#Portfolio Management Assignment

[financehelpdeskforall]

Applying One-Stage Dividend Discount Model to Real Portfolio Management Assignment Problems

Understanding the One-Stage Dividend Discount Model (DDM)

There are many models in finance to value a company’s stock depending on its future dividends, including the One-Stage Dividend Discount Model (DDM). This model operates under a simple premise: that values a stock as the value of all the future dividends assuming the growth rate of the dividends is constant. In other words, according to the Dividend Discount Model, the value that a firm has for an investor equals the present value of future cash flows in the form of dividends. The formula for the One-Stage DDM is:

Where:

P0​ is the current stock price

D1​ is the expected dividend for the next period

r is the required rate of return (cost of equity)

g is the constant growth rate of dividends

In the case of portfolio management, One-Stage DDM is very essential for students to understand since, it offers a basic view of equity valuation, and hence, students can be able to judge whether the particular stock is undervalued or overvalued based on the future dividend. Incorporated into real portfolio management problems the DDM gives students an accurate and mathematically correct way to make investment decisions. To tackle such a complicated model can be overwhelming. By opting for portfolio management assignment help, the students will be able to develop a deeper understanding of the application of the model including examination of other assumptions and ways of amending the model to tackle different markets or company situations thereby enhancing their problem-solving skills.

One-Stage DDM and its Role in Portfolio Management

The one-stage Dividend Discount Model is significant in portfolio management because it establishes a direct link between dividends and stock price that investors seek. For students working on assignments or projects related to portfolio management, this model offers an obvious approach for estimating a company’s real value and that is especially helpful in the case of stable dividend-paying companies such as utility companies or blue-chip stocks. It can be specifically useful in managing long-term capital appreciation investment plans where both the dividend income and its growth are given prime importance.

In the case of students working on their research projects and assignments, the One-Stage DDM can act as an initial frame of reference for the construction of more refined and advanced models of valuation. The One-Stage DDM is particularly useful as an introductory tool when learning the concept of stock valuation before going through other more advanced models or methods such as DCF analysis. Knowing more about how this model works in the real working environment can equally provide an opportunity to learn how the interest rate, inflation consideration, as well as company growth potential, influence the prices of stocks.

Getting our portfolio management assignment helps facilitate students in digging deep into these topics for a comprehensive understanding. They can find out how the model is used in various situations like firms experiencing high growth where the future growth in dividend cannot be ascertained or firms with fluctuating dividend policies.

Applying the One-Stage Dividend Discount Model to Real Portfolio Management Problems

The best way to demonstrate the efficacy of the One-Stage DDMs is to work through the portfolio management problems with it. Below are the examples of how students can apply this model to their assignment together with the steps:

1. Identifying Stable, Dividend-Paying Companies

The One-Stage DDM is most appropriate for firms that have stable and sustainable dividend policies throughout the estimated years. For example, utility firms, telecoms, and firms in the consumer products industry provide good examples of consistent and increasing dividends and are usually a reference for the DDM.

Example: Take for instance Coca-Cola (KO) company, which has consistently paid its dividends. For fiscal year 2024, the company’s dividend payout is about 3.1%, while the annual rate of dividend hikes is around 5%. If we assume the required rate of return for Coca-Cola's stock is 8%, students can calculate its theoretical stock price using the DDM formula:

From the same we get the stock price of Coca-Cola to be around $ 61.33 from dividend alone. This explains how, using the One-Stage DDM, one will arrive at a present value that can be compared to the stock’s current market price in order to determine more specifically whether the stock is presently trading at a discount or premium to the company’s value.

2. Calculating the Amount of Required rate of return(r)

Consistent with earlier discussions of the DDM, r is a major determinant of the stock price calculation and is therefore a key consideration. In this case, the rate is often forecast by the capital asset pricing model (CAPM) which takes into account the risk-free rate of return, the beta of the stock in question, and the expected return from the market. In real assignments, students also use historical data to estimate r and then implement in the selected company.

For example, if the student is doing a portfolio project and decides to work on a company such as Duke Energy (DUK) which pays stable dividends and has comparatively less volatility. With the help of the CAPM, they assume the cost of equity is 6 percent, and a dividend growth rate of 3 percent. This can be used in the DDM formula to value for Duke Energy’s stock.

3. Model Sensitivity to Growth Rate Assumptions 

The growth rate (g) is usually a difficult one to assess though is very important when using it to compute the stock value. In DDM, even a small difference in growth rate can significantly affect the form of the stock prices.

Example: For this analysis let us assume that a student is analyzing Procter & Gamble (PG). If the dividend growth rate is assumed to be 4%, with a required return of 7%, and a next-year dividend of $3.15, the stock price calculation is:

However, if the growth rate assumption is adjusted slightly to 3%, the price drops significantly:

Using this example, students learn how volatile the One-Stage DDM is to the changes in growth assumptions and how they must analyze historical growth trends and company potential to make proper adjustments.

4. Limitations and Real-World Adjustments

The One-Stage DDM, however, is quite easy to apply; nevertheless, some limitations could occur when applying this model, especially in cases when the company does not pay dividends regularly, or when the growth rate fluctuates. Students are required to look at other models like the two-stage DDM or else use others such as Discounted Cash Flow (DCF) where the emphasis is not on dividends but cash flows of the firm as a whole.

Advantages of receiving Portfolio Management Assignment Help to the learners

Portfolio management is a course that challenges students with complex financial models, complicated case analyses, and tough mathematical problems. This is where Portfolio Management Assignment Help plays the key role, providing organized and comprehensive guidance on the relevant concepts and ways to solve assignment tasks. Not only do students get help with particular tasks for which they seek assistance but they get exposure to adequate knowledge with the bonus of learning how to apply such theories in practicable investment scenarios. Our service provides clear definitions, problems with solutions, and valuable tips on subjects that may be more challenging for some students working on specific topics, such as risk analysis, diversification strategies, and valuation models, which can take the learning experience to a better level.

Using our service, customers have a chance to get personalized assistance from our finance specialists. Students receive guidance on complex topics such as the Dividend Discount Model (DDM) the Capital Asset Pricing Model (CAPM), Modern Portfolio Theory (MPT), or even the frontier analysis. The kind of teaching method we employ makes it possible for a student to understand a concept that he or she may have a lot of trouble grasping.

Besides the theoretical aspects, we create meaningful learning experiences that develop practical skills in students. When extend our services, we use tools like Excel to run a live simulation of the training portfolio, calculate expected returns, risk metrics, and the optimal mix of the assets. Some of the topics we cover include the concept of diversification, risk-return relationship, stock selection methods in portfolios, and tasks in portfolio management allowing students to meet real-world challenges. This not only makes them qualify for in-class work but also fits well in the competency and skills required in the job market, especially the financing industry.

We also help students with computational assignments that include investment portfolio management, efficiency analysis, sensitivity analysis, Monte Carlo simulations as well as other computational techniques such as beta determination, Sharpe’s ratio, portfolio stress testing, etc. From simple linear regression analysis used in the analysis of stock performance to the knowledge of more advanced bond measures such as duration and convexity, our expert assistance guarantees the student expresses a good understanding of tools used in portfolio management.

With our Portfolio Management Homework Help, students will be able to handle their assignments effectively as well as their case studies concerning the subject and increase their level of knowledge needed to succeed in this competitive subject area.

Conclusion

In the process of solving real portfolio management problems using the One-Stage Dividend Discount Model, students can apply their theoretical learning. The evaluations carried out to advance the DDM for use by students in stock selection require aggregate dividend payments, growth rate adjustments, and the required rate of return on the stock. By availing portfolio management assignment writing enables the learners to gain different insights and enable them to understand how portfolio management works in various financial environments. It also provides them with knowledge of improved methods to solve DDM and its related models in various firms that can improve their comprehensiveness during the class and prepare them for practical financial challenges.

Textbooks for Further Reading

1.            “Investments” by Zvi Bodie, Alex Kane, and Alan Marcus: This textbook offered a sufficient background for portfolio management students as well as a detailed discussion of the Dividend Discount Model and Other Valuation Approaches.

2.            “Principles of Corporate Finance” by Richard Brealey, Stewart Myers, and Franklin Allen: A great reference for learning about financial models and valuation techniques and actual implementation of the DDM.

[orcelito]

I think that. When you are on 2 hours of sleep. You shouldn't have any other bad experiences. As a rule

I got half frozen on my way home today. And I feel quite significantly awful. Want to just crawl into my bed and shiver away in my blankets. But I have to shower and eat first. I'm warming up, but my fingers are still kind of burning. I feel Not Good.

[miodiodavinci]

woughh,,,,, busy,,,,,,,,,

[financehelpdesk2024]

Struggling with portfolio management assignment help? Learn key risk analysis steps, from identification to mitigation, and master smart investment strategies!

[babyjinsu]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ paparazzi ꒱ ˎˊ˗

sunghoon x idol fem!reader || 4.3k

౨ৎ consensual sex, stalking, one mention about starving (oh you know idols...), non-consensual pictures taking (non-sexual), reader is lowkey depressed, slight angst if you squint, alcohol, loss of virginity, cumshot, sunghoon cums on your face, he's a creep, death, drowning, probably more but i don't know how to tag this...

sunghoon thought your biggest mistake was auditioning at a newly-built company, instead of a popular one just because they were controversial. 

the industry loves controversy. they fed on it. you thought you were being clever—thought you were avoiding the long lines of future idols at the big names. you didn’t realise a no-name company wouldn’t fight for you once things got hard. wouldn’t protect you. wouldn’t last. 

you looked like you haven’t slept for days. 

the company he worked under didn’t even know your name when his manager brought you up. you were just the center girl from a viral fancam—the clip got passed around in online forums not because of your dancing—but the way your top had slipped slightly and someone in the crowd had zoomed in too far. 

assigned, dispatched, paid. 

“group’s on its last leg,” he continued. “no official statement yet, but they’re disbanding pretty soon,” mr. baek hummed, his fingertips drumming against the wooden desk. “but some of the bigger companies are sniffing around. especially her.” 

sunghoon leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowed to look properly. you’re pretty—as expected from an idol. this girl had that something soft and severe at the same time. a pretty girl who didn’t know how pretty she was—the stylists didn’t do a good job in pushing you to your full potential look-wise. 

“name’s yn, i don’t think she uses any stage names,” his manager said, almost offhandedly. “she’s the one they want. not sure how this small company bagged her first. they said she’s got better offers lined up—and we want a portfolio for when she jumps.” 

“a portfolio?” 

