes of more Monokumas, cheering indistinctly as confetti rains around him. The Monokuma in the seat next to him is holding a sign, lifting his arm to make him wave, poking his cheek to make him smile.

There’s a loud crack, and Ishimaru seems to stumble, a bloom of blood on the shoulder of his white uniform. But he doesn’t fall; he must be held up by some kind of mechanism or another, because a moment later he’s upright again, still being forced to wave, to smile, even as the cheering turns to jeers and he starts being pelted with what looks like rotten fruit, the dark red shapes of tomatoes smashing against his head. Another gunshot, and this time it’s his leg, a large, dark spot in his thigh. Another, in his stomach, and he seems to cough a little, blood trickling from his mouth.

There must be a microphone or something pinned to Ishimaru’s collar, because Byakuya can hear his breathing, harsh and labored, pitched with fear. The whimpering he can’t quite suppress, the jumps in his throat as he tries to swallow. And, the quiet whisper, barely audible behind the shouting, the gunshots, the noise of it all -

‘I’m sorry-

The final shot is a thunderous noise accompanied by a sudden, gaping pit between his eyes. He slumps, and the scene stills at last; the crowd stops yelling, the car freezes in its tracks. The lights go off, plunging Ishimaru’s lonely form into darkness.

And through it all, Owada never stopped screaming once.

Byakuya tears his eyes away, holding onto the railing of the stand to keep from falling as he steps down. It’s a similar scene as the aftermath of the last trial, everyone either comforting each other or wallowing in their own grief, and Monokuma giggling over them.

“Oh, oh, oh! That was good! Not even ol’ John could’ve done it better!” It sings, dancing between them. “I got a little antsy earlier when you called for the vote the first time, but you all pulled through with fly-ing colors!! Amazing performance! Especially that last confession, I was so moved!” It cackles, twirling and landing right next to Owada, who was on his knees, hands plastered against the window as if praying. “Such a lovely display of friendship at the end there, or was it really friendship? Whatever the case, the bond between men sure is something! I don’t think I’ve ever seen - whoops!”

Owada had grabbed him, and now rises with the bear dangling between his hands. His arms are trembling like Monokuma’s the heaviest thing he’s ever held.

“You,” He hisses, and his voice is wet and choked through. “If it wasn’t for you- if it wasn’t for you-!”

“Puhu, do you ree-ally want to do this, Mister Owada? Didn’t you learn your lesson on the first day of school?” Monokuma swings its feet in the air. “I’d hate to punish you after that amazing show-”

“I don’t care.” He spits. As Byakuya draws closer, he can hear the quiet splat of fat tears, striking the floor. “I don’t care, you killed him- I should tear you to pieces right now-”

And he stops, as Byakuya places a hand on his elbow. “Put it down.”

He’s sure that the face Owada is giving him is positively murderous. “Why should I,” he snarls, and his words are still thick with grief. “The fucker-”

“Even if you break this one, another one will take his place. And there’s probably countless replacements.” Byakuya sighs. What was he doing? He wasn’t sure himself. “What are you planning to accomplish? Other than a very messy suicide?”

“You bastard-” He drops Monokuma, who lands with a squeak, and grabs Byakuya instead, hoisting him by the collar. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What does it matter to you if I die?” His last words sound less like a threat and more like a genuine question.

Instead of immediately replying, Byakuya casts a glance over his shoulder. Only a few people were watching them, the rest too preoccupied by their own misery. “...Take a look. There’s only so many of us left.” Byakuya looks back to Mondo, and even through the haze, he can see his face is pinched into a look of anguish. ”Did you hear what his last words were? Because I did.”

The grip on his shirt slackens, and his feet meet stable ground again. He pushes Owada’s limp hands away. “I don’t care if you want to die. But take responsibility at least.” He glares at him, his kneeling form. “We can’t leave until everyone’s on the elevator, so stand up and walk.”

There’s a part of him that wants to berate Owada - to tell him that Ishimaru likely never wanted his help in the first place, that all he accomplished was unnecessary strife - but such a thing doesn’t sit right with him. That would be the actions of someone petty and sore, a pathetic loser who couldn’t let it go; and right now, all Byakuya wants to do is sleep.

He steps onto the elevator. Celeste is already there, poised as ever, as is Yamada, who is mumbling unhappily to himself. Kirigiri and Makoto join them shortly after.

Makoto balks slightly when he sees Byakuya, tripping at the threshold with a yelp. But he straightens up quickly, glances around, and slowly, hesitantly, walks to Byakuya’s side. “Um…”

“Be silent.” He snaps. Makoto recoils instantly. “Do not speak to me. The deal is null.”

“Byakuya-”

He turns away, focusing on the metal grates of the elevator walls. The wires are bent into some kind of honeycomb pattern, though it’s not like Byakuya could make out exactly what.

He half-expects Makoto to say something more, but the elevator ride up is silent and still.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #byakuya togami #danganronpa fanfiction #my beta reader called me sick for including that microphone in the execution but to be fair i think monokuma did that. for 'accessibility'#hiii roman btw!! <33 #this chap was soooo fun to write tbh i loved writing the execution...sorry to the fans #the execution was based of the original unused execution concepts btw!#idk what it was called originally but in my head im calling it 'motorcade in the plaza' (jfk reference)#also whoah shit an on-time upload? amazing #im so proud of myself honestly bc im also laid up in bed rn with awful awful chest and tummy pains #im ok btw its da flu + cold + weird ribcage etc etc #i might not update for a while after this i gotta focus on some irl stuff...will do my best to return soon tho!!!

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