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bijouxcarys · 9 months ago

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𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 (𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒙 𝑶𝑪) - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: Finally chapter 17 (the second half of chapter 16 that made it too bloody long)! I know you're all going to enjoy this one because you're all filthy little hobbits. Jokes, I love u all for all the support and love you keep leaving me. I love engagement with my work and it really helps with motivation, as I'm sure any writer would tell you. Anyways, as always, I hope you all enjoy this one ;)

CW/TW: S m u t central, pure filth, some angst

Tags: @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup @trentybenty @pittieprincess22

@electronicwitchsandwich @thefairywithboots

(If you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics, just let me know!)

It took a little under an hour for Nate’s phone to buzz with the incoming text from Roman telling her he had arrived. In that time, she’d moved upstairs to grab a jacket, not entirely comfortable leaving the house at midnight in the December weather of New York.

She stood from her spot on the edge of her bed, smoothing out the tight fabric of her dress before stumbling ever-so-slightly in her heels. It would have been a smart move to just… change shoes, but she didn’t even think of that. All she could think about was… Roman.

Okay, okay, just walk normal, she reminded herself, steadying her steps as she quietly made her way downstairs, turning away from the direction in which Dimitri had his associates gathered. She almost couldn’t believe she’d managed to slip out the back door of the house without making a sound loud enough to alert someone.

The further away she got from the house, the more surreal the situation felt. She was sneaking out of her own home, half-drunk, to meet Roman Reigns—Roman Reigns, of all people. You’d think the shock of being somewhat civil with her family’s number one enemy would have dulled out by now, but nope. That shit was rampant when she let herself think too much about it. She couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh to herself.

The alcohol had fully caught up with her now, making everything around her slightly fuzzy, but not enough to forget what was going on. She followed the narrow path down from the estate, through the hedges and along the private road. Her phone buzzed again, another text from Roman.

Parked down the street. Just past the bend.

Nate squinted down the dark road. Of course, he wouldn’t park right in front of the house. He wasn’t stupid. Roman knew better than to make himself too obvious, especially in her family’s territory. A mafia boss meeting with the daughter of another mafia boss wasn’t exactly a low-stakes situation.

After a couple of minutes of walking—well, more like ungraceful, slightly wobbly striding—Nate finally spotted that familiar black sedan parked a little further down the road, barely visible under the faint glow of a street lamp. She could see the faint outline of him sitting in the driver’s seat, his headlights off but the dim interior lights on, just enough to catch sight of him.

Roman had a presence even when doing nothing. Broad shoulders, thick arms resting casually on the wheel. Profile perfectly illuminated in the saturated light. Damn. It didn’t matter how drunk Nate was, he always managed to look like he belonged directly in the centre of attention.

She approached the passenger side, swayling a little more than she would’ve liked, and when Roman saw her, his neutral expression shifted slightly. Narrowing his eyes the same way he did every time he focused in on something.

He gave her a once-over, his gaze travelling from her legs, up the tight-fitting dress that wrapped around every line and bend of her body, and lingering on the exposed skin where her dress dipped low in the front. His observation was slow, deliberate, and left no room for misunderstanding. Appreciation in his dark eyes.

With a grin through the window, she knocked lightly on the glass. He gave her a half-smirk as he leaned over and unlocked the door for her. Nate pulled it open, sliding into the passenger seat with as much grace as she could muster, which, given her current state, wasn’t much.

“You’re late,” she teased, turning to him with a playful pout.

Roman raised an eyebrow at her, clearly amused. “Takes time to sneak into enemy territory,” he said.

She sighed dramatically, leaning her head back against the seat. “You’re lucky I didn’t pass out waiting for you.”

Shifting the car into gear, Roman shook his head and huffed. “You’re buzzed as hell, huh?”

Nate lifted her head to look at him, her smile widening. “Maybe just a little. Or a lot. But hey, you’re here, so I must be doing something right.”

He gave her a sideways glance, his lips twitching up in that way that always made her stomach flip. “Didn’t think you’d be callin’ me up for a rescue mission. What happened to that tough act?”

She waved her hand dismissively, as if to brush off the idea that she needed rescuing. “I don’t need rescuing. I just… didn’t wanna be there anymore. Family’s being weird.”

“Weird how?”

Nate rested her hands in her lap, playing with the ring on her left hand that she despised wearing, but no more than she despised the fact she forgot to take it off after her perfect wife attempt tonight. She looked over at Roman, taking in the sight of his profile: strong. Beard creating the perfect frame around his chin. Hesitating, she wondered how much she should share. Then again, the alcohol had loosened her tongue enough tonight.

“Ugh, you wouldn’t believe it,” she groaned, throwing her hands up. “My dad dropped the bomb that Katya’s getting married to Alexei.”

“Who the fuck is Alexei?”

“A right knobhead,” Nate snorted, disregarding the need to control her less-than-subtle accent and strong British dialect. “It’s like… if you took Boris, made him even worse, and added a few inches in height. And reallyyyy bad teeth.”

“Damn,” Roman hummed. “Sounds like a piece of work.”

“You have no idea. Katya’s gonna lose her mind. Or worse, she’ll just… disappear inside herself. She’s not strong like that.” Nate leaned her head against the window, sighing heavily. “It’s all just so… so fucked.”

There was a period of silence, the car humming softly beneath them as Roman drove down the quieter streets. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into the comfort of the seat. Her mind was still going a hundred miles a second, but being with Roman, here, away from the mess of her family, felt strangely… safe.

“Hey.”

She blinked her eyes open and peered over at Roman, who was staring straight ahead at the road in front of him.

“You ain’t your family,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

Nate swallowed, his simple statement settling over her like a blanket. She didn’t answer him right away, just nodded slightly, even though she barely believed that. When she was younger, there was nothing more she wanted than to follow in the footsteps of Dimitri Volkov. To be just like him. Have the kind of unmatched power that he had.

But now, at 27, she wanted to be… anything else.

Before she could dwell on it too much, Roman’s voice broke through her thoughts again.

“You wanna talk about somethin’ else?” he asked. “Or we just gon’ sit here all night with you bein’ all depressed and shit?”

She managed a laugh, her mood lifting a little at his jesting tone. “Fine… What do you wanna talk about, oh wise one?”

“Ain’t much of a talker, Princess, you know that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re talking to me now, aren’t you?”

He gave her a look, one that said she was pushing it, but the corners of his mouth tugged up in that signature smirk of his. “You got a smart mouth for someone who needed my help.”

Nate leaned back in her seat. “Oh, you love it.”

Roman’s stifled chuckle was low, rumbling through the car as they turned down another street. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, but after a few minutes, Nate found herself watching Roman out of the corner of her eye.

“You have a really nice nose,” she blurted out without thinking.

Roman’s head jerked slightly as he shot her a look. “What?”

“Your nose,” she repeated, gesturing vaguely in his direction before leaning closer, squinting at him. “It’s like… shapely. Strong. A good nose.”

“You’re drunk, Nate.”

“I’m not that drunk,” she protested, sitting back up, though she didn’t seem entirely convinced herself. “I’m just observant. Your nose is nice.”

Roman smirked. “It’s crooked.”

Nate gasped, her eyes widening in dramatic disbelief. “No, it’s not! It’s—” She reached out, her fingers hovering just inches from his face like she was considering touching his nose but stopped herself. “It’s perfect, Roman. Whoever told you it’s crooked is an idiot.”

“Well, I didn’t say anyone told me. I know it’s crooked. Had to have it fixed a couple times from being broken.”

She just shook her head vigorously, her wavy hair bouncing with the motion. “Nope. It’s perfect. Just like the rest of you.”

She wasn’t being subtle at all tonight. The vodka had completely eroded whatever filter she normally had, and it was obvious she was laying it on thick. He could feel the heat from her stare, and the way her gaze lingered on him was making his blood run a little hotter.

“You flirtin’, Volkov?” he asked somewhat playfully, yet seriously like he wasn’t opposed to the idea.

“Depends,” Nate grinned, biting her bottom lip. “You like it?”

Deepening his amused smile, he gave her a quick glance. “You know I don’t mind attention… But I don’t think your ass is in any shape to be making moves right now.”

“I am not that drunk,” she reiterated, leaning closer again. This time, her arm brushed his as she shifted, and he tensed slightly, more aware of her proximity than he cared to admit. “I’m just… I don’t know,” she sighed, lowering her head to look down at the centre console. “You’re easy to talk to.”

Roman’s eyebrows scrunched together, not sure if she meant that or if it was just the alcohol talking. Either way, it took him by surprise. Nate wasn’t the type to get emotional with other people, and Roman wasn’t even sure they were close enough to be letting her guard down like that.

“You sure that ain’t the drink talkin’?” he asked.