“yeah. if she gets bought, the new company will pay a fortune for clean, rare shorts of her pre-transfer. nothing explicit—just some candid shots. you know the drill, park.”

sunghoon exhaled through his nose, his fingers pressed to massage his temples. it all sounded so dull and predictable and boring. “why not send one of the new guys?” he asked, shifting in his seat. “they’d love young idols to stalk. i specialised in scandals, not idol fluff shit.” 

his manager shrugged, placing a stick of cigarette between his two lips. “c’mon,” he chuckled. “they don’t have your eyes. you can get the kind of shots that feel intimate, ya know?” sunghoon stared at the image a little longer. you were standing slightly turned from the others, a hair’s breadth of space between you and your member. 

this was just one of the things sunghoon had to do in his field of work. at least, this was slightly easier than having to dig up information for a new scandal—this one’s just following around and pressing finger on the shutter. sounds easy enough. 

you didn’t even have any bodyguards around to protect you.

sunghoon hadn’t planned to take his job so seriously. it was supposed to be easy money.

but now, looking at you through his viewfinder—squatting on the curb and running your hand through your locks—sunghoon found himself pausing. 

you weren’t like the other idols sunghoon had seen on his coworker’s desks—you weren’t polished. messy, slipping through the cracks—pretty in a way that’s accidental. 

he held his breath without meaning to. your eyes darted to the side to fight the urge to cry, tiny tension creased between your brows. 

he zoomed in on your face.

a few strands of dyed hair clung to your lips, your eyes were red, skin dull and tired. sunghoon watched as you blinked slowly, like you were about to break in the prettiest way. 

click—

pretty, sunghoon thought again—but he didn’t mean solely your face. the expression of mixed vulnerability and defiance that you had on—the kind of attractive people missed if they solely looked for beauty.

sunghoon lowered the camera slightly, blinking against the residual imprint of your face on the viewfinder. his body didn’t move to leave just yet.

he took another shot just in case.

——

“hey, mr. baek’s calling for ya,” his coworker said. 

sunghoon sighed, “yea, okay.”

he already knew what the old man wanted—pictures, updates, progress shots of that sunghoon wasn’t slacking off.

mr. baek’s door was half-open. he barely looked up from his phone when sunghoon stepped in. 

“well?”

sunghoon forced a nod, sliding a usb across the desk. “got some shots outside of the studio, and a few from last weekend. she was out with the rest of the girls.” 

his manager finally looked up. “any buzz yet? forums? comments?”

“just some. fans said she looked tired.” 

“nice. you send those to min-kyu, he’s prepping a piece about underdogs making it out of flop groups. tragedy-porn.” he let out a chuckle like it’s funny, shaking his head before leaning it back against the headrest. 

back at his desk, sunghoon plugged in a backup drive and opened the folder titled—deliverables. the images were all tagged green, clean and safe. you laughing with your members, stylists pinning your outfit backstage—normal. pretty. usual.

but before transferring them, he paused.

his cursor hovered over another folder—one he hadn’t named yet. just a string of random numbers. inside were the other shots—

the raw ones. 

a silhouette behind cheap, sheer white curtains, your body just barely visible as you pulled your shirt over your head—the shape of your back, the roundness of your pretty covered breasts, the curve of your waist down to your hips, the slope of your neck—they were all visible to his eyes. 

your fingers combing through damp hair in a dimly-lit room, one where you had forgotten to properly bind your curtains together and leaving a tiny gap in between—just enough for sunghoon to see you applying lotion over your bare legs. 

the pictures weren’t taken on instinct. he’d waited. stood on the opposite rooftop for forty-five minutes in the wind with the shutter off and the light adjusted. these were chosen.

a sickness bloomed in the pit of his stomach every time he opened the folder. not guilt, for sure—but something hungrier. 

sunghoon knew he shouldn’t keep them—in fact, he should’ve given these ones instead to mr. baek—this was enough for sunghoon to receive his payment and move to another project, but no—

these pictures—they were just for his eyes.

 ——

you didn’t hear it from official mouths. the rumours slipped through cracks and half-whispers in makeup rooms and trailing after stylists’ side-eyes. they cling to the silence your manager gave when you asked too many questions.

“are we disbanding?” you’d said earlier that morning. the girls never asked except for you. 

your manager looked at you like you’d asked something ridiculous. “no one said anything about that, yn,” he replied, too quickly—with a roll of eyes. “let’s focus on the upcoming schedule, yeah?” 

but there was no upcoming schedule. there was no comeback, no showcase, no nothing. neither you nor the girls had brands booking or scheduled photoshoots. 

you couldn’t take it anymore. everything that you’ve worked for—the sleepless nights and the degrading stages, the stomach you had to starve flat to fit in extra extra small clothes. was that all for nothing? had your efforts gone down the drain like it meant nothing?

so you stood, and left the practice room. 

walking straight out the side exit of the building, you pulled your hoodie over your head. you didn’t bother with the mask or the sunglasses—you were a nobody anyway. not a normal citizen, nor anybody famous. just something in between, not belonging anywhere. 

and that’s how you ended up in a small, run-down bar—the kind that didn’t need cards or ask questions. just a counter, a couple of stools, and dull old rock songs humming through worn-out speakers. 

you slid into the farthest corner, tapping your fingertips against the wooden bar. you weren’t even sure what to order—you’ve never been here. but it didn’t matter, anything would do. you just needed something to sit on your tongue and keep your mind distracted. 

the bartender barely looked up to you when he took your order.

so irrelevant.

by the time you knew it, on your second drink, someone slid into the seat beside you. you didn’t look at him at first—just caught the way his sleeve brushed the counter, and the faint smell of his cologne. clean. expensive.

“run away?” he said after a moment, voice low and casual.

you slowly glanced at him from the corner of your eyes, barely turning your head. he had a black cap on, face angled down, his eyes half in shadow—but he didn’t look threatening. 

“is it obvious?”

he gave a slight shrug, lips curling like he was trying not to smile. “sunghoon.” 

you blinked, the name taking a second to settle. it’s a nice name—an even nicer face once you’ve had a good look at him. sharp nose, two moles on his face, thick-dark brows… if you weren’t an idol yourself, you would’ve mistaken him for one.

“okay,” you muttered, turning your glass slowly on the counter. “i’m not telling you mine.”

“that’s fine.” sunghoon chuckled, his lips curled into a teasing smile as he nodded his head.

he said he worked freelance, “in production”. you didn’t press, he didn’t ask about your either. that helped.

you weren't usually like this. you didn’t flirt with strangers and you didn’t talk like this—you blamed it on the alcohol. but tonight, your life didn’t feel like yours anyway. it was crumbling, any second now, it’d turn into nothing.

the two of you talked until the bar dimmed its lights, until your hands started brushing when you reached for your drinks. “i don’t wanna go home—” you told him. sunghoon didn’t offer a solution. he paid the tab, stood up, and—

”do you wanna go back to mine?”

——

you’re so soft in all the right places.

the thought pulses through sunghoon’s head like a fever dream—unshakeable. every time his hands move along your curve, it finds something new to worship. from the dip of your waist, the slope of your neck, the way your breath catches when he touches you like that. 

everything feels so overwhelming—you blame it on the alcohol. maybe it’s the way your body responds like it’s been touch-starved of warmth and comfort. of reassurance. maybe you needed this—an escape from the harsh reality that you might be a no-name when tomorrow comes. 

“fuck, baby,” sunghoon pulls away to catch a breather, his lips are swollen, eyes glassy, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. you’ve never been kissed the way he did, they were all innocent back when you were in high school. but this?

this man who hovers just enough above you pressed his mouth to yours like it would anchor him had the world burn down on you. it’s rough, too many teeth and tongue involved—but it doesn’t hurt.

your chest rises too fast. your limbs feel heavy, warm, boneless. it’s not just lust with sunghoon—it’s the weight of something else pressing against your ribs. 

sunghoon’s forehead rests against yours for a moment, his breath coming out shaky. you’re not sure what he’s seeing in you when he looks at you with that sharpness in his eyes. 

“mh,” you let out a soft moan as he latches his teeth onto your neck to leave marks and bites on them. his teeth graze the sensitive skin, slow and deliberate. you feel it—the faint bloom of pain beneath the heat. a mark, a bite, and another.

he doesn’t bother asking if he’s even allowed to—and you’re not about to tell him of your failing career. your failing idol career. frankly, the whole shit isn’t even occupying your mind at the moment. 

his mouth maps a trail along your throat like a brand, staking invisible flags in places no one else can touch—or even see. your fingers twitch against the sheet, head tips back instinctively, “oh—no, mh, not too much…”

sunghoon doesn’t pull away because you asked him to—he only pulls away to admire the damage like it’s art. your body’s a canvas, he’s the artist, and his teeth are paint and brush. “you’re so beautiful.” he praises, his chest rising in a soft, and slow manner. 

you shake your head, instinctively bringing your hands up to cover your flushed face. despite being an idol and so exposed to the public, you oddly feel more bare now than you ever have on stage. and it’s not because of the fact that you’re naked beneath him.

“no, don’t,” he says, his voice gentler now. sunghoon leans in to brush your hands away slowly. his eyes hold that shimmering awe like he can’t believe you’re real. as if he’s already catalogued every detail of you but still wants more.

“i don’t think you know you do to me.” he whispers, shifting and angling himself properly in between your legs. sunghoon’s hands trail down your thighs until he lifts your legs and places them gently around his hips.

his hand wraps around the base of his throbbing, pulsing cock with his pre-cum dripping down. sunghoon swallows down the lump in his throat as he watches your sweet, wet cunt twitching and pulsing. “‘m gonna fuck you deep now,” he says, looking down as his cock slides between your folds, smothering the head of his cock with your fluid. 

you nod—almost eagerly. you’re sure it’d be a tight fit, but you can’t bring yourself to care. “please be gentle,” you whine, feeling the tip of his cock brushing against your bundle of nerves. sunghoon doesn’t reply—he can’t assure you he’ll be the man you want him to be for the night; but he nods nonetheless. he can’t risk having you dip halfway.

slowly, sunghoon bucks in. he slides his cock inside of you, watching in awe and disbelief (in the best way possible) that he’s stretching open the pussy of the idol he stalks through his lens. through glass, fences, distance—whatever separates him from his subject. 

you don’t hold back from the sensual, whiny moan that leaves your lips—he’s long, and he’s big—you feel him against your velvety, slippery walls. “oh—oh my god, oh,” you breathe out, shutting your eyes tightly and tilting your head back. it’s almost painful how slow and gentle sunghoon’s going that your pussy aches for more. 

inch by inch, sunghoon buries his cock fully inside of your pussy, the head of his cock kisses your cervix. “fuckk,” he grunts, guttural sound deep in his chest as his shoulders drop—relaxing like he’s finally done it. your warmth washes over and spreads through him like something medicinal. he breathes in deep. 