“Maybe. But I don’t think it matters at this point,” Nate snorted, leaning back and closing her eyes as she rested her head back on the seat. Roman glanced over at her, once again taking in the sight of such a beautiful woman in his car.

Oh, the amount of times he would have had her laid out and begging for more if she wasn’t a Volkov. That time in the safehouse was one too many, but he needed more. There was still so much in his warped fantasies that he’d not yet made a reality. In every which way he could have her, he wanted it. He wanted to bury his face between those plush thighs of hers, savour every bit of her as she writhed and whimpered for him. Wanted to leave his mark on her, let Boris know that she didn’t need him to make her fall apart completely.

“Nah,” Nate cackled, opening her eyes. “You’d know if I was flirting.”

“Pretty sure this is flirting.”

“I’m just telling the truth!” she insisted, her voice rising in pitch and volume. “You’re all, like, perfect or whatever. All this,” she motioned to him with both hands now. “You’ve got that whole… big, brooding, alpha-male thing going on, and don’t even get me started on those fucking eyes.”

“My eyes?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” she nodded enthusiastically, leaning in as if she was imparting some great secret. “Your eyes are, like… intense. In a good way. But they’re also… kinda warm, you know? Like, you’ve got that look where you can either kill a guy or make someone feel all safe. Dual-purpose eyes.”

Roman blinked, obviously amused by her rambling, but there was something more there too. Though he didn’t say anything, the little smile on his face said enough.

“I’m serious, though,” she mumbled. “You’re… different from what I thought you’d be.”

“Different how?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged, lazily tracing random shapes on the ceiling above her as she slouched in the seat. “I guess I thought you’d be more of an arsehole. Like my dad made you out to me. All tough, don’t-give-a-shit-about-anybody kind of deal.”

Snorting, he squeezed onto the steering wheel. “Yeah? That what you think of me, huh?”

“I did,” she clarified. “But you’re not. Not entirely. You… I don’t know. You’re nicer than you let on.”

His jaw worked as he considered her analysis; she didn’t notice the shift in his demeanour, too caught up in her own world to realise how close her words hit to home. But he sighed gently, speaking a little quieter.

“Yeah, well… I guess not everybody gets to see that side of me.”

Nate turned her head toward him, blinking slowly as her tipsy brain processed his words. Her voice softened as she tilted her head. “But I do?”

What was it about late nights that got them both so… vulnerable? You’d never see them this calm with one another in broad daylight, where they could each see every change and glimmer of expression. It was… safer to do it where neither one could read the other’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Roman muttered. “You do.”

For a majority of the drive, the teasing resumed. Nate couldn’t stop herself from flirting with him, throwing out random compliments that had Roman laughing and subconsciously storing in his memory bank for times in which he needed a pick-me-up. But every time she said something he particularly liked, he’d respond with that same smirk, the same heated look that told her he was enjoying this just as much as she was.

Yet, it seemed like the more they drove around, seemingly with no destination in mind—the more her mind sobered up—the more she wanted to keep going. Keep poking the bear, as they say. She wanted him to snap.

She needed the night she got at the safehouse, and then some.

Nate had never been one to shy away from risk, but the idea that sprung to mind was something entirely different. Sitting next to Roman, she felt the tension between them building, thickening the air inside the confines of the car like a heavy fog. Tonight was already weird enough, so why not push it a little further?

She unbuckled her seatbelt and shifted in the passenger seat, carefully getting on her knees. The car was still moving. The low growl of the engine hummed beneath her as she moved to hover over Roman, her hand bracing on the console between them. It was dangerous, and she knew it. But the thrill of it—the fact that they could crash if either of them lost focus—only made her want it more.

Her lips brushed his ear when she leaned in close, warm breath teasing him. “Do you trust me?” she whispered delicately in that sultry accent, thick with desire as her body pressed against the side of his arm as he drove.

Trust. A subject that had risen multiple times during their time working together, all of which ended in some kind of argument. So when Roman shot her a glance and let out a smug laugh, followed by a very adamant “Not at all, Princess,” it didn’t surprise her. In fact, it just encouraged her more.

Encouraged her to prove to him that he could, in fact, trust her.

Sliding even closer, her hand came up to steady herself on the headrest behind him. With an excited smirk, she whispered to him.

“Ya pochti kazhduyu noch’ dumal o tvoyem vkuse vo rtu.”

His reaction was immediate. Eyes darkened, lips curved wickedly, the heat rolling off in waves. He didn’t stop her, didn’t tell her to sit back down. Instead, his free hand—large, powerful, commanding—slipped casually around her waist, the move so natural it sent a pang of arousal straight between her legs. His fingers dipped lower, sliding over the curve of her backside, and then beneath her dress, his touch rough and unapologetic against her skin.

“You gotta stop with these games, Nate,” he chimed with little to no genuineness behind his words. It seemed like he was about to say something else, but Nate had shut him up pretty quickly by returning the favour, allowing her hand to explore the hard expanse of his wide chest and further down to his abdomen.

Her breath caught in her throat as Roman’s hand explored further, squeezing, teasing, igniting her skin with every movement. Her body instinctively pressed closer to him, her knees digging into the seat, knowing full well that they were one sharp turn away from disaster. But right now, she couldn’t care less.

Especially not when his legs shifted apart, making plenty of room for her hand to settle on growing bulge under his black sweatpants.

His hand shot back up to her waist, holding onto her tightly as she began to slowly, methodically massage him. Her breasts pushed against his arm as her lips brushed the side of his strong neck. “I think…” she whispered against his heated skin, “That you love it when I get in your head.”

Roman turned just slightly, lips ghosting over her jaw, dangerously close to her mouth. “What’d you say back there? In that pretty little language of yours?”

She gave him an abrupt squeeze, causing him to jolt a little in his seat. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she enjoyed every second of it.

The words were a challenge, a dare. And Nate was more than willing to play along. She dragged her lips back up to his ear, so close that she could feel his pulse quicken under her touch.

“I said… I’ve been thinking about how you’d taste in my mouth almost every night.”

She rested the side of her head on his shoulder, peering down at where her hand had worked him over his sweats to the point of no return. His powerful frame remained tense and full in the driver’s seat, muscles taut under the dark, fitted t-shirt that clung to his body. His tattoos peeked out from beneath his sleeve, the tribal ink crawling up his thick arm, accentuating every ounce of his dominance, his control over everything in his world.

“How am I supposed to keep driving with you touchin’ me like that, huh? After tellin’ me somethin’ like that?”

A giggle left her mouth, followed by an amused hum as she tilted her head back to look up at his face. “Then I suggest finding somewhere to pull over so I can get that cock in my mouth…”

That was it. He snapped. His nose twitched, a grunt leaving his lips as he practically slammed his foot down on the gas, eagerly thinking of all the places he knew they could park up at. If she wanted to play this, then he’d happily go along with it.

She smirked to herself, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was reckless. It was dangerous. But that was exactly what made it so intoxicating.

Shifting a little to the side, Nate braced one hand on the console as she slipped the other beneath his waistband, her fingers grazing over the solid length hiding beneath his sweats, swollen and aching against the fabric. Roman swallowed thickly, releasing a shaky breath.

“Wha–”

“Shh,” she gently hushed him, dragging her lips along his beard. “Just keep driving, moy vozhd’ plemeni…”

A low groan rumbled deep in his chest as she freed him from the confines of his pants, her delicate fingers wrapping around the thick base. Back at the safehouse, she didn’t get a chance to actually look at him. She sure felt him—the sheer stinging sensation as he sank deep inside of her—but now she was seeing, witnessing his size… God, it was intimidating. Even in the limited light in the car.

“Fucking hell, Reigns, how do you cope with this in your pants all day?” she asked with an air of exasperation, as though she had already gone three rounds with him. He didn’t answer, just let out a breathy laugh, trying earnestly to focus on the road.

Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, Nate shuffled back a little so she could lean over his lap, collecting enough saliva in her mouth to let it fall right onto the bulbous tip of his cock. He hissed under his breath, hips jolting at the sensation.

“You’re gonna make me crash this damn car,” he muttered through gritted teeth. But he didn’t stop her. If anything, he shifted in his seat, giving her more room to work, his body leaning into her touch as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Then maybe you should pull over…” she teased, licking her lips before she reached up to press a small but heated kiss against the inked skin of his bicep.

But Roman was stubborn. He wasn’t going to pull over. Not yet.

“You think I’m gon’ make it that easy for you, Princess?” His voice was thickly laced with arousal and growing primal urge. “Nah… you want that shit so bad, you’ll have to work for it.”

Challenge accepted.

“Da,” she purred up at him, smiling innocently at his warning glare for once again speaking Russian when he couldn’t completely devour her whole. But she wasted no time, lowering her mouth over his tip, allowing her tongue to swirl in slow, strategic circles around the hot, salty skin. As soon as she closed her lips around him, his body jerked, hips lifting slightly off the seat as he let out another sharp hiss.

“Fuck…” His hand shot to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as she began her descent, taking in his length as much as she could. Inch by inch. The slow bobbing of her head, the pressure along the underside of his cock from her tongue, tasting him with a hunger that could only be matched by his own, had him breathing raggedly.

The car even swerved slightly, and for a moment, she thought he might actually lose control. But Roman was nothing if not determined—he managed to keep the car steady, though his breathing had become uneven, every exhale shaky and strained as she pulled back and lewdly spit on his tip.

“Goddamn it,” he grunted, unable to stop his hips from careening upwards, causing his cock to slide even further into her mouth, her throat tightening around him at the intrusion. “Shit, that mouth ain’t so bad anymore, baby girl…”

Nate hummed around him, feeling the wetness grow between her legs at his praise. The vibrations pulled another ragged moan from his lips as she continued to enjoy the taste of him. His body was coiling, tension building in every muscle, every fibre of his being as he fought to maintain control. His fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her, encouraging her to take him deeper, faster, until the car was filled with nothing but the explicit sound of her mouth sloppily working him over and his laboured gasps.

“Damn, why ain’t I used your mouth before?” he rasped. “Gon’ make me cum before we even get there.”

His praises only spurred her on. Hollowing her cheeks, she took him as deep as she could, throat convulsing as she gagged, choked. Her hand joined the effort, making up for the expanse she couldn’t fit into her mouth. Roman’s free hand slammed against the steering wheel, knuckles white as he tried desperately to stay focused, to keep from veering off the road entirely.

“You better cut that out unless you want me to nut all on that pretty face,” he growled, glancing down at the sight of her head nestled just under the steering wheel, her knees still planted on the leather of the passenger’s seat. Body curved and arched over the centre console. He could only imagine how soaked she was right now.

With a wicked glint in her eye, she hummed again and slowly pulled her head back up, releasing him with a pop. She watched as her own hand steadily gave him a few more pumps, admiring the glistening in the dim light, the spit and translucent pearls that had gathered on her hand and along his skin.

Licking her lips, she propped herself up on both hands, stretching out her back in the process and looking up at the Samoan god in front of her. She couldn’t quite place the emotion on his face. She didn’t know if he was angry at her for blowing him whilst driving. But his next words told her that wasn’t the case.

“You… are fuckin’ insane,” he muttered hoarsley. “You just wait til I find somewhere to pull over…”

Nate smirked, chuckling almost smugly as she pulled back enough to look at the road ahead of them. They’d ventured out into a more secluded part of the city, where buildings were few and far in between. And finally, with the mounting tension simmering around and between them, he slowed the car, pulling off onto a secluded dirt road.

It seemed like it was instantly after turning off the engine that he rapidly unbuckled his seatbelt, turned to face her and reached for the back of her neck to smash their lips together in a clumsy, needy kiss.

She was barely prepared for it, the lack of breath saved up heightening her senses as he rolled his tongue into her mouth, bit at her lips like he did the last time. It was like he was trying to crawl inside her via her mouth, large and strong hand pulling her forcefully against him as he grunted into her mouth. And when he finally broke the kiss, yanking at her bottom lip in the process, his eyes darkened fully. His fist tightened around the hair at the back of her neck.

“Get the fuck in the back so I can eat that pussy, Princess.”

Her heart rate raced as Roman growled out the command, his words dipping with a hunger that matched the fire burning low in her belly. The rough pull of her hair, the deep, guttural tone in his voice—it was everything she wanted and more. Her mouth was still wet, lips swollen from working his cock, her body vibrating with foretaste.

She shuffled back, fumbling with the door handle as Roman watched her, his eyes locked onto her with a heated, possessive glare. The moment she managed to climb out, he followed swiftly, already yanking at his sweats to pull them up just enough to walk as he stalked around the car. Nate scrambled into the backseat, practically hearing her own pulse as she leaned back against the seat, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

Roman was there within seconds, slamming the door behind him, the car shaking under his weight. A predatory gaze as he crawled into the space between her legs, guiding her back without much warning. His large frame took up the entire backseat, and he resorted to resting a knee on the floor of the car just to accommodate himself. She felt so small and vulnerable under his shadow, and yet a thrill coursed through her veins akin to the type that shocked her at Bunny’s compound.

One hand slid down to her bare leg, lifting it up so he could feel the smooth skin of her thigh, closer to the only thing in the way of his magical fingers.

“Take ‘em off,” he uttered, staring down at her with hooded eyes and an unmistakable nod to her panties with a sharp, delicate flick of his chin.

Normally, the speed in which she obliged to his command would embarrass her—disappoint her. But it didn’t. She didn’t even hesitate, fingers quickly finding the flimsy material under her dress, shimmying them down as far as they could go in the position they were in, before he finished the task, tossing them into the front seat.

All the commotion had already caused her dress to ride up, allowing for her glistening core to be ogled at from the man above her. Especially as he placed his hands on the backs of her thighs, pushing them apart to expose her even more. He didn’t even need to look for very long to see just how wet she was.

“Fuck, baby… all this for me?” he exhaled, his voice chillingly soft as his fingers dug into the plushness of her thighs. “This soaked for a man you hate so much, huh?”

Oh, but I don’t hate you, Roman…

Nate couldn’t say anything. Just shift her hips, grinding against thin air. He leaned down, bringing her legs with him so she had to deal with the little friction from his sweatpants.

“Needy ‘lil princess,” he hummed, glancing down at her lips. He’d be stupid to deny it; her beauty, that is. All dressed up for the night, her makeup a little worn by now, but still present nonetheless. And he had to admit it to himself, regardless of it being internal…

Nate Volkov was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. And he’d laid eyes—and other things—on a lot of women in his time.

“You gon’ be a good girl and let Daddy do what he needs to do?”

Fuck…

He could have sworn he heard her whimper. He fucking knew it… he knew she’d responded to the pet name last time. Let’s see how far I can push this…

“C’mon, speak to me, Princess…” he whispered, his lips barely touching just below her lips. “You bein’ here, you already disobeyed one daddy, hm?”

Her eyebrows furrowed, unsure what he was getting at exactly through the potent arousal that continued to form between her legs. She was literally throbbing, clenching—she needed it so fucking bad…

His head dipped lower, edging his nose down her chest and down to the space just above the neckline of her dress. “Don’t disobey this one, baby girl. You want Daddy to eat this pussy real good, you’re gonna have to be good.” He lifted his head, looking straight at her. “You gonna be good?”

Nate let out a shaky breath, hand gripping onto the fabric of his shirt as she nodded earnestly. “Y-yes…”

He smirked, giving her legs another squeeze. “Ain’t the answer I’m lookin’ for, Princess.”

The thing was: she knew exactly what he wanted her to say, what he wanted her to call him. But her own stubborn streak, her own unwillingness to obey at the drop of a hat, despite the reward for complying, being a potentially mind-blowing orgasm, was too dominant.

That didn’t mean she didn’t want to, though. God only knew how she’d searched for years for something to fulfil the gaping hole made from a lack of… well, any kind of nurturing. And Roman had been good to her, really… Right?

Working with him, being around him and his family—the enemy—was, ironically, the only time she felt anything close to… acceptance.

And even if it would come to her own demise, even if there was a sliver of a chance that her next words would come and bite her in the ass… She. Didn’t. Care. She needed this.

“I’ll be good,” she managed to say, still grabbing onto his bicep even though he had already made a slow descent down her body, both knees on the floor now. “...Daddy.”

Her breath hitched at the tail end of the sordid word as Roman’s lips met the inside of her thigh, kissing, licking, biting his way toward her pussy with an agonisingly slow pace. “That’s right,” he mumbled. Nate’s back arched off the seat, her hips bucking slightly, silently begging for him to stop teasing her. But Roman was in control now, and he wasn’t about to let her rush him.

“Perestan’ menya draznit’... ty nuzhen etoy kiske, detka…” she whimpered as he blew little puffs of hot air right against her dripping folds, teasing her to the max.

Roman grinned, his lips brushing against her, barely pressing down on her throbbing clit. “I don’t give a damn what you’re saying in that Russian, baby,” he muttered as he kissed over her heat. “But I know you beggin’ for me.”

Her body jerked at the contact, and he saw her hand fly up to cover her mouth, trying to suppress the needy sounds bubbling up in the throat. But Roman wasn’t having it. “Don’t you fuckin’ hide those sounds from me,” he ordered, followed by a sharp nip to her thigh with his teeth.

Nate’s teeth clamped down on her lower lip, her breaths coming out in shallow pants. “Please,” she whispered, hating how broken and desperate she sounded. “Roman, please.”