“baby,” he groans, gripping the sides of your hips as he starts to buck his hips back and forth. you’re gripping around him like vice, like you don’t want to let go of him either. “hngh,” you moan, toes curling, back arching off the mattress as you writhe beneath him. it’s uncomfortable—the way sunghoon starts picking up his pace in fucking your virgin pussy.

he buries his cock deep in your cunt, and with each thrust, you feel his hips hitting yours, “fuck, you’re just so fucking pretty, aren’t you—?” sunghoon gazes down at your face, his eyes travel down to your body—the way your perky tits just bounce so prettily and so behavedly, then down at your glistening pussy welcoming him. he’s loving the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you. your juice coats his cock nicely, acting as a lubricant. 

he tugs on his bottom lip as he pounds into you, both your bodies slick with sweat despite the cold aircond—his nails take their turn to dig into your skin, gripping you tightly and ensuring you don’t move. 

not like you can anywhere—

“m, more! oh god,” you gasp, voice cracking at the edges. so lost in the sensation and pleasure you don’t even realise you’re crying. so overwhelming. tears slip from the corners of your eyes as your body’s short-circuiting from how much it feels. every system nerve of yours is alive, raw and sensitive.

sunghoon notices before you do. he always does. 

his pace falters, almost—for a heartbeat before it goes back faster. his gaze lifts to your face, watching the shine along your lashes. he brings his hands up, thumbs brushes your cheeks slowly, catching one tear. then another. 

“look at you,” he breathes, his voice low. “my pictures don’t do you justice.” sunghoon says as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. you don’t catch what he’s saying—not when he has his cock slamming hard and desperate against your cervix. his pace quickens, balls slapping against your skin with his rigorous pounding. 

you feel a bundle of nerves forming and spreading at the bottom of your stomach—from the way the bulge of his cock is visible through your abdomen. “‘hoon, sunghoon, you’re too deep—” you mumble, mind fuzzy and blurry. your walls clench around him, eyes shut in pure ecstasy. 

sunghoon doesn’t slow—he only continues to abuse your soft skin with his sharp and unforgiving teeth,  his mouth pressing against the blade of your shoulder, then your collarbone. each mark yells a silent declaration—that you’re his’.

your body twitches under him, overstimulated and strung out. he groans low in your ear. the way you’re contracting and fluttering around his cock, the delicious sound of your cries and whimpers confirms something—that it’s not enough to be inside you. he wants to be on you, under your skin, and etched into you. 

he’ll never be able to watch from behind the lens again. 

the hot pulsating sensations of your velvet walls squeezing his cock pushes sunghoon to his limit—by the looks of it, you are too. “fuck, pretty, i’m cumming,” he breathes out, hand travels down to fondle your clit lovingly. “yeah—please, i can’t take it anymore,” you squeal, tilting your head to the other side. 

his lips curl into a smirk as he slams his cock against your g-spot that has you seeing the milky way—toes curling, arms wrapping around sunghoon’s neck as he impales you with his cock. 

sunghoon loses his rhythm as his thrusts go sloppy, desperate cock twitching inside you. he thursts hard once, twice, three times, then four before grunting as he immediately pulls out before he bursts with his cum leaking out of your hole—he can’t have you going on hiatus for nine fucking months. not yet.

“fuck—” he groans, voice strained as he shifts forward. his knees plant on either side of your face, caging you in completely, the muscles in his thighs flexing under your fingertips. sunghoon aims his cock right at your face as he pumps and strokes rapidly with his hand. 

the first jets of his cum shot out violently and lands prettily on your face—then down to your chest. “fuck, fuck, fuck—” sunghoon moans as his cock throbs in his palm as he encapsulates his fingers around it. he gasps, body spasming as he releases all over your face—the final spurts of his semen. 

sunghoon’s chest rises and falls quickly, sweat beading along his skin as he tilts his head back. he lets out a groan out of satisfaction and pleasure. “wow that was…” when he looks down, his breath catches.

you’re still.

eyes closed, lips parted just slightly with a string of his cum in between your parted lips. your face flushed and damp with heat and his semen. it’s caught in your lashes, brows, and some on your hair. so pretty. so fucked and fuckable.

he would’ve gone for a second round if you were conscious. 

“...yn?” he says, more to himself than you. his hands hovers over your cheek, spreading his cum across your cheek. you don’t respond. sunghoon lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his head. you’re so pretty like this too. 

sunghoon just watches your for a stretched-out moment—his breath shallows. 

then slowly, he lifts his hands.

thumb and index fingers curl into L-shapes, mirroring each other—framing your cum-stained face like a camera lens. 

the way you look now, under him is a once-in-a-million-years type of view. the way his lovebites red-and-purple litter along your soft skin—proof of belonging, and his cum splattered on your face too.

his eyes squint slightly, head tilting as if he’s adjusting a focus that isn’t there. 

“...click,” he murmurs, barely audible as his fingers hold the frame steady around your face.

not in a playful manner—this isn’t innocent. 

sunghoon stares through the invisible square like he’s committing you to his memory. slowly. he lowers his hand, but his eyes never leaving your face. 

“this one’s just for me,” he whispers, leaning down to place a soft, chaste kiss on your lips. 

he’s finally captured what he’s been chasing all along.

——

“park, you don’t need to take any more pictures,” 

the words drift over sunghoon like they weren’t about to rip out the only thing tethering sunghoon to sanity. he blinks, slow and he doesn’t answer right away.

“you listenin’?” he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “you’re good. it’s done! big company’s ready to buy the whole fuckin’ portfolio. good job, you did your job well.” he chuckles, shaking his head—the company’s stupid to fall into the scam.

sunghoon’s hand tightens on his mouse. he doesn’t feel the slightest sting of satisfaction he usually would. he’s promised to get paid higher this time—but there’s nothing left to chase in that sentence. he has no purpose. 

“...yeah, got it.” he mumbles. the back of his neck prickles. 

“mm, don’t waste more time on her,” his boss adds, not unkindly. just matter-of-fact. “look up on that rumour about some homewrecking bitch and that a-list actor,” he continues, rolling his eyes like he’s stressing out. he doesn’t even need to lift a finger for a living shit. 

move on.

sunghoon waits until his manager disappears down the hall before exhaling sharply through his nose, his knuckles whitening. 

move on?

he stares blankly at his screen. the article confirming of your group’s disbandment written by his colleague. 

move on—?

he’s so far past that point, it almost makes him laugh. 

——

you don’t think you’d see him for a second time. 

not after that night—after the way you left without giving your name, or anything about you. not after all the chaos that followed: disbandment. 

you don’t turn around immediately despite the crunch of gravel beneath sneakers. the river glimmers beneath the moonlight. 

“i figured you’d be here,” 

your breath catches. you know that voice. slowly, you turn, cheeks damp with tears. “sunghoon? how did you—?”

he just shrugs like it’s nothing. there’s a small smile on his face. “you okay?” he asks, feigning softness. his hands bury in his pockets as he makes his way towards you calmly. 

you let out a bitter laugh, wiping your face with your sleeve. “yeah,” you nod, flashing him an idol smile. the one they taught you in social etiquette classes—when you have to fake it. chin up, corners lifted, no teeth.

 but sunghoon knows better. he always does.

he steps closer. not too fast but enough to cross your boundary. “you deserve better,” he says softly.

your lips twitch. “of what?” 

sunghoon tilts his head, eyes scanning you with a gentleness that doesn’t quite reach the tension in his jaw. “of this. you’re not something to be tossed and bought.” your breath hitches—you don’t even know him like that. you don’t even know his family’s name.

“i’m fine,” you say, voice thinning. “really.” 

his gaze doesn’t move. “no, you’re not.”

you take a small back, arms instinctively wrapping around your body in defense. “who are you?” 

“sunghoon.” he replies, soft smile still in place. “you know that.” 

the weight of his words doesn’t match the lightness of his tone. 

“...how did you even find me?” you finally ask the question that’s edging at the end of your tongue. it slips out before you allow yourself to—suspicion breaking through fatigue. 

his smile falters for half a second. he thought you’d be happy to see him. “lucky guess,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. 

the river behind you murmurs. the moonlight outlines the curve, the slump in your posture. you’re crying and you’re messy—but to sunghoon, you’re glowing and you’re raw. 

he takes another step forward. 

“i don’t want them to have you,” sunghoon murmurs, eyes gazing down on his sneakers. 

“what?”

he’s too close and you can’t take another step back. 

“if you go to them,” he continues. “you’ll be more popular. more loved. bigger than anything this world’s ever seen.” 

you blink at him, unsettled. brows knitting in confusion—what’s he talking about? 

“they’ll see you the way i do,” sunghoon murmurs to himself. “then they’ll want you.”

he lifts his head up—eyes searching your face, reverently, like he’s memorising it for the last time. “...i can’t let that happen.” 

your body stiffens. “sunghoon—?”

the ground shifts beneath you—not by itself, but by the same pair of hands that held you full of love a few nights ago. 

a shove—just enough.

your heel slips against the damp stone at the river’s edge. you reach out instinctively, for balance—for sunghoon—but there’s nothing for your fingers to grasp. your voice doesn’t escape your lips.

the cold hits you first. not the water, but the realisation. 

then comes the actual one, the freezing, fast, and full current. 

it wraps around you like hands, engulfing and dragging you under like death. your limbs flail, panic quickly setting in, but the water’s too strong—that it rips your breath from your lungs in bubbles.

above the surface, sunghoon stands. 

he watches in silence. still. 

not an expression out of sorrow nor joy—but peace.

the water swallows you whole. hair fanning like dark ink. the river hums a low, hungry tune like it’s doing sunghoon a favour.

because now, no one else will see you the way he did. no cameras, no stage lights, and no other eyes. 

just him.

because now, you belonged to the quiet where nothing could make you shed a tear anymore.

and with one last look at the ripples softening across the river’s skin, sunghoon lifts his fingers—index and thumb in the shape of a frame—and whispers again, 

“...click.”

the last who ever got to see you.

💭 wow honestly i'm not too sure what to feel about this... it might be a little crappy since i haven't written smut in quite some time tbh... i feel like this is darker? omg i don't know please don't come at me :x i hope you guys enjoy... i really like this one... i really like writing consensual intercourse compared to non-consensual ones...

and something about whatever genre this is...? psychological horror or something... oh wow i'm lowkey stunned? not sure how and what to feel so please let me know what you guys feel about this! thank u for reading <3

as usual, comments, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated <3

[vaguely-concerned]

nothing makes me roll my eyes quite like people making a big deal out of lucanis being 'the magekiller' while mostly being perfectly chill with mages in his personal life as if that's some huge objective flaw in the writing. like yeah it's his professional specialization not his personality or strongly held ideological conviction or anything. mages are tricky to kill and he's real good at it. that's why they pay him the big bucks. it's like saying a pest exterminator can only do his job if he's motivated by a deep personal vendetta waged against the entirety of rodentkind. the fact that he genuinely treats assassination like his 9-5 is, y'know. half of the whole guy, and this tracks with that wonderfully.