“Please, what—”

“Please, Daddy!” she huffed, still with an air of defiance, but peered down at him with a softer expression. “I need you.”

Without another word, he finally dipped his head, his thick tongue slipping out to drag a slow, deliberate line up her slit. Nate’s entire body jumped at the contact, her hand shooting down to grip his hair, pulling at it despite its place in a bun. A moan tore from her throat, no longer able to contain it.

His tongue worked like a seasoned veteran, tasting her, teasing her, fingers digging deeper into her thighs to keep her from wriggling around too much. He wanted to take his time, to savour the way her body reacted to him, but the little sounds she made, the breathless moans and whimpers, were making it harder to keep his control.

“Fuck,” he grunted between licks, his voice vibrating against her swollen bud. “Pussy tastes so good… so fuckin’ sweet.” He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking the hot flesh into his mouth to drag sloppy circles around it. Nate gasped, a choked groan leaving her throat as her back arched once again.

Roman didn’t stop. His tongue flicked over her sensitive pearl, focusing the tip of his tongue on the part of her that made her writhe and pant the most. He wrapped his thick arms around her legs, hands coming round her hips to spread her open even more for him. His body moved closer to her, practically pulling her lower half off the seat entirely as he divulged.

Nate barely registered just how painfully she folded in half by the sheer force of Roman’s form. She just revelled in the overwhelming sensation of his mouth slobbering all over her cunt, bringing her to unreal levels of ecstasy in the process. But it was the much-missed sensation of two of his fingers pushing their way inside her, broadly curling just deep enough to find that spot, that had her crying out even louder.

“There it is,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, as he felt her walls fluttering around his fingers. “Wanna make sure this pussy cums nice n’ hard for me, Princess. Right on my fuckin’ tongue.”

His mumbles were fuel to the fire. Mind spinning, torn between the intoxicating sensations bestowed upon her by this Samoan god, and the mess tangled within her brain. Thinking about how badly Boris Sokolov had wanted to be in this position for years, but here she was… doing that exact thing… with Roman Reigns. The enemy, the man she had known for barely three months—and how he had utterly consumed her every thought, every inch of her body.

Her head fell back against the seat, Roman’s fingers fucking her slowly, purposefully, in tandem with the sinful rhythm of his tongue. Her thighs quivered under his grip, his broad shoulders keeping her splayed open, making sure she had nowhere to go.

“You ever let him get this close, principessa?” he rumbled against her. “You ever let him taste this sweet ass pussy?”

Nate shuddered. The sheer taboo of it made her brain short-circuit. The fact he seemed to have known what she was thinking… It was control, dominance, a pure primal claim. She couldn’t hold back the moans, whole body vibrating as he dragged his fingers in and out of her.

“Answer me.” His command was sharp, fingers curling into her spot harder.

“N-no…” she choked out. “He’s never had me—oh, fuck, right there,” she cut herself out with a strained groan, her fingers tightening on his hair, inevitably pulling out strands from the bun.

Roman chuckled darkly, the vibration of his laugh pressing into her clit as he sucked hard on the sensitive pearl. “Good,” he muttered, pulling his mouth off her just long enough to smirk up at her, eyes gleaming with sheer satisfaction. “This pussy still mine.”

“Shit…” she whined as he resumed his work, salivating and slobbering all over her pussy, the sound of it lewd but a contributor to the orgasm welling up inside her. Throbbing against his tongue. Juices continuing to flow, making a mess of his perfectly groomed beard, and whatever else had the misfortune of being within immediate range. She could even see the movement on his cheeks as he ate her out like a starved animal.

Digging her high heel into the centre of his back, he careened forward ever so slightly, growling against her. The action was entirely unintentional, but the payoff was divine. She couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t hold on for much longer.

“Prodolzhay, ya konchu, chert voz’mi, Roman…” she panted, clenching her fist into his hair as she started to buck her hips up against him.

“God, you sound so fuckin’ good like that,” he breathed out, before pulling his head back, removing his fingers only to have them come up to rub erratically at her clit. He peered up at her, smirking at her dazed state, how she whimpered a little at the lost contact. “You gonna cum for me, Princess?”

“Fuck! Yes,” she answered through a strained whine.

Roman didn’t answer, just shot back down to finish what he started. And before she could blink, her orgasm hit her with violent force, a broken moan of pure ecstacy exorcised from her chest—thighs attempting to clamp down around his head, but firmly kept apart by this man’s ridiculously strong hands. Her whole body seized, her hips jerking off the seat as he growled low in his chest, continuing to lap at her relentlessly. Prolonging every shudder that wracked through her.

When she finally collapsed back against the leather seat, panting and gasping for air, Roman didn’t let up, moving to shift over her, lowering his face just inches from hers as he leaned into her. She could taste herself on his lips when he kissed her roughly, one hand grabbing the back of her neck while the other fumbled with the hair tie that did little for the mess she’d made. He yanked it out, snapping it around his wrist.

Nate kept up with him, her hands feeling around his waist, tucking her fingers under his shirt to feel the hard, defined muscle of his back, his abs, anything she could get her hands on. She could feel the outline of his hard cock firmly pushing up against her, and the thought of him inside her again made her throb with desire.

She’d even forgotten, in the midst of her erotic haze, that they were in a car that provided limited space to move around. The fumbling of his sweatpants, and his attempt of positioning himself became too frustrating, and eventually, he adjusted his position, pulling her with him as he settled behind the driver’s seat. Fingers, digging into her skin, he held onto her waist possessively as he locked eyes with her. “Turn around, Princess,” he rasped.

Nate blinked up at him. “What?”

“You heard me,” Roman growled, giving her backside a firm tap. “Turn the fuck around. I want you to ride me… But I wanna watch that ass of yours while you do.”

Her heart stumbled in her chest. The raw yearning in his voice made her pussy convulse and shudder along with her whole body. Swallowing hard, she shifted on the seat, her legs shaky as she turned to press her knees into the leather seat, facing away from him. Her hands braced herself on the headrest in front of her.

Roman leaned back, sliding down into the seat as far as he could go, his thick thighs spreading wide to accommodate her. Large hands gripped at her hips tightly, thumbs digging into the fleshy curves and pulling her closer to him as his mouth hovered hear her ear, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. Almost as hot and heavy as the tip of his cock gliding across her slick folds.

“You feelin’ this, baby girl?” he whispered. “Feel how fuckin’ hard you make me? How bad I need to be in you every fuckin’ time I see you?”

Nate’s head fell back slightly, a soft moan falling from her parted lips as she reached down, guiding the thick head of his cock to her slick entrance. He had to have been the biggest she’d ever had… And even though she’d had him before, it was insignificant in preparing her for another ride—so to speak.

Roman groaned low in his chest as she lined him up, holding onto her tightly. “That’s it,” he muttered. “Nice n’ slow, baby. Take me all the way in.”

Biting down on her lip, she lowered herself onto him, her body stretching around his girth inch by inch. The pressure, the fullness, it was all so overwhelming, and she couldn’t stop the breathy whine from leaving her mouth as she sank down onto him completely.

“O bozhe…” she gasped, gripping the back of the driver’s seat for support. “Roman…”

“Fuck,” Roman grunted, his hands roaming from her waist to her backside, squeezing the soft flesh as he helped guide her movements. “That’s right… every fuckin’ inch.”

Nate’s response was a choked moan as she tried to lift herself up, but Roman’s hands were still on her hips, pushing her down again, forcing her to take all of him. The angle was intense, his cock hitting deep inside her with every slight movement. Her breath came out in ragged gasps, her body trembling as she began to ride him, the tight space making it harder to control her movements, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, it fuelled his need.

“Fuck, yes…” he hissed, his head falling back against the seat, eyes rolling shut as her tight core enveloped him. “Goddamn… Fuckin’ perfect body…”

She could barely breathe. The sensation of him filling her completely made her dizzy. “Oh god, Roman—fuck,” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut; this position definitely made his size all the more intense to take. Impossibly thick. Stretched to the limit. “Feels so fucking good…”

Hands back on her ass, he rocked her gently, urging her to pick up the pace of her movements. “Yeah? You like how that feels, Princess?” His voice was low, strained. “Like the way I fill up this pussy, huh?”

“Yes,” she breathed out with an earnest nod, rolling her hips over his, feeling every inch of him drag against her sensitive walls. It was too much, and yet somehow not enough.

Once she had settled into a rhythm, one that had her enveloping him completely, hitting her spot each time he sank back inside, Roman couldn’t help himself. She just looked so good like this, and her ass… Fuck, she was so fucking hot.

“Look at you, baby girl,” he grunted behind her. “Ridin’ me like that… like you fuckin’ own me.” His hands guided her, pushing her up and down on his cock. “You been wantin’ this again, huh? Been thinkin’ ‘bout me since the safehouse?”

All she could do was nod, unable to speak as she rode him quicker, greedily taking him at her leisure.

Big mistake.

Without another word, Roman’s hand came up to the back of her head, twisting his fist into her hair to yank her backwards until her back made contact with his body. Forced to let go of the driver’s seat headrest, she was lost as to what to do with her hands; she grabbed at anything, the uselessly small ledge on the window, the seat they were on. But she eventually found his hand, the one that wasn’t painfully grasping at her hair, and held onto that instead.

“I asked you a question,” he hissed into the skin of her neck as he inhaled her scent. “You been wantin’ this dick again, ain’t you, baby girl? Wanted me to pound this tight lil’ pussy…” The more he spoke, the more he took control of their speed, starting to throw his hips up from beneath, fucking her silly. “Say it, Nate.”

Her pants got quicker, and the pitch of her moans heightened. She could feel tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Yes!” she choked out, eyes rolling to the back of her head as the tip of his dick hit a particularly sensitive spot deep inside her soul. “Holy shit… Roman—right there, right there…shit, fuck!” she groaned, lifting her hand to grab onto his shoulder behind her. It was awkward, trying to hold onto him how she wanted.

“Mmm,” Roman rumbled, letting go of her hair and bringing both his hands around to the front of her, trailing them up until he reached her breasts. He disregarded the value of the dress she wore and practically ripped the fabric down so the warm skin made contact with the rough palms of his hands, exposing her. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he moaned, his lips hovering over her shoulder. “This pussy was made for me…”

The car creaked beneath them as her ass bounced on his lap, as their skin collided, obscene sounds coming from her pussy taking him over and over.

“Turn around, Princess,” he rasped, giving her chest a final squeeze. “Lemme see you.”

With a whimper, she weakly slid off of him, his dick sliding out of her and leaving her empty for only a moment before he pulled her back on top of him, this time facing each other so they could see the absolute state they put the other in.

“Keep ridin’ me, baby, fuck yourself on this dick,” he encouraged, wrapping his muscular arms around her body, assisting her in her movements. He met her downward grinds with a sharp upward thrust, taking a moment to appreciate the body of this woman. He needily captured one of her stiff nipples into his mouth, holding her against him as he proceeded to swirl his tongue around the erect nub, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. He swore he felt her pussy jolt at the action.

“God,” Nate gasped, her breath hitching as his dick slammed into her repeatedly. “So fucking good.”

“Yeah?” he chuckled darkly, peering up at her. “That feel good?”

“Yeah…” Her hands moved from his shoulders up to his hair, pushing it completely from his face so she could feast her eyes on his intimidating features, the arch in his brows as he leered up at her like she was the most despicable human he’d ever seen. Yet, all the while, he’s balls deep in her, fucking her from underneath like he’d never get to have sex ever again.

“Mne nravitsya chuvstvovat’, budto ty razryvayesh’ menya popolam… moy vozd’ pelemeni,” she purred down at him, purposefully tightening herself around him as she did.

“You keep talkin’ to me like that, I’m gon’ nut in this pretty pussy,” he growled at her, lowering his hands to grab onto her ass, spreading her out and picking up the pace with his own hips. She cried out, clenching her fists into his hair. “That what you want, Princess? You want Daddy to nut all in that pussy? Get her nice and full for Boris stupid ass, huh?”

Now, that shouldn’t have brought her closer to the edge. But, God, did it…

“Yes, Daddy,” she panted, “Please… Please, please… Please, moy vozhd’ plemeni…”

Considering that Roman practically had his brain inside her, it was quite the impressive feat that he picked up on one of her Russian phrases. A phrase she had used three times tonight…

“What’s that mean?” he asked her, starting to pant himself.

“What?”

“That… what you just said.”

Nate smirked a little, humming as she laughed breathily. “Moy vozhd’ plemeni?”

“Shit… yeah, that…”

“It mea—oh, fuck, fuck…” she gasped, her entire body twitching and tensing up as her orgasm hit her so suddenly, so intensely that she had to push her forehead up against his in a feeble attempt to steady herself. “I’m cumming, fuck, I’m cumming…”

“Damn, baby, no warnin’ or nothin’?” he leaned his head back, lids hooded as he watched her writhe on top of him, feeling her pussy throb and convulse around him, soaking him in her sweet release. God, he wanted to taste her again already… “So fuckin’ pretty cummin’ on this dick. Ride it out, Princess…”

She really did. She rode it out, using every ridge and curve of his cock to draw the final drops of her climax from within. But now… all she wanted to do was make this gorgeous creation beneath her come undone and fill her up.

“Hmm…” she hummed, ignoring the sensitivity as she continued to roll her hips. “Your turn now, Daddy…”

Roman groaned, practically turning inside out as he heard that name on the tip of her precious tongue, in that precious accent. That reminds him…

“Tell me,” he breathed.

“Tell you what?” She dug her nails into his shoulders, tilting her head to the side.

“Tell me what it means.”

“Moy vozhd’ plemeni?”

“Fuck, yeah, tell me, Nate…”

With a sneaky little smile, she lowered her face down to his, bringing a hand up to place it on the side of his face, locking her eyes with his. “It means…” She glanced down at his lips, barely brushing hers against them, just before whispering very gently:

“My Tribal Chief.”

Her words hit him like a bolt of lightning. Roman groaned, his grip on her bruising as his thrusts became dangerously erratic. “Fuck,” he snarled. “You gon’ make me cum, baby girl… You ready for it?”

“Yes,” Nate whimpered, feeling him pulsing inside her. “Cum inside me, Daddy. Fill me up… please.”

He let out a guttural moan as he came hard, trembling as he emptied himself. Nate’s breath hitched as she felt the hot rush of his release, helping him ride it out whilst she rode out the tail end of her own, nails digging into his skin. Breath a mixture of gasps and moans.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, her forehead resting against his, both of them panting, chests heaving, trying to catch their breaths. The air in the car was thick, the windows fogged from their insatiability. Neither of them spoke, too consumed by the moment to ruin it with words.

But the silence didn’t last long.

Nate’s phone, tossed somewhere in the front seat, began to ring obnoxiously, breaking the bubble they had created. She groaned, reluctantly sliding off Roman’s lap, her body immediately feeling the loss of him. She pulled her dress back into place, wincing at the soreness between her legs, before crawling over the centre console to reach for her phone.

Roman’s hand came down hard on her ass, a loud smack echoing in the enclosed space. “You really gonna just leave Daddy like that, huh?” he teased, his voice deep and satisfied.

She smirked, but didn’t respond. She grabbed her phone, pulling it up to see who was calling—and then her heart stopped.

Ten missed calls. All from Becky Lynch.

Her blood ran cold. Her earlier calm, her sense of control—all of it vanished. “Fuck,” she muttered under hear breath.

Roman leaned back, watching her with a smug grin until he saw her expression shift. “What’s wrong?” he asked, still lazy with post-orgasmic bliss.

Nate whipped her head around, glaring at him. “Why didn’t you tell me my phone was ringing, you twat?”

He raised an eyebrow, completely unphased by her sudden shift in mood. “Didn’t hear it. You were a little busy ridin’ my dick, remember?”

“Are you fucking serious? It’s Becky!” she snapped, panic rising in her chest. “I’ve been waiting for this phone call for a fucking week, Roman, she’s the only one who can help us right now! Chert voz’mi…”

Nate muttered a few more curses under her breath, finally finding her panties tangled up on the edge of the driver's seat in her comedown back to reality. She brushed past Roman as she crawled over into the front passenger seat, not even bothering to get out and walk round; it felt like the whole world knew she’d fucked up. Even something as minor as missing calls. It didn’t matter how small or meaningless something seemed—if Nate felt like she’d fucked up… then, by God, she fucked up.

Roman gave her a raised eyebrow, as though he wanted to say something, but she shot him a look that made it perfectly clear she was all business now.

“I’m calling her back,” she said firmly, pressing Becky’s number. Roman seemed like he was about to protest, but her warning glare, and his own common sense in knowing this really was important, kept it at bay. She hit the speakerphone button, ignoring his expectant look as the line rang.

All the while, Roman took the mature approach by leaving the car to walk around to the front seat. She caught a glimpse of him adjusting himself as he did, through the thin fog that settled over the driver’s window, before he smoothly slid back in. He proceeded to push his hair back up and tie it in a lazy little bun that still allowed half of his hair to hang down in what can only be described as a mini ponytail.

“Nate!”

The Irish twang caught Nate’s attention, and she swiftly turned her head away from Roman and back to her phone.

“Finally, ye answer. Thought I was wastin’ my time here, callin’ nonstop.”

“Sorry, I was….” she croaked, taking a moment to clear her throat. “I was with someone helping me on this.” She darted a quick glance at Roman, who watched her with mild amusement. Smug prat.