(honestly it's so perfect that the reason he specialized in that is, literally and canonically, that caterina looked over the books and went 'huh. we should diversify our murder portfolio, there's an untapped market here' and assigned it to him. he didn't even get to choose his own murder major, his grandmother decided that for him largely for straightforward economic reasons. dunno what to tell you, crows gonna crow. they're just merchant princes with extra knives at the end of the day, that is exactly why they'd make a choice like that, they're providing a service not going on crusades, even though lucanis manages to carve out some personal satisfaction in taking down especially shitty targets within that. I'm sorry you guys didn't get your angsty enemies to lovers arc or whatever but please understand that that only existed in your head to begin with and also that what we actually get here is infinitely funnier and MUCH more interesting, once you actually engage with the text earnestly. ssssh I didn't say that)

[trippinsorrows]

love lies

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

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

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

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

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

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

She should have broken it off a long time ago. 

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

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

Stay away from Roman Reigns.

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

Or, it was. 

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

Roman lost.

He lost. 

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

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

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

Something that felt and seemed inconceivable at the time.

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

She wonders if he still feels the same. 

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

Talk to her like that. It was…confusing. 

It all is, but especially that. 

Especially something so….personal. 

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

And, he always does. 

At one point or another. 

—-------

March, 2022

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

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

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

Or, at least, tried to.

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

Of course.

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

Go fucking figure.

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

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

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

Everything about him screamed power. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, I—”

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

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

The eyes of the Tribal Chief himself, Roman Reigns. 

—-------

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

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

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

She wasn’t his type. Too thin. 

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

But.

Alamea…she was most definitely his type. 

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

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

—------

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

Alamea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One he could absolutely learn to manage.

—-------

April, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna take this in a little more.”

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

“Man, you are magic, Lay Lay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled, “did you design this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—---------

May, 2022

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

Until then.

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

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

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

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

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

That was the hate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s just go.”

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

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

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

And, she was right.

It was just the two of them.

Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ….”

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

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

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

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

For this setting, at least. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s get out of here.”

—------

June, 2022

It’d become a routine really.

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

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

Always to her pleasure though. 

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

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

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

Except for her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, then it happened. 

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

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

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

What….the….fuck?

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

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

And with her. 

Peace with her. 

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

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

But.

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

—----------

July, 2022

“Does he eat pussy?”

“Mom!”

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not little, is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

Usually Martin or One Tree Hill. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If they could ever be more.

A dangerous line of thinking, for sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not what it could never be. 

—----------

July, 2022

It happened again.

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

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

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

“Tell me something about you.” 

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

And yet….

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

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

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

He chuckled. “Definitely not like you then.” 

“And my oldest sister, Paris—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t say anything after that. 

Neither did she.

—-------

November, 2022

Oh hot damn, this is my jam

Keep me partying 'til the AM

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

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

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

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

Jimmy was a good ass DJ.

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

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

Some mess, it certainly was. 

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

The group cheered, as Roman sighed heavily. 

Over his dead body. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were all a hot fucking mess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

On him.

Roman’s jaw clenched.

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

Wait, no. That wasn’t his name.

Fuck.

What was it?

Shmuel?

Yeah, that!

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

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

On his lap.

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

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

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

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

You wanna see some ass?

I wanna see sum cash

Keep dem dollars comin

And das gonna make me dance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, he didn’t.

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

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

But, Roman stopped him.

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

Paul left the Tribal Chief alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was this a part of your plan?

I don't really understand what to do

What to do with a boy like you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—------

December, 2022

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

But, that was exactly what she got.

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

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

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

Physically and emotionally. 

“Where the hell have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He fucking hated seeing her cry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-----

2023

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

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

It was an…adjustment for her, for sure.

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

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

In not the best ways.

Ways that were starting to directly impact his Bloodline.

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

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

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

Even if it was true. 

He still had Solo. Still had Jimmy.

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

If only she felt the same. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

—----------

2024

He never said goodbye. 

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

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

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

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

It was the one following Mania. 

His loss at Mania.

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was Jacob.

He was just fucking terrifying. 

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

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

At the head of the table.

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

Roman never showed up.

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

Never replied to any of her calls and texts. 

He’d completely abandoned them. 

Abandoned her.

And, he never even said fucking goodbye. 

—-------

August, 2024

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

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

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

She’d paled. 

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

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

Win the Undisputed Title from Cody Rhodes.

Roman’s title.

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

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

It was a common, shared understanding thing.

Not for Alamea. 

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

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

“Distract his ass!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Go to hell, Solo.”

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

Solo, however, he was enraged.

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

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

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

The hell you are.

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

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

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

But, it didn’t. 

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

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

But, then she saw it. 

She saw him, and he looked livid.

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

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

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

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

—---------

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

That she was finally done after that.

But, she can’t.

She can’t because that would be a lie. 

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

Sure. 

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

No. No, she was not alright.

“I’m fine.” 

A lie. A fucking lie.

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

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

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

You abandoned me.

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

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

Leaving me here.

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

That definitely didn’t help. 

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

He was silent.

“You think I don’t care?”

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

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

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

Divine.

He was divine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was too good at this.

Way too good.

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

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

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

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

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

It made her even wetter.

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

Damn you.

“You missed me?”

Her eyes widened. This bastard. 

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

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

Damn him.

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

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

It pained her to not have him.

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

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

He was too good. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only she was so lucky. 

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

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

It just worked.

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

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

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

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

“That’s it, baby. Take this dick.”

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

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

That wasn’t the problem.

Afterwards was the problem.

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

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

Or, something, at least.

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

They needed to talk. 

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

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

—-----------

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

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

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

“I’ve got this, Ally.”

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

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

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

Roman needed help.

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

Right when Roman needed him the most. 

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

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

“For you,” she mouthed. 

Because, she had. She did it for him.

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

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

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

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

A big problem. 

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

Except, they couldn’t find a fifth member.

Until they did.

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

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

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

If something held him back.

If someone.

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

This meant another match was needed. 

Just the two of them.

Roman vs Solo in Tribal Combat.

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

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

Seemed that way, at least.

—-------

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

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

Something important.

Something that was currently biting him in the ass.

The favor.

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

He was being screwed over.

Back to back. 

Punk eliminating him at the Rumble.

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

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

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

Betrayal.

Roman was being betrayed.

Again.

And this….this, he couldn’t ignore.

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

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

Cali things, apparently.

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

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

Not at first.

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

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

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

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

She frowned. “Roman…”

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

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

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

So what does that make me?

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

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

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

Do I not mean anything?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—----------

She needs to talk to him. 

Not a text. 

Not a phone call. 

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

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

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

Never to share with others except his Bloodline.

Whatever that means and looks like these days. 

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

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

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

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

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

Roman is gonna fuck him up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He...he deserves to know.

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

She frowns.

What the hell?

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

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

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

Never her though. 

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

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

“Who is that?”

Another voice.

Not hers. 

Definitely not Paul’s and most definitely female.

Familiar, too.

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

“Oh, nothing, just—”

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

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

“I said who is that, Paul?”

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

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

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

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

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

Her pregnant belly.

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

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

Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

[un-pearable]

its got colors and everything :) dont look at the fact i added another lesson component and made this longer dont l

my evil academic love affair with organizing every possible info into charts

[strwbrryeyes]

𖦹°｡⋆ asahi as a best friend

⟡ cw: fluff, friends to lovers, mentions of panic attack, lmk if i miss anything

⟡ a/n: skipping tanaka for now. also chose to do it where they're in different years bc why not. this is also kinda bad so sorry.

⟡ best friend series: nishinoya, tanaka, daichi, suga, yamaguchi, tsukishima, kageyama, hinata || masterlist

best friend asahi who you met your second year of high school and his third year when you saw him lurking around the corner of the volleyball gym.

best friend asahi who you got closer to when you found out who he was and dragged him into the gym since you saw it as your duty as karasuno's new manager to bring everyone together.

best friend asahi who introduced himself to you properly once everyone was accepting of him coming back to the team.

best friend asahi who nearly fainted when he found out you were noya's friend because he wasn't sure if he could handle two of him but you assured him you were different than noya (barely different tbh).

best friend asahi who automatically got attached to you because of your sweet and comforting vibes.

best friend asahi who was questioning his life choices when you and noya were fighting over his attention during a group sleepover.

best friend asahi who went over to your house the night before the team played with date tech because he was having a small panic attack due to the last time he played them.

best friend asahi who ended up falling asleep on your bed that night after an hour of crying on your shoulder. you ended up sleeping on the floor because you thought he needed space (also literally because there was not enough room on the bed for the both of you). you both were the tiniest bit late to the bus departing.

best friend asahi who automatically ran to you once he scored the winning point because you were the reason he felt motivated enough to try his best on the court.

best friend asahi who decided that the night before any important game, he would sleep over at your house, don't worry though, he brought a sleeping bag from now on.

best friend asahi who got teased by the other third years by how much time he was spending with you which made him realize how whipped he was for you.

best friend asahi who you helped apply for fashion school by modeling his clothes for his portfolio. he swears hes never seen someone as beautiful as you.

best friend asahi who you gave a giant bouquet of flowers right after graduation as a way to congratulate him for all hes done this year and how far hes come.

best friend asahi who was surprised that you were going to a college near his school after your own third but was happy because that meant he would get to see you regularly again.

best friend asahi who you moved in with once you started your own college journey because he 'needed a model that he can work with consistently'.

best friend asahi who had an assignment to make two matching outfits and let it slip that if he was your boyfriend he'd make more matching outfits because he liked the sight of it.

best friend asahi who froze in place when he realized what he said but unfroze when you asked 'wanna be my boyfriend then?' 'are you serious?'

best friend asahi who tripped over a mountain of fabric running to you when you said you were 100% serious and were tired of waiting for him to make a move.

best friend asahi who is now boyfriend asahi who lived up to his promise and made endless matching outfits for the two of you.

[mariacallous]

In her new book, Bad Company: Private Equity and the Death of the American Dream, journalist and WIRED alum Megan Greenwell chronicles the devastating impacts of one of the most powerful yet poorly understood forces in modern American capitalism. Flush with cash, largely unregulated, and relentlessly focused on profit, private equity firms have quietly reshaped the US economy, taking over large chunks of industries ranging from health care to retail—often leaving financial ruin in their wake.

Twelve million people in the US now work for companies owned by private equity, Greenwell writes, or about 8 percent of the total employed population. Her book focuses on the stories of four of these individuals, including a Toys “R” Us supervisor who loses the best job she ever had and a Wyoming doctor who watches his rural hospital cut essential services. Their collective experiences are a damning account of how innovation is being replaced by financial engineering and the ways that shift is being paid for by everyone except those at the top.

In a review of Bad Company for Bloomberg, a longtime private equity executive accused Greenwell of seeking out sad stories with inevitably “sad endings.” But the characters Greenwell selected don’t just sit back and watch as private equity devastates their communities. The book is a portrait of not only how the American dream is being eroded but also the creative tactics people are using to fight back.