“Right…” Becky said with a note of curiosity. “Listen. I talked to my contact. He’s willing to share what he has. Says he’s got some files, things he’s kept to himself for almost a decade now.”

Nate felt a flicker of hope, despite the awkward start. “And… you believe this person to be reliable, yeah?”

“He might have the information you need,” the redhead replied somewhat hesitantly. “He just… doesn’t want anyone to know it’s come from him. So… for now, ye not going to find out who this person is, ‘kay?”

She furrowed her brow, once again glancing at Roman, who shared her perplexion. “I’m supposed to trust this guy, but I can’t know who he is? Is this a joke, Rebecca?” She could almost feel the cringe from the other end of the line at the use of Becky’s full name.

“I’m sayin’ ye can trust him, so ye can trust him, Natalka,” Becky bit back. “I know for a fact he has things nobody else does, and it sounds like ye need serious help.”

Huffing and sitting back, Nate thought for a moment, running her tongue over her teeth. She wasn’t even sure why she was so concerned about the identity of this contact. She already snuck out of her own home to meet Roman Reigns, and then proceed to fuck him a second time after she specifically promised herself she wouldn’t do that, so why the fuck should she care about where information comes from anymore?

Well, the answer is simple. Becky Lynch. The Irish. Even though she wasn’t even connected to her family’s dealings anymore, information Nate had only just learned a week prior, it was still a sore subject. Too many betrayals. Too many friends lost. Too many… too much… death.

“Becky,” Nate sighed, “Please just tell me who the guy is, I don’t know what you think I’m gonna do with his name.”

A pause lingered on the line, along with some rustling, before she heard a long exhale from Becky. “My husband. It’s my husband, Nate.”

“And his name would be….?” Nate trailed off.

“Seth. Seth Rollins.”

The name meant absolutely nothing to Nate, but she noticed Roman’s reaction out of the corner of her eye—like he’d just seen a fucking ghost outside the car.

She tried to focus on Becky’s reassurances that it would be fine, even as the energy in the car shifted dramatically. Roman’s expression had darkened into something bordering on feral, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles twitched in time with the pulse beating in his temple. His hands rested on the wheel, but his gaze was distant, staring ahead like he was seeing far beyond the windshield. His eyes were sharp, glacial, the look of a man consumed by something deeper and more dangerous than mere anger—a buried intensity that might shatter given the slightest push.

“So,” Becky’s voice crackled through the speaker, “if I told you who I’ve got over here, I think it’s only fair you tell me who’s on your side.”

Glancing at Roman, Nate knew shit could go south fast if she said the wrong thing. But he was somewhere else entirely, locked in a place she couldn’t reach or… predict. With her only option being to think on her feet, Nate cleared her throat, injecting a hint of authority into her voice. “Becks, I can promise you this person’s very resourceful. He’s already done enough for me to know he’s being honest,” she took a quick look down at her leg, right at the area on her thigh that now bore a scar from a bullet and had once been tended to by the man in question. “No reason to worry.”

Becky paused, then pressed, only slightly more serious. “Nate… do you trust this person?”

Nate looked at Roman again, lingering this time. The question felt a little heavier than she wanted it to, but she had no choice but to answer honestly. Why wouldn’t she?

“I think I do.”

For a beat, the answer suspended in the space between them. It came out a lot softer than usual, almost vulnerable—a state she rarely allowed herself to fully fall into, not even when by herself. Certainly never around Roman. Good job he was still in his own world, distantly staring daggers into nothing ahead of him, but she did feel the shift in atmosphere. The way it seemed to… bend around the truth she had just spoken.

Just like that, Nate’s usual edge returned as she added dryly, “Besides… he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’ll go along with things whether he likes it or not.”

“Fine,” Becky replied, satisfied for the moment. “Then we’ll meet—all four of us, some place quiet. Can’t be havin’ too many eyes on us.”

“Trust me, I’m more than happy with that,” Nate laughed ruefully, once again reminded of the repercussions of being caught mingling with The Bloodline.

“Good. Seth will run through what he thinks is important, it might be relevant, it might not, but it sounds like it’s worth a shot… So, I’ll set it up, yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” Nate nodded, and with a quick goodbye, she ended the call, her attention snapping back to Roman. His silence now seemed like an echo.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Alright, what the fuck’s wrong with you now?”

He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched tighter, and he gave her a sharp side glance, before starting the engine. “You wanna go back to that mansion of yours, or you wantin’ me to take you to Tribeca?”

Nate crossed her arms with a shrug. “Just take me home. Can’t be gone lo—”

“Wasn’t askin’ for your life story,” he cut her off.

She glared at him, unimpressed. “Right, didn’t expect you to care to listen to me anyway. Chertov pridurok…”

As they drove, her eyes tracked the streets and landmarks, noting that he wasn’t heading toward the usual route back to her home. The building started blurring into unfamiliar territory.

“Uh, are you lost, or just getting creative?” she muttered, half-joking, half-over this night.

“We’re takin’ the long way,” he curtly responded without paying her the respect of a glance.

She rolled her eyes, but her curiosity got the best of her. Before she could ask why, Roman’s voice came, low and gravelly, cutting through the silence like a knife, just as harshly as it did through the scowl on his face.

“Think it’s time I tell you a lil' somethin’ ‘bout Seth fuckin’ Rollins.”

32 notes · View notes

bijouxcarys · 7 months ago

Text

𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 (𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒙 𝑶𝑪) - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒚

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: this has been sitting waiting to be posted for a minute, but I've been in mama mode looking after my dog after being spayed, and I also don't know when you'll get the next chapter. it may not be before the new year, so if that's the case, I hope everyone enjoys their holiday month and I wish nothing but the best for everyone's 2025 <3 thank you for allowing me to express myself on here and giving me one hell of a 2024 xx

CW/TW: mentions of violence, discrimination, human trafficking, child abuse -- none are graphic or described in real time, but they are mentioned -- character death, medical episode, implication of ptsd

Tags: @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup @trentybenty @pittieprincess22

@electronicwitchsandwich @thefairywithboots

(If you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics, just let me know!)

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

March 15th, 2014.

The salon buzzed with a low hum of hair dryers, quiet laughter, and the faint clicking of coffee cups and saucers. Warm afternoon sunlight filtered through the large windows, casting golden glows across the room, while the occasional breeze from the open door stirred the faint scent of lavender and eucalyptus. Time slowed down here, as a haven away from the chaos of everyday life.

Which was why Irina Volkov loved it so much.

She sat in one of the cushioned chairs near the back, her dark hair wrapped in foils as she laughed lightly at something the stylist said. Looking impossibly elegant, even in this unassuming setting, her presence remained so utterly magnetic it turned heads without effort.

Beside her, Nate sat, leaned back with an almost bored expression, her long legs crossed at the ankle and arms loosely folded. A magazine sat abandoned in her lap, its glossy pages ignored.

“Why don’t you pick something out?” Irina suggested, her soft accent curling around each word. “You could at least pretend to care about your hair.”

Nate gave a sidelong glance, one brow arching. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

Irina smiled knowingly, a touch of jest in her visage. “Nothing. But we’re here, Nate, make the most of it.”

With a sigh, Nate flipped the magazine open, though she didn’t bother to read it. Irina turned her attention back to the stylist but only for a moment before shifting her focus back to her daughter.

“So,” she began, playfully yet probing. “Do you know what kind of man you’d like to be with one day?”

Nate nearly choked on air. She stared at her mother, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “What? What kind of question is that?”

Irina laughed, tilting her head as though she’d been expecting the reaction. “It’s a simple question,” she said. “You’re nearly nineteen. Surely you’ve thought about it.”

“No,” Nate replied flatly, with a dry sarcasm. “I’ve been way too busy plotting world domination like Daddy.”

Irina clicked her tongue. “Don’t dodge the question, malyshka. You must have some idea. Strong? Handsome? Smart? All three, perhaps? Beard? Tattoos? Or clean and baby-faced?”

Nate groaned, slumping further in her seat. “Mum, I don’t care. Seriously. I’ve got bigger things to worry about than boys.”

Her mother’s lips curled into a small, mischievous smile. “Oh, I see… I should, perhaps, be asking about the opposite sex instead?”

Nate froze. The casual way Irina had asked the question caught her off guard, and for a minute, she didn’t know how to respond. Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she whipped her head toward her mother, horrified.

“What—why—what would even make you ask that?” she stammered, her words tripping over themselves in an uncharacteristic display of flustered panic.

Irina’s laughter was soft but genuine, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, darling, don’t look at me like that. I’m your mother. I know you better than anyone.”

“You don’t know that,” Nate muttered, her face heating further as she tried to bury herself deeper in the magazine. “God, you’re embarrassing.”

“Relax,” Irina said gently, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Nate’s face. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. And you didn’t deny it, by the way.”

The younger Volkov let out a groan of pure frustration, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh my God, shut up.”

Irina’s smile softened, and just looked at her daughter—really looked at her, the way only a mother could. There was no judgement in her gaze, only quiet understanding and a hint of pride. She said nothing more on the subject, letting it fall away like it had never been brought up in the first place.

“You’re impossible, Mother,” Nate mumbled under her breath, but there was no real heat behind it.

“And don’t I know it,” Irina replied with an almost soft smugness.

They fell into an easy silence after that, the kind that came naturally between them. Irina shifted back in her seat, closing her eyes as the stylist continued working, while Nate returned to absently flipping through the magazine.

“What do you want for your birthday next month?” Irina asked after a while. “And don’t say ‘nothing.’”

Nate hesitated, her fingers pausing mid-page turn. Her lips pressed into a thin line as though debating whether to say what was on her mind.

“Well,” she began slowly, almost cautiously, “There is… one thing.”

Irina opened one eye, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh?”

Nate shifted in her seat, her earlier embarrassment melting into something closer to quiet longing. “I want to go back to the UK. To Cornwall. Surrey, too. Just… back home, you know? I miss it.”

Her mother’s expression softened, her gaze growing wistful. She reached out, resting a hand on Nate’s arm. “I know you do, malyshka. I miss it too.”

They both knew it wasn’t that simple. The move to Florida had been Dimitri’s decision, a strategic relocation to further cement his operations on US soil. Cornwall had been a lifetime ago—a quieter, simpler time before the weight of their family’s name had truly settled on Nate’s shoulders.

Nate shuffled again, fingers toying with the edge of the magazine. “You said you’d take me for my twenty-first,” she reminded her mother, her tone almost pleading.

“I did,” Irina nodded. “And I will. But twenty-one isn’t for another two years, Nate.”

“I know,” Nate said quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. “But maybe… I don’t know. Maybe we could go for Christmas? Just for a little bit… Please?”

Irina sighed, caught between understanding her daughter’s needs and the resignation of returning where her husband had left off. “You know how your father is.”

“Yeah,” Nate muttered darkly. “That’s why I’m asking you and not him.”

Irina couldn’t help but smile at that. She squeezed Nate’s arm gently, her own reluctance giving way to the determination that always rose when it came to her children. “Okay,” she said finally.

Nate’s head shot up, her eyes widening. “Wait—really?”

Irina held up a finger. “On one condition.”

“I bloody knew it,” Nate grumbled. “What’s that, then?”

Leaning in slightly, Irina’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you go to that sparring session with Becky and her dad next week. You know how much it means to your father that you go, Nate.”

Nate rolled her eyes, but for something as ideal as visiting the UK again, it was a little price to pay. “Fine,” she relented. “But only because I really want to go.”

Irina grinned, a genuine warmth lighting up her face. “Deal.”

The stylist finished up, removing the last of the foils from Irina’s hair. As they prepared to leave, Irina rested a hand on Nate’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll start making plans,” she said quietly.

Nate looked at her, a faint smile on her lips. For a fleeting moment, the world outside didn’t exist at all—there was no Dimitri, no looming expectations, no weight of the Volkov name. Just a mother and daughter, sharing a rare moment of connection in a world that rarely allowed it.

“Thanks, Mum,” she said just above a whisper. Irina didn’t reply, but the look in her eyes said everything she couldn’t put into words.

Outside was a striking contrast to the warm, perfumed cocoon of the salon; the sun hung low, spraying the crowded Manhattan streets with jagged shadows. Dewy light gliding the mundane chaos of taxis honking, bicycles weaving through foot traffic, and street vendors shouting about their wares. Nate and Irina stood for a moment just beyond the threshold, the latter’s freshly polished appearance shimmering like a porcelain figure against the gritty urban tableau.

Irina smoothed her hair with a languid hand, a soft laugh still lingering on her lips from their final exchange with the stylists. “Should we?” she gestured in the direction of their favourite bookstore, Rizzoli on Broadway, a haven for both their literary indulgences and occasional splurges on coffee-table books they’d never actually read.

Nate tilted her head, pretending to deliberate. “Do we really need more books? My nightstand already looks like a collapsing Jenga tower.”

Irina raised an eyebrow, her expression half-playful, half-mocking. “As if that’s ever stopped us.”

They started walking, their steps in easy rhythm. Irina adjusted her purse, its leather strap cutting diagonally across her trim figure, while Nate shoved her hands into her jacket packers, adopting her usual careless touch. The city buzzed around them, a living, breathing entity—tumultuous and indifferent yet strangely comforting in its constancy.

“Your father is going to have a fit when he sees the credit card bill,” Irina remarked with a knowing smirk.

“Please,” Nate drawled. “He doesn’t even notice unless it’s a yacht or a Fabergé egg.”

Irina chuckled, but the laughter soon softened into silence, as though some unspoken entity had settled between them. Nate felt it first, her gaze flicking sideways to her mother, who stared ahead with a small, unreadable smile.

“What?” Nate asked.

Smile widening, Irina’s arm brushed against Nate’s as they walked. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You,” Irina replied indefinitely. “You’ve been a little… withdrawn lately.”

Nate snorted, her breath misting faintly in the crisp air. “When am I not withdrawn?”

“Fair point,” Irina conceded with a breathy laugh. “But this feels… different. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

The sincerity in her mother’s tone caught her for a whirlwind. She glanced down at the sidewalk, her pace faltering for a moment. “I know,” she muttered.

Irina didn’t push it; she rarely did. And that was one of the things Nate loved most about her mother—her patience, her ability to wait out Nate’s silences without filling them with unnecessary noise. They crossed the street, narrowly avoiding a young man on a skateboard who nearly collided with them. Irina clutched Nate’s arm, almost giggling as they reached the curb.

“Do you think Dad likes me?” Nate asked abruptly, impulsively.

Irina blinked, startled, but quickly composed herself. “What kind of question is that? Of course he does.”

Nate shook her head, her lips twisting into a bitter smile. “Not really. He tolerates me because he has to. Let’s be honest—he wanted a son, and instead, he got… me.”

Sighing, Irina draped an arm around Nate’s shoulders, pulling her close as they walked. “Your father’s not the easiest man to understand. He’s complicated, stubborn—”

“Emotionally constipated,” Nate interjected dryly.

Despite herself, the older Volkov managed a laugh, the sound rippling through the sad overtone of the topic at hand. “Yes, that too. But he loves you, in his own way. He just… doesn’t know how to show it.”

They both knew this was only half true. Dimitri’s preference for a son wasn’t just a rumour or an unspoken suspicion—it was fact, revealed during a drunken argument years ago that had left both Nate and Irina reeling. But neither of them needed to revisit that wound today. Some truths were better left unspoken, their edges dulled by time and careful avoidance.

“I’m fine with it,” Nate shrugged off her mother’s arm. “Really. I don’t need his approval.”

Irina watched her daughter for a moment, her face softening. “You’re stronger than you think, you do realise that, right?”

Nate rolled her eyes, but the faintest hint of a smile betrayed her. “Don’t get sappy on me, Mum.”

They turned a corner, the street narrowing as brownstones replaced glass facades. The air felt cooler here, quieter, but still alive with the faint hum of the city. Nate glanced around, her attention drawn to a commotion further down the block—a cacophony of car horns blaring, angry shouts blending into the urban symphony. She dismissed it as background noise, her focus returning to Irina, who was rummaging through her purse.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“My phone,” Irina replied absentmindedly. “I think I left it on silent at the salon.”

Before Nate could respond, the roar of an engine cut through the air, its aggressive growl out of place in the relatively calm street. A sleek black car with tinted windows appeared, weaving through traffic with an urgency. She glanced at it briefly but thought nothing of it.

She was a Volkov—aggression was the default setting.

The car drew closer, slowing as it neared them, its purring engine an ominous undercurrent. Nate felt it then—a strange prickle at the base of her neck, a subtle yet unmistakable warning. Her steps faltered, her instincts telling her to pull Irina closer.

“Let’s cross here,” she suggested, her voice tight.

But before Irina could respond, the car came to a sudden stop just a few feet from them. Nate’s gaze snapped to the vehicle, her pulse quickening as the back window began to lower. Just a crack. Just enough.

She saw it—a glint of metal, a shadowy hand—and in that split second, her body moved before her mind could catch up.

“Mum, get down!” she shouted, reaching for Irina’s arm.

And then the world shattered.

The first crack was sharp, metallic, like glass breaking under pressure. Nate flinched, her brain struggling to process the sound. A second and third followed, their echoes ricocheting off the brownstone, turning the narrow street into a tunnel of chaos.

Each shot slammed into Irina, her body snapping back as though struck by invisible fists. Her purse fell first, skittering to the ground with a hollow thud, followed by her legs giving way as if the strings holding her upright had been cut.