Greenwell spoke to WIRED late last month about what private equity is and isn’t, how it has transformed different industries, and what workers are doing to reclaim their power.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

WIRED: What is private equity? How is the business model different from, say, venture capital?

Megan Greenwell: People confuse private equity and venture capital all the time, but it's totally reasonable that normal people don't understand the difference. Basically, the easiest way to explain the difference is that venture capital firms invest money, usually in startups. They’re essentially taking a stake in the company and expecting some sort of returns over time. They're also generally playing a significantly longer game than private equity.

But the way private equity works, especially with leveraged buyouts, which is what I focus on in the book, is they're buying companies outright. In venture capital, you put your money in, you're entrusting it to a CEO, and you probably have a board seat. But in the leveraged buyout model, the private equity firm really is the owner and controlling decider of the portfolio company.

How do private equity firms define success? What kinds of companies or businesses are attractive to them?

In venture capital, VCs are evaluating whether to make a deal based solely on whether they think that company is going to become successful. They are looking for unicorns. Is this company going to be the next Uber? Private equity is looking to make money off of companies in ways that don't actually require the company itself to make money. That is like the biggest thing.

So it’s less of a gamble.

It is very hard for private equity firms to lose money on deals. They're getting a 2 percent management fee, even if they're running the company into the ground. They're also able to pull off all these tricks, like selling off the company's real estate and then charging the company rent on the same land it used to own. When private equity firms take out loans to buy companies, the debt from those loans is assigned not to the private equity firm but to the portfolio company.

And so what you end up getting is that private equity is really attracted to companies where you don't have to play the long game. In fact, you don't want to play the long game, which means that you have no interest in doing the hard, slow work of improving a company's fundamentals. It is just not about improving the company at all. It is about, how do we extract money?

How did we get to this point where private equity is now taking over relatively large and diverse swaths of the economy, including veterinary clinics, brick-and-mortar retail stores, and all sorts of other businesses. What was the promise of this model?

Private equity started pretty small in the 1960s with what were then called “bootstrap deals,” essentially acquisitions of small, family-run companies that maybe showed promise for expansion but didn't have the capital necessary to grow. So in some ways it was more like venture capital, although it targeted established companies and not brand-new startups. This idea of growth at all costs then just expanded and expanded and expanded and started swallowing more and more and more things.

When did private equity start to peak?

There was a huge expansion of private equity in the 2010s for the same reason that venture capital exploded: There was a lot of cheap money out there, and cheap money is great for investors. We’ve seen private equity explore more industries over time, and usually that's because some policy change or broader economic trend all of a sudden makes a certain sector look like fertile ground for them.

What are some of the strategies that workers have used to fight back against private equity firms? Have they been successful?

What was interesting to me was not prescribing solutions but talking about what people are doing. The four characters in my book are all trying to do something about this in very different ways, and those range from fighting for regulation, to just going head-to-head directly with the private equity firm that upended their own life, to really trying to reinvent their industries from the ground up, which is something that is especially inspiring to me.

Do you have one that has stuck with you more than the others?

One example that I’ll talk about from the book is from the Toys “R” Us section. Public pension funds are a huge source of capital for private equity firms, and they typically have worker representatives on their boards. So if they're representing teachers and nurses and firefighters, there will be one or more people working in those professions serving on the pension fund board.

Toys “R” Us workers had this very smart idea that those folks would be more likely to be sympathetic to their cause than a bunch of billionaires would. So they started going around the country, standing in front of these pension fund boards and saying “here is how these private equity firms that you invest in have blown up our lives,” talking in really specific detail about things like how they couldn’t find jobs and were worried about feeding their families. The protagonist of that section of my book tells a story about how the members of one board just started peppering her with questions after she spoke in front of them.

Some people claim that private equity firms are the primary culprit behind broad economic problems such as income inequality and the housing crisis. Are they putting the blame in the right place?

I think by putting all of the blame on them, you end up undermining the criticisms about private equity firms that are more truthful. This is something that I thought really hard about how to do in the book, because I do think it's a mistake actually, but also strategically for people who want to see this system change, to attribute too much to them.

Right.

The first section of the book tells the story of how the four industries I write about—housing, hospitals, retail, and local media—got themselves into trouble in the first place. In all of those cases, the problems are so fundamental. And in many of those cases, the earlier business decisions were so bone-headed that they essentially opened the door and invited private equity to walk right in. I do think private equity is a villain in terms of the way they have taken advantage of these industries for their own gain, but it is absolutely true that they did not cause the problems.

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Overlock Stitch Part 3/?

Summary:

Viktor is just trying his best to survive his years as a student at the academy when a girl studying textiles suddenly begs him to let her tailor his uniform. She is right, it doesn't fit, but he isn't in the business of accepting charity from strangers. "Please?" She asks, "It would be fully anonymous on your part and we would both be better off." Then again, but with feeling, "please?" Viktor eyes her again and against his better judgement, presents an undeserved olive branch, "Will you be here tomorrow?" Her smile is so wide it almost makes him want to recoil. He wonders if her cheeks hurt.

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader

Word Count: 3,991

Read on AO3

She doesn't see Viktor for a few weeks after that, he came by to collect his uniform and allowed her to take her photos before offering little more than a curt 'thank you' and disappearing through the door. She tries her best not to be too hurt by this, after all, one forced, awkward interaction where she could accidentally stab him with a pin at any moment is not exactly the usual first step in making friends. Not that she has ever been good at following that particular rule-book anyway.

If she pokes her head out at the right time on Thursday she sometimes still catches him on his walk through the fine art wing. One time she was brave enough to wave at him, but he either didn't see her, or did and pretended he didn't. Regardless, she couldn't find the courage to try again. The few times she has seen him, she hasn't been able to resist admiring how utterly stunning he looks in his properly fitting uniform. She just hopes that is has helped somehow, that he gets fewer stares in the hallways and most importantly, that the alterations she made to his trousers make it easier for him to get ready in the mornings. Especially now that the cold outside is biting.

It's still another fortnight before her final assignment for the term is due and she has been working on cataloguing both photos and sketches for all the tailoring work she has done. It is mostly alterations made for her father, some fittings for classmates, one wedding dress alteration, and the work she did for Viktor. The photos of his uniform turned out nicely despite her difficulties getting the film into the camera. Her heart does perform a traitorous little flutter each time she glances at any of them, the photo of his waistline post-tailoring is especially perilous, she tries not to look at it.

It's early evening and the sun has already well set outside the academy, but she knows that she wont get any more work done if she goes back to her dorm. Her radiator has been playing up and she has been avoiding contacting academy maintenance about it for the last few months. She doesn't feel like she belongs here half the time already, the last thing she needs is the academy thinking she is some sort of nuisance. With how cold it is tonight, all she will manage to do back home is climb into bed. So she stays late in the warm textiles workshop, sketching and annotating in preparation for her assignment. It's also nice to have the place to herself, even for just a few hours. She is usually forced to engage in exhausting faux polite conversation with Eliza and her other classmates. It gives her a headache, makes her teeth hurt. She has grown quite comfortable in the silence, sitting in the low light of her worktable's lamp as she works to arrange her portfolio. So the sound of the door to the workshop opening has her yelping and knocking half her photos and sketches off the desk. She whips around, quickly trying to come up with a polite way to tell whatever classmate has interrupted her to get lost, only to freeze in place when she sees that it is Viktor lurking in the doorway.

"Hello!" She squeaks, immediately regretting everything about her delivery of the single word.

Viktor's brows draw together, "Hello. I-" His eyes dart down to the pile of photos at her feet, "I am sorry for startling you."

Oh. She hadn't been expecting an apology. A nervous giggle escapes her, "It's alright, really! I'm easily startled."

Viktor laughs too, it's warm and sounds surprisingly genuine, "Yes, you certainly are."

They both sit in a lingering, uncomfortable silence for a moment. She can't manage to figure out why exactly he is standing here in the workshop, can't think of what she is supposed to say, what he wants her to say.

"I'm-"

"You-"

They both laugh at the failed start, and the energy in the room feels suddenly lighter. Viktor inclines his head towards her, "You first."

"Oh, okay, um." She chews her lower lip, it had been easier to say when it was off the cuff, but now that she's had a moment to think about it, she suddenly feels like it is far too presumptuous, "I'm happy to see you again, that's all." she says quickly, picking at her cuticles.

Viktor hums, his intense eyes peeling back her layers again. It makes her hands grow clammy.

"You did an impressive job with my uniform. That is what I was going to say." He replies.

Her stomach flips and she clutches her hands tightly in her lap, "Th-Thank you, I'm glad." She's nervous and her mouth moves faster than her brain, "I've been thinking about you, I-I mean, your uniform and I was really hoping that it had helped. It means everything to me, it really does."

An almost smirk tugs at the corners of Viktor's mouth, "You have been thinking about me?"

Sudden heat rushes to her cheeks, "About you uniform! That's what I said!"

Viktor shrugs a shoulder, "Suit yourself." he takes a few steps forward, allowing the door to slide shut behind him, "What are your going rates when it comes to favours?" He asks evenly.

She blinks at him, confused, "I'm sorry?"

"Topsiders rarely offer an act of kindness without a charge. The values and complicated, payment does not come back until months down the line when they need something from you." He steps over to her, ducking down and collecting her mess of photographs into a neat pile before handing it back to her, "One of my classmates gave me directions to my first lecture and then about two months later he all but ordered me to complete his assignment for him. I would not assign those two acts equal value, personally, though, maybe topsiders have found a way to charge interest on favours, it would not surprise me."

He speaks clearly, succinctly, and she realises that this is the most he has ever said to her, by a wide margin.

She swallows, hoping that she knows the right way to respond, "Eliza, my classmate, brought me a pastry before the end of first semester last year. She still holds it over my head anytime she needs something from me. The funny thing is, had she just been genuinely friendly to me, I would have helped without the need for threatening pretence." She gains the confidence to meet Viktor's eyes and finds his appraising expression encouraging, "It's exhausting, playing these games every day. I'm just not cut out for it. So my going rates for favours is complimentary, as it should be."

Viktor's lips quirk up in a smile, wide enough that for the first time, she catches a glimpse of his teeth. They're crooked, lacking the benefits of modern Piltover dentistry and she is enchanted by them, can't help picturing the shape of the imprint his bite would leave behind

"That is good." He says with a nod, "Very good."

He leans against her worktable, peering down at where she still sits in her chair, she gulps, averting her eyes, "I take it you need something from me, then?"

Viktor turns his head and crosses his arms. His open, almost playful posture tightens into something far more self conscious.

"I meant what I said." he beings, rapping his fingers against his arm, "My uniform is far more comfortable now and those eh, alterations you made were very-" He brow creases, "Accommodating.'

She can feel herself relaxing, unfurling almost, hearing that her work had managed to help, that it had meant something to someone.

Viktor looks at her out of the corner of his eye before continuing, "I told you I was not interested in charity when we first spoke and that is still true, but I am hoping you might be interested in getting some more practice, as it were."

She smiles wide, she can't help it, "Do you want more alterations? Is that what you're saying?

Viktor's next smile is shockingly warm, "Ah, there is that spark of yours. Yes, the rest of my wardrobe now feels woefully inept."

She quickly darts her eyes up to the clock and back, "The wing is going to be closed in a few hours, it's probably not enough time…but I would love to! Maybe tomorrow? Or the day after?"

Viktor barks a laugh, "I did not mean now."

Her enthusiasm gets away from her, she can't help it, "But if you have time now, then we could, or I mean, you could always-" too familiar, too familiar by far, she freezes, staring down at her toes, "Sorry. Never mind, I'm just overexcited, forget all of that."

Viktor's brows draw together and his jaw tightens, "Stop doing that around me, I am not one of your Piltie classmates, I despise it just as much as you do." He spits, "Do not dissimulate, just tell me what you want, is it really so difficult?"

It is. It is. Every bone in her body tenses and panics and tells her that this is exactly the sort of thing that makes one a social pariah, that gets them ridiculed by classmates for seeing friendship where there is none. She balls her hands into fists, sucks in a deep breath and says, "I have sewing supplies in my dorm. If you would like me to do the alterations now, you can come back with me."

When Viktor doesn't immediately start laughing at her, she gains enough courage to look up at him. His expression is thoughtful and not at all mocking. At the sight of him, all the nervous, electric tension suddenly melts from her body. Unlearning years of Piltover fake politeness feels a bit like pulling out rotten teeth. Painful at first, but a relief afterwards.

Viktor thinks her offer over a little longer, casting a considering glance in the direction of the clock before returning his attention to her, "I would have to collect my things first. Give me your address, I'll meet you there."

~~~

Viktor barely understands why he agreed to this. Locking his door behind himself and preparing to navigate the maze-like block of dorms under the cover of darkness. It is a clear night, at least, the moon provides a good deal of light and like the rest of the Piltover's streets, the footpaths surrounding the dorms are lit with streetlights, casting a pale orange light across the ground. His leg complains when he starts walking in the cold air, less than it was complaining yesterday, if that was not the case he definitely would have turned her down. But it's a rare good day and so much of the student body seems to wish they were anywhere other than the academy that speaking with someone who actually cares about what they are studying is refreshing.

Her block of dorms actually ends up being quite a bit closer than the main academy buildings are, so Viktor is at least grateful for that despite the confusion he feels at his own sudden acquiescence. Agreeing to her first tailoring felt a lot like peeling back his fingernails, it was painful, it ached, it was shameful. So what changed, really? She doesn't have any sort of ill intent, that much is plain as day, but there is still no real reason for him to be trudging himself through the cold air in the dark of night. This could have been handled in the morning. It should have been, but when she smiles the way she does, the way that makes his cheeks hurt empathically, he finds it difficult not to keep that smile lit as long as possible. It's far realer than any of that achingly false pretence she slips in and out of, maybe her smile reminds him of home. Just a little.

The set of buttons she had affixed into the inseam of his trousers were another reason he agreed. It was a defensive mechanism, to far understate just how useful he had found them in even just the past few weeks. Despite her insistence that she doesn't charge for favours like so many Pilties do, he still can't shake the feeling that letting her know just how much he owes her would be dangerous. Because he does owe her, he owes her a great deal. Every evening when the cold has left his leg stiff and uncooperative, when he would usually need to spend almost half an hour massaging muscles before being able to undress for bed, he was instead able to unsnap the fasteners with one tug, and the trousers would slide right off. He had been fine without her help, he would have continued being fine without it. But now, he is more than fine, just a little bit, an almost inscrutable amount, a decimal place somewhere within the nebulous number defining just how bad a day can be. It is a small change, but it is one he has noticed and that is significant.

Her dorm is one of the street-facing buildings and on the ground floor, which makes it easy to find. The lights are on in the windows and as she had described very explicitly, there are several bunches of dried flowers hanging from the door frame. Viktor also almost knocks over a dish of water on the doorstep that he can only assume she has left out for the cats he sometimes sees roaming around the academy grounds. The groundskeepers are always trying to chase the cats off campus, but it's no wonder they keep coming back if she is doting on them the way he is certain she is.

She comes to the door just a few seconds after he knocks. He hears the sound of a chain-lock frantically undoing and then the door quickly swings open.

"Hello!" She exclaims in her usual rush, out of breath and smiling wide. Her hair is down, still awkwardly kinked from being in an up-do all day and kicking up around her collarbone. Viktor finds that he likes it a lot more this way and doesn't appreciate how that thought twists at his gut.

"Hello, yourself." He replies, peering past her into the softly lit room beyond.

She follows his line of sight with a whip of messy hair, laughing a little before turning back and chewing her lower lip, it's chapped and red in places, it gives the impression that she is nervously chewing more often than not, "I tidied before you got here. I don't really ever have people over"

He doesn't doubt it. She is dithering in the front door like she isn't even sure how to welcome him inside. Viktor saves her the trouble, taking another step closer and peering down at her. She blinks again, in that mousy way and he inclines his head towards the doorway, "May I come in?"

Her wide smile comes back, "Yes! Please do!" and she quickly presses herself against the wall, motioning for Viktor to walk in through the gap.

He had been hoping for her to vacate the doorway entirely, but the way she clings to the wall and sucks in all her vital organs does at least give him enough room to squeeze past her and into the dorm. From what he can see, it seems to be the same layout as his own room but in reverse, the small kitchenette is off to the left and there's a rickety looking wooden divider separating the small alcove where her bed is from the rest of the dorm. Viktor hears the door lock behind him and she darts out and around him, standing expectantly in the middle of the room with her hands clasped in front of her. She is especially nervous now, it's all over her face.

"Do, um-" her face pinches, it's as if she is trying to remember exactly what she has been taught to say when she has a guest over, "Do you want something to drink? I only have tea, unfortunately, coffee makes me nauseous."

"Tea would be fine." Viktor says, eyeing the large collection of dried flowers in various cups and vases throughout the room, "you don't keep any living plants?"

She blinks, "Um, no I don't. I always over water them and kill them."

Not forgetful, then. Viktor muses, just overly doting.

"I'll go brew the tea, then." She says quickly, "Take a seat on the sofa if you want, oh! and leave your clothes that need altering on the armchair, I'll get to them in a moment."

Viktor nods and watches as she darts her way over to the kitchenette and starts heating some water on the stove. She's still in her uniform, he can only assume that she was so busy tidying that she didn't have any time to change. He finds the armchair sitting by the radiator and removes the clothes from his bag, folding them over the armrest. Now that he is standing so close to it, he realises that there is no heat at all emanating from the radiator, the room is at least marginally warmer than outside, warm enough that he didn't notice anything was wrong at first. He peers over his shoulder, she is in the middle of reaching for a pair of matching teacups from the top shelf, he decides not to bother her. Instead he rests his cane against the armchair and crouches down, careful with the weight distribution on his right leg. It still hurts enough for him to wince involuntarily, but it could be far worse. He turns the valve carefully and finds no resistance.

"Are you having problems with your radiator?" He asks

He hears her squeak from across the room, followed by quick footsteps and the sound of her putting a jar of sugar down on the coffee table, "Yes, I'm sorry. Are you cold? I have blankets."

"No. No I am okay for the moment." He turns to look at her over his shoulder, her cheeks flush involuntarily at the attention, "How long have you been experiencing these issues?"

"Since it started getting cold this year, it hasn't been much of a problem until now because it hasn't been too chilly." She shrugs, "I just, I don't know, I didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"Have you noticed anything strange when you try to turn it on?"

"Um, it sometimes makes sounds? Creaking or hissing. I was worried I might break it so I've mostly taken to leaving it off."

"Aha. You must have air in the pipes." He stands from the ground, "I can fix it."

"W-Wait! You don't-" She sputters, chasing after him as he heads over to her kitchen

"Your boiler should be in the bottom of the pantry, if your dorm is the same as mine." He says quickly, deciding that it's best to cut her polite refusal off at the root instead of entertaining it, "I'll need to turn it off for a moment"

She stares at him open mouthed for a moment, but then seems to decide pushing back isn't worth it and follows after him, dithering over his shoulder as he crouches down, using the second to last shelf in the pantry for balance and turning off the gas. His heart races when he realises that she is leaning in so close to him that he can feel her hair brushing against the side of his neck.

"Can I help somehow?" She asks quietly, he can feel her breath in his ear.

Viktor swallows, clenches and un-clenches his hands, "Do you have a Flathead screwdriver?"

She shifts backward, and he suddenly feels like he can breathe again, "I have a fork that works in a pinch! Let me see if I can find it."

He peers over his shoulder and waits until he can see that she is busy digging through the drawers before pulling himself back to his feet. His leg complains, a little worse than the first time, but only marginally. He is glad she wasn't watching. As he steps towards her, she whips around with one of her enormous smiles, clutching a fork in her hand.

"This should do the trick, I had to tighten the towel rack in my bathroom and it worked a charm."

Viktor feels that urge again, the one in the base of his stomach that wants him to soften in the warmth of her gaze. The same urge that begged him to call her Myšičko last time they spoke despite the cloying affection behind the diminutive word, "Thank you." He says instead, taking the fork from her outstretched hand and walking back over to the radiator. Resting a hand on it, he finds it quite cool, it must have been that way for a long time based on when she says it stopped working, but turning off the boiler practically negates the possibility of him burning his hands. Working quickly, Viktor sticks the square end of the fork into the screw keeping the bleed valve sealed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when he realises just how perfectly the fork fits.

"Well you were not kidding about this fork working in- what was it you said? A pinch?"

He hears a laugh from somewhere behind him, the teapot on the stove must have finished boiling because when he looks backward he sees her pouring tea at the kitchen bench, "I told you!"

He exhales an amused breath, "So you did."

It only takes a few turns to loosen the bleed valve enough for air to begin escaping, just as he has expected. After a few seconds a thin stream of water spills down from the valve and Viktor quickly re-tightens the screw before any further water gets lost. Easy.

He stands from the floor with a wince, using the armrest of the chair for balance, "That should work now. Give it a few minutes and then we can turn the boiler back on." He grabs his cane and readjusts himself, turning to see that she is crossing the room with both cups of tea, gently resting them on the coffee table.

"I-" She starts, eyes darting around the room skittishly, "Thank you. I didn't mean to invite you over to fix things for me."

"No." Viktor says, unable to help the smile climbing up his cheeks as he rounds the coffee table and takes a seat on the sofa, crossing his right leg over his left, "In fact, I think you'll find I came around so you would fix something." He shrugs, "I suppose I was feeling generous."

Generous is too non-committal a term for how he is feeling. How he has been feeling all evening. Warm? Comfortable? Something in that realm. Something ill-advised and guaranteed to end in suffering, that's what the terrified voice in the back of his head says, the one that always hears alarm bells where there aren't any.

"Oh! Yes! I'm sorry!" She says in a near panic, darting over to the desk up against the wall and grabbing an embroidered sewing kit, "I was so busy with the tea and being a good host and- wait, you don't have anywhere to be do you?" and then faster, almost out of breath, "You can leave if you need to! I can drop everything off at your dorm tomorrow!"

Viktor leans forward and scoops several spoons of sugar into one of the teacups before grabbing it by the handle and sinking backward into the sofa. He takes a sip and suddenly finds that he doesn't feel like going anywhere at all, "No rush." He says, surprised to realise he means it, "I am all yours."

[charlottecherries]

HTBBW Part Four- Study Routine

Organisation

Schedule any assignments or exams as soon as you learn of the date

Create hard and soft deadlines for any work that just be completed

Make a weekly time table that includes lectures, study sessions, work and free time

Break up large tasks and create check lists

Download organisation apps like google calendar and notion

Track your progress throughout assignments

Create a deadline for a certain amount of progress per project, for example finishing 10% or one paragraph of an essay by a specific date

Make to do lists in the morning

Prioritise Effectiveness

Time management is key so scheduling is important

Find what method of studying works best for you

Never study until you get tired, its best to take breaks just before you lose focus of begin to feel fatigued

If you begin to lose focus or struggle with one thing don't be afraid to pivot to something else

Stay Prepared

Always complete reading prior to lectures or classes and make notes on key topics

Read power point slides before the lecture and create headings based on the information

Find reading lists in your subjects as quick as possible

Continue to reading during spring, summer and winter breaks

Study both Alone and with Others

Studying alone will prevent distractions and allow you to complete tasks like essays, reading, portfolios and presentations

Studying with others can increase motivation and accountability

The best tasks to complete with others are memory based. Test each other with flash cards or ask questions based on a specific text.

Teaching others what you know can help consolidate understanding and improve memory

Be confident and never give up

Motivate yourself with visuals of your goals and dreams, place pictures and notes above your desk or on your walls

Remind yourself of why you are doing what you are

No one is going to save you so complete your work

You don't get things you don't ask for, so seek out opportunities

Make things happen for yourself

You don't always get what you want on the first try and persevere

Series Masterlist

[lees-chaotic-brain]

JJK Men Getting Jealous

Feat. Gojo and Megumi

CW: Random guys being creeps, harassment, attempted kidnapping (or so he thinks), reader has female pronouns and anatomy, light swearing

Part Two | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

Gojo Satoru

The two of you were enjoying your date at the park when Gojo received a phone call. Normally, he would have ignored it, but you forced him to, telling that he needs to take care of his responsibilities. After all, you loved Satoru as he was, but the man needed to grow up a little.

Stepping away, he turned his back and answered the phone, immediately trying to weasel his way out of whatever assignment he was needed on.

Meanwhile, you were seated on a bench and scrolling through your phone when a street photographer approached you.

"Excuse me?" A young man was looking at you hopefully as he held up his camera.

"I'm a street photographer, and well, when I noticed you sitting here I just knew I had to capture your stunning looks for my portfolio. So would it be okay if I took your picture?"

Flattered, but a little uncertain, you replied.

"Well, thank you, but actually I'm just waiting for my boyfriend-"

He cut you off.

"Oh don't worry! This will only take a second!"

Stepping up to you, he reached out and brushed your hair back with his fingers.

"What-what are you doing?" You ask nervously, leaning away from his touch.

"Just brushing your hair back from your face! Can't have it covering those stunning features of yours now can we darling?"

He winked cheekily.

Finally finished with his call (he had managed to dump the assignment onto the three first years), Gojo turned around, ready to bask in your presence and affection.

Instead he witnessed an unfamiliar man moving his hands to your chest brushing off your shirt and smoothing the fabric.

Pausing, he took a moment to try and comprehend what he was seeing.

Then he saw you flinch and swat his hands away.

He was by your side in an instant.

"Please stop." You said firmly. "My boyfriend-"

"Is right here!"

Gojo interjected cheerfully, swinging an arm around your shoulders and using his other arm to push the photographer away as he sat next to you.

"Why don't you take a picture of me and my girlfriend?"

He suggested menacingly, looking at the man over his glasses.

"After all, don't you think we make an absolutely stunning couple?"

Needless to say, the photographer snapped a couple quick pictures of the two of you before speeding away.

"Thanks 'Toru."

You said, sighing in relief once the man was finally out of sight.

"No problem! After all, he was touching my boobies."

To emphasize what he was saying, he turned and buried his head in your chest.

He peeked up at you with puppy eyes.

"These are all mine, right?"

"Of course babe."

You laughed, and stroked his hair.

"They're all yours."

Megumi Fushiguro

While the two of you were shopping with Nobara and Yuji, you saw something that interested you and you wandered off.

Noticing that you were missing, Megumi split off from the others, and went to search for you.

Finally finding you, he couldn't help but to smile a little, because you were just so damn cute.

You were happily wandering around a manga store quietly humming to yourself as you browsed.

Moving to join you, he was shocked when a guy around the same age as you guys snuck up behind you and put you into a chokehold.

Were you getting kidnapped in front of him? He was speeding up, ready to give the guy a beatdown he wouldn't soon forget, when you flipped the guy over your shoulder.

The guy twisted gracefully midair to avoid being slammed on his back, and landed smoothly on his feet in front of you. You shot your arm up, ready to strike, but the guy easily caught your wrist.

"I told you to stop using that move, it's too predictable."

The guy said, shaking his head at you.

Pausing, you looked up at the guys face for the first time.

"TAKESHI?!"

You shrieked his name, and launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"You big dummy! What was that for?! You scared the shit out of me! But never mind that, I missed you! What's going on? Why are you here?!"

Laughing he spun you around.

"Whoa. Slow down. I missed you too idiot. I missed my sparring partner and was just checking to make sure that you were keeping up with your training!"

He batted his eyes innocently as he set you on your feet.

"After all, my mom would kill me if I left her beloved unofficial daughter unable to defend herself in the big city! What if you got mugged?!"

Unable to suppress your smile you pinched his cheek.

"You just did that because you wanted to scare me. Jerk."

"Aw, you know you love me."

"Ahem."

You both turned to find your unimpressed boyfriend staring at the two of you with his arms crossed over his chest.

Striding over to you, Megumi wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side, giving the other guy an once over.

"I'm Fushiguro Megumi. Her boyfriend. Who are you?"

Takeshi gave you a fake wounded look.

"What? But I'M her boyfriend!"

Blinking at him, Megumi frowned.

"What?"

Stepping out of Megumi's grasp, you walked over to Takeshi and cuffed him over the head.

"STOP TELLING PEOPLE I'M DATING THAT YOU ARE MY BOYFRIEND!!"

"BUT I AM!!"

"YOU ARE LITERALLY GAY!"

"AND!?"

"AND YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND OF YOUR OWN!!"

Poor Megumi just stood there in shock. After the two of you worked it out with a quick wrestling match (you won) and stopped screaming at each other. You and this "Takeshi" explained that you were childhood best friends, and that Takeshi was just a jerk who liked to mess with your love life.

Needless to say, Megumi spent the rest of the day pouting, and needed lots of reassurance cuddles that he was way better than Takeshi, and you would never leave him for him.

"You would never leave me for him, right?"

"Of, course baby. He's just a friend. I love you so much more than him."

"But you love him a little bit?!"

"GUMI. HE IS LITERALLY GAY AND HAS A BOYFRIEND."

Thanks for reading! Should I make a part two with Toge and Yuji? Let me know!!

[financehelpdesk2024]

Portfolio management involves the strategic allocation of assets and investments to achieve specific financial goals. In order to thrive in the topic, students can seek Portfolio Management Assignment Help from the experts at Finance Help Desk.

[glowettee]

Hi Mindy!!! I hope you’re doing well, and I just wanted to say that I love your posts. Really well written and thought out!

I just wanted to ask.. can you create a guide for preparing to a completely new school which isn’t, like basic? Not in a mean way, but lots of the advice on the internet is generic.

For any extra info, I’ll be joining in the second semester, so there’s plenty of time to make long term changes. It’s also a private school, but I don’t know if that will make a difference.

Thank you in advance 💖 love you!

hi sweetness! @prettieinpink thank you for your adorable ask 🌸 i'm so happy to see this from you!!!!! i'd love to help you from personal experience, and things i documented being in private school. please make sure you look at the 10 secrets because they're super helpful and things i've personally used. i'm going to pour my heart into this comprehensive guide for you. transitioning to a new private school mid-year can feel overwhelming, but i've got you covered with everything you need to know! love youu <333

the ultimate guide to conquering your new private school journey: a glowettee exclusive

by mindy ♡ @glowettee

pre-arrival preparation (1-2 months before)

academic groundwork:

request detailed course syllabi from your future teachers

create a comprehensive academic portfolio of your previous work

research the school's grading system and academic expectations

familiarize yourself with any specialized learning platforms

set up digital organization systems (i use notion + google calendar + xTiles)

purchase textbooks early and start preliminary reading

research the school's academic support resources

understand the homework and assignment submission policies

social preparation:

create a private social media presence specifically for school

research student organizations and clubs that accept mid-year members

join class-specific group chats or discussion boards

study the school's social media presence to understand culture

prepare conversation starters based on school activities

research any school traditions or special events

understand the social hierarchy (yes, private schools have these!)

identify potential mentor opportunities or buddy systems

practical essentials:

develop a morning routine that starts 30 minutes earlier than needed

create a capsule wardrobe that aligns with dress code

invest in high-quality school supplies that last

organize your study space at home

set up a dedicated homework station

create emergency supply kits for your locker and bag

establish a meal prep system for lunch and snacks

plan transportation routes and backup options

digital organization:

set up a comprehensive notion dashboard (i'll share my template soon!)

create specific folders for each subject in google drive

download all necessary academic apps

set up a digital calendar with color coding

create assignment tracking spreadsheets

establish a backup system for important documents

organize email folders for school communication

set up notification systems for important deadlines

mental and emotional preparation:

start journaling about your goals and fears

establish healthy boundaries for social interactions

create a stress management toolkit

develop positive self-talk mantras

plan regular self-care activities

identify potential support systems

create a growth mindset framework

establish regular check-in times with parents/guardians

first week survival guide:

day one essentials:

arrive 30 minutes early

bring extra supplies

wear something comfortable but polished

pack emergency essentials

keep your schedule easily accessible

bring a small notebook for important information

have your introduction speech ready

prepare questions for teachers and peers

social navigation:

observe before participating

sit in different locations to meet various groups

join lunch conversations naturally

show interest in others' experiences

take notes on names and interests

identify potential study partners

respect existing social dynamics

be authentically yourself while observing school culture

long-term success strategies:

academic excellence:

create weekly study schedules

establish relationships with teachers early

join or create study groups

maintain detailed notes from day one

schedule regular review sessions

utilize teacher office hours

keep a detailed assignment tracker

create subject-specific study guides

social integration:

participate in school events

volunteer for school activities

join at least one club or team

attend school sports events

participate in school traditions

create study groups

organize small social gatherings

maintain connections with existing friends

personal growth:

set monthly academic and social goals

maintain a gratitude journal

create a personal development plan

establish healthy stress management techniques

develop time management skills

build positive relationships with staff

create a balance between academics and social life

regularly evaluate and adjust your strategies

pro tips from my experience:

keep a spare set of supplies in your locker

create a school-specific emergency kit

maintain a digital photo of your schedule

establish a homework routine from day one

create a support network outside of school

document your journey through photos or journals

maintain open communication with teachers

celebrate small victories and progress

10 secret tips that transformed my private school journey ♡

the bathroom rule always scout out the least-used bathrooms in your first week, but don't just look for any quiet bathroom - look for one that's strategically located between your most stressful classes. trust me on this - i found my favorite quiet bathroom on the third floor of the science building, and it became my secret sanctuary for quick meditation breaks, makeup touch-ups, or just moments of peace between classes. the lighting there was immaculate for those confidence-boosting mirror talks, and it was far enough from the main hallways that you could actually hear yourself think. i even started keeping a small essential oil roller in my bag to make these mini-breaks feel more spa-like. this space became my personal reset button during hectic days, especially during exam seasons or when social dynamics felt overwhelming.

teacher connection hack bring a small notebook specifically for writing down personal details teachers mention (their favorite books, coffee preferences, hobbies, their children's names, or even their pets). this isn't about being a teacher's pet - it's about building genuine human connections. i started bringing my teacher's favorite starbucks drink on presentation days, remembering to ask about their weekend plans they mentioned, or sharing articles related to their interests. not only did it make their day, but it also showed i paid attention to details. these small gestures created authentic relationships that made a huge difference during finals week, college recommendation season, and even when i needed extensions during tough times. remember, teachers are people first, and when they see you acknowledging their humanity, they're more likely to understand yours.

social currency secret keep a small emergency kit with hair ties, bobby pins, bandaids, mints, tampons/pads, tide-to-go pens, pain relievers (if allowed), small sewing kit, clear nail polish for tights runs, double-sided tape, and even a phone charger in your locker. nothing creates instant friendships like being the person everyone knows they can count on for emergency supplies. i actually met my best friend because i had a spare hair tie when she desperately needed one before her presentation, and that simple moment turned into a three-hour conversation after school. this kit isn't just about having supplies - it's about being the person who thinks ahead and cares enough to help others. i started keeping track of what people borrowed most often and would stock up accordingly. it's like having your own little convenience store of kindness.

the popularity paradox here's something no one tells you - in private schools, being overly eager to be popular actually makes you less popular. the social hierarchy in private schools is often more subtle and complex than in public schools. i learned to focus on being genuinely interested in others instead of trying to fit in, asking thoughtful questions about their interests, and remembering small details about their lives. surprisingly, the moment i stopped trying to be part of the "it" crowd was when people started naturally gravitating towards me. i focused on developing my own interests and passions, which made me more interesting to others. the key is to be confidently authentic rather than strategically social. this approach not only helped me build real friendships but also protected me from the exhausting game of trying to maintain a carefully crafted social image.

the uniform advantage even with strict uniform rules, there are always creative ways to stand out while staying within the guidelines. i invested in high-quality accessories that complied with dress code but made my uniform look more polished - pearl earrings, delicate necklaces, classic watches, and subtle hair accessories. these small details helped me feel more put together and confident. but it's not just about the accessories - it's about how you wear the uniform itself. i learned that having my shirts professionally pressed, skirts properly hemmed, and shoes well-maintained made a huge difference in how put-together i looked. i also kept a small steamer in my locker for emergency touch-ups. this attention to detail showed respect for the school's traditions while allowing my personal style to shine through in acceptable ways.

the lunch table strategy don't commit to one lunch table for at least two weeks, and be strategic about your rotation schedule. i created a subtle system where i would sit with different groups each day, making mental notes about the dynamics, interests, and personalities at each table. i rotated between different groups, which helped me understand the social dynamics better and prevented me from being boxed into one clique too early. pay attention to how each group interacts - some tables are for studying, others for gossip, and some for genuine conversations. i kept a small note in my phone about each group's interests so i could contribute meaningfully to conversations. this strategy gave me the freedom to form genuine connections across different social circles and ultimately helped me choose where i truly felt comfortable. by the third week, i had a clear understanding of where i naturally fit in, rather than where i thought i should be.

the academic alliance create study guides and share them with classmates before they ask, but make it systematic and sustainable. i started a google drive folder with my notes and study guides, organized by subject and topic, with clear summaries and practice questions. it naturally evolved into a collaborative study group where everyone contributed their strengths. i became known as someone who not only shared resources but also helped others understand how to create their own study materials. this approach created a reciprocal learning environment where everyone felt comfortable asking for and offering help. i even created templates for different types of assignments that we could all use, which saved everyone time and helped maintain consistent quality in our work.

the extracurricular edge join at least one unexpected club that's not typically "popular," but don't just join - become actively involved in ways that showcase your unique talents. i joined the astronomy club despite it being small, and instead of just attending meetings, i started organizing stargazing events and creating instagram-worthy posts about our activities. this not only helped grow the club but also showed others that you can make any activity exciting if you're passionate about it. the unexpected benefit was meeting people who shared my genuine interests rather than just social aspirations. these authentic connections often lead to the most meaningful friendships and impressive college application stories.

the social media strategy create a finsta (private instagram) specifically for close school friends, but treat it as a carefully curated space rather than just another social media account. wait at least a month before adding anyone - this gives you time to understand the social dynamics and ensure you're connecting with the right people. i used my finsta to share study tips, funny school moments, and support for others' achievements. it became a safe space for sharing real moments with trusted friends, away from the pressure of maintaining a perfect image on main accounts. i also used it to organize study groups and share helpful resources, making it both social and practical.

the legacy link learn about your school's history and traditions from older students, but go beyond just knowing the basics. i spent time talking to seniors, alumni, and even teachers about the school's evolution over the years. understanding why certain traditions started, knowing the stories behind school legends, and learning about notable alumni helped me feel more connected to the school community. i created a digital notebook of these stories, which became a valuable resource for other new students. this knowledge made me feel like part of something bigger than just my current school year and helped me appreciate the school's culture on a deeper level.

personal advice from my heart to yours:

sweetness, i want you to know that the first few months at a new private school can feel like you're learning a new language - everyone seems to know the words and customs except you. i remember feeling so out of place during my first semester, constantly second-guessing myself and wondering if i was "doing it right." that feeling of being an outsider would hit me hardest during school traditions or inside jokes that everyone else seemed to understand instinctively. i spent countless nights journaling about feeling like i was watching my school life through a window, wondering when i would finally feel like i belonged. but here's what i learned: that feeling of being an outsider is actually your superpower. you have fresh eyes to see things differently, and that perspective is valuable. you notice things that others have become blind to, and you bring new energy to old traditions. your unique viewpoint can actually help breathe new life into established social circles and activities.

the most important thing i wish someone had told me is that it's okay to take your time finding your place. private schools often have students who've been together since kindergarten, and it can feel impossible to break into those established circles. but here's the truth - while everyone else is trying to maintain their image and social position, you have the freedom to be authentically yourself from day one. you don't have to carry the weight of years of expectations or predetermined roles. focus on building genuine connections rather than strategic ones. keep your grades up, but don't let academic pressure steal your joy. document your journey - take photos, keep a journal, save little mementos. these will become precious reminders of your growth. remember that every single person who seems perfectly adjusted now once stood exactly where you are, feeling exactly what you're feeling. and most importantly, remember that the version of you that walks into that school on day one isn't the same version that will emerge at the end of the year - and that's exactly how it should be. you're not just adapting to a new school; you're growing into a newer, stronger version of yourself. embrace this transformation with open arms.

sending you the warmest hugs and all my support! feel free to message me anytime for more specific advice or just to chat about your journey 🤍

mindy x

p.s. would you loves be interested in detailed posts about my notion templates and organization systems? let me know in the reblogs/replies!

[thatrickmcginnis]

LINTON KWESI JOHNSON Toronto 1990

Toronto has had a big Caribbean diaspora for decades, so I grew up hearing calypso, soca and reggae on the streets and reggae on the radio, which is where I probably heard British dub poet Linton Kwesi Johnson for the first time. Not long after I started at Nerve magazine my editor Dave handed me an advance cassette of LKJ's In Concert with the Dub Band record, which became one of my favorite records that year. So a few years later when I was assigned by NOW magazine to photograph Jamaican dub poet Jean "Binta" Breeze (1956-2021) live at the BamBoo club on Queen West, I noticed that her backing band was Dennis Bovell's Dub Band and that LKJ was also on the bill. It was an opportunity I couldn't pass up.

I had been shooting at gigs for years by this point and knew that if I showed up early and made my case to the promoter or road manager, I might be able to get a few minutes for a quick portrait session. The variable was always light and backgrounds, but I knew the BamBoo well enough to guess that there would be a blank wall somewhere upstairs. Light, of course, was a wild card. I got my little slot of time with Linton Kwesi Johnson before the show, and planned on taking a serious, faintly literary kind of portrait, but when I scanned the backstage area I saw that while I had enough clean white wall, there was only one spot that had just enough light for a portrait.

I had first read about Linton Kwesi Johnson in the British music press - weeklies like the New Musical Express and Melody Maker - so it was inevitable that I'd have those publications and their whole post-punk style in my head when I photographed LKJ: photographers like Bleddyn Butcher, Chalkie Davies, Kevin Cummins and especially Anton Corbijn. I loaded my Nikon F3 with Kodak's T-Max 3200 film, a film designed for pushing several stops (with a corresponding bloom of very textural grain). For his part LKJ was a more than accomodating subject, starting the roll with a few wistful poses before I began nudging him in the direction of the kind of austere head shot I had in mind. The roll finished, I thinked him for his time and hung around to do my job and photograph the night's show.

Since a portrait of LKJ wasn't what the paper assigned me to take, these shots didn't have a home. I remember printing one for my portfolio but taking it out after a few months; I kept having to explain who LKJ was and worried it was taking away from the impact of my book. Another way I was always second-guessing myself as a young photographer; I should have had more conviction. In any case these shots didn't see the light of day until I posted them on my old blog about a decade ago. Linton Kwesi Johnson continues to perform and teach, and has received countless awards and honorary degrees. Time Come, a collection of his poetry, was published last year.