“Mum!” Nate screamed, the name erupting from her like a primal wail, raw and uncontainable. She lunged forward as Irina crumpled to the pavement, her once-elegant figure folding into a graceless heap. Blood bloomed across her white blouse, a grotesque and vivid flower spreading outward, soaking into the fabric. The iron tang hit Nate’s nose instantly, sharp and nauseating.

The car didn’t linger. Its tires screeched against the asphalt, the tinted windows rolling up like a stage curtain closing on the violence it had unleashed. Within seconds, it vanished into the river of traffic, leaving nothing but the stench of burnt rubber and the hollow, ringing silence that followed destruction.

For a moment, Nate couldn’t move. The world blurred around her, colours bleeding together as her mind refused to process what her eyes saw; Irina lying motionless, blood pooling beneath her, spreading outward like a dark halo.

“M-Mum…” Nate’s voice cracked, disbelief and terror tangled in her throat. She fell to her knees, uncaring of the blood that soaked through her jeans and slicked her hands as she cradled Irina’s weighted form. “No… No, no, no—wake up, please!”

Irina’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. Her lips moved faintly, forming half-words that Nate couldn’t hear over the sound of her own ragged breathing. Deep crimson bubbled at the corner of her mouth, a cruel mockery of life.

“Stay with me,” Nate begged, clutching her mother’s hand, the warmth she was so used to already beginning to fade. “Someone please help!” she cried out desperately.

Around them, the street had erupted into a frenzy. People screamed, some ducking into doorways, others frozen in shock. Cars honked furiously, their drivers oblivious to the tragedy unfolding just feet away. A few pedestrians gathered at a cautious distance, their faces pale and horrified, but no one dared step closer. This was New York; people knew better than to get involved in business like this.

Except one.

A man broke through the small crowd, his boots slamming against the pavement as he ran toward them. He was scruffy, with wild blue eyes and a jacket that looked like it had survived a war. He dropped to his knees beside Nate, his movements urgent but not panicked.

“Hey, hey,” he said steadily. “I’ve got her, I’ve got you. What’s your name?”

Nate didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. All she could do was sob messily as she clutched her mother’s limp body, her blood-slick hands trembling as she rocked back and forth.

“What’s her name?” the stranger asked.

“I-Irina…” Nate managed to choke out.

“Irina…” he nodded before looking down at the slain woman. “Irina. Can you hear me? I’m Dean, I’m gonna he—” he paused, already noting the gurgling in her throat and the purple forming around her lips. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, yanking a phone from his pocket. “911, we’ve got a shooting on—” He rattled off the address, but Nate wasn’t listening.

Irina’s fingers twitched weakly in her grip, and Nate’s breath caught. “Mum?” she whispered, leaning in close. “I’m here. You’re going to be fine, okay? Just–just stay awake. Please…”

Irina’s lips moved again, faint and fragile, like the flutter of a moth’s wings. “C-Christmas…” she murmured, the word slurring. “Promise…”

The words hit Nate like a knife to the chest. She nodded frantically, tears spilling down her face. “Okay, Mum. Christmas. I’ll hold you to it, just… stay with me, alright? Don’t go anywhere…”

Her mother’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. Then her eyes slipped shut, her body going limp in Nate’s arms.

“No.” Nate’s voice broke, the single word a desperate plea. She shook Irina gently, gripping onto her body like it was her only lifeline. “No, no, no—you can’t leave, please don’t leave me. Oh, God…”

The man beside her, who she overheard as Dean, reached out, his hand firm on her shoulder. “The ambulance is on its way,” he let her know calmly. “You need to let go.”

But Nate couldn’t let go. Irina’s blood was everywhere—on her hands, her clothes, pooling in the cracks of the pavement—and yet it felt like her mother was slipping through her fingers, disappearing into the ether. The world around her swirled in a dizzying haze of sirens and shouting and the faint, acrid smell of gunpowder.

And Nate, kneeling in the middle of it all, could do nothing but scream.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Nate woke with a start, her body jerking forward as if she’d been yanked from the depths of a cold, violent ocean. The room was dark, but the shadows shifted and clawed at the edges of her vision, remnants of a nightmare she couldn’t shake. Her chest heaved, the sharp gasp for air cutting through the stillness. Sweat drenched her, a cold film plastering her shirt to her skin and chilling her to the bone despite the faint warmth of the room.

Her heart was racing, not just the steady thrum of adrenaline but an erratic, panicked flutter. It felt wrong, uneven, as though something fragile inside her was being wrung out like wet fabric. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, the movement jerky and unsteady, trying to steady the unruly rhythm.

The dream lingered.

The sound of gunfire. The weight of her mother in her arms. Blood… so much blood…

Her throat closed, panic gripping her like a vice. She swallowed hard, trying to remind herself where she was. She wasn’t in the middle of Manhattan in 2014. There was no sidewalk slick with crimson, no scent of gunpowder and rubber in the air. It was December 2022.

December 2022… You’re at home… Katya’s right down the hall… You’re okay…

But her heart wouldn’t stop.

It was too fast, too heavy, like it was trying to batter its way out of her chest. Each beat sent a sharp, pulsing ache radiating down her arms and into her jaw. The familiar tightness seized her ribs, squeezing like a cruel hand, and she let out a strangled gasp, clutching at the sheets.

Not now. God, not now.

Nate swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor with a muted thud. The room swayed, the shadows seeming to tilt and roll. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms in an effort to anchor herself. The sharp sting brought her back, just enough to remember what she needed to do.

The bathroom. The pills are in the bathroom, Nate.

She forced herself upright, her legs trembling under her weight. Her breath came in shallow, rapid bursts, and each step felt like wading through thick, unforgiving mud. Her vision blurred at the edges, black spots creeping in like ink on water.

One step. Another.

The hallway stretched out before her, impossibly long and dark. She braced herself against the wall, her hand skimming over the cold plaster for balance. The floor beneath her seemed to ripple, an unsteady wave that made her stomach churn.

Her mind raced alongside her heart, a chaotic storm of memories and fear. Dimitri’s threats, Katya’s fragile voice, her mother’s warmth… Roman’s hard and unreadable face. Crashing down on her like a tidal wave.

Another step. Her knees buckled, and she slammed into the wall, her palm slipping against the smooth surface. A small, choked cry escaped her lips as the pain in her chest flared, sharp and searing, stealing her breath.

“Almost there,” she whispered to herself, the words trembling on her tongue.

She reached the bathroom door and fumbled for the handle, her shaking fingers struggling to grasp it. Finally, it gave way, and she stumbled inside, the light flickering on overhead with a harsh, fluorescent hum.

The mirror caught her reflection—a ghost staring back. Her face was pale, almost gray, her skin glistening with sweat. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her lips were tinged with a faint blue. She looked like she was dying.

And in that moment, she felt like it.

The cabinet. She forced her focus to the mirrored cabinet above the sink, yanking it open with a wary hand. Bottles clinked together as she shifted through them, her fingers clumsy and desperate. Finally, she found it—the small orange bottle with her name printed on the label.

Nate twisted the cap off and shook two pills into her palm, nearly dropping them as her fingers spasmed. She fumbled for the glass on the counter, filled it with unsteady hands, and swallowed the pills down, the water cool and biting against her dry throat.

She gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles white as she leaned over, waiting for the storm inside her to subside. Each second stretched unbearably long, her heart still hammering against her ribs like it was punishing her for existing.

Breathe. Just breathe.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of her breath, ragged and uneven as it was. In through her nose, out through her mouth. Over and over, forcing the rhythm to slow, to calm, to remind her that she wasn’t going to die.

Minutes passed before the tightness in her chest began to ease, the erratic fluttering of her heart settling into something that resembled normal. Her hands were still trembling, but the immediate panic had passed, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that made her feel like she’d been hollowed out.

She opened her eyes and looked back at her reflection. The colour was starting to return to her face, but the haunted look in her eyes remained. It always did.

This wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.

Nate reached for the hand towel and wiped her face, the cool fabric soothing against her clammy skin. She stared at herself for a moment longer, then turned off the light and stepped back into the hallway.

It was no longer empty.

Nate froze in her tracks, her pulse still irregular but now laced with irritation. Standing just outside the bathroom door, leaning casually against the wall, was her Uncle Ivan. Sharp features thrown into stark relief by dim lighting, pale blue eyes cutting through the gloom like ice.

He straightened when he saw her, sweeping over her dishevelled state with a mix of judgement and faint disdain.

“What the hell are you doing skulking outside the bathroom?” she asked raggedly.

Tilting his head, he studied her like she was a particularly uninteresting puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. Finally, he spoke, flatly and far from kind. “I heard noise. Thought maybe you’d had too much to drink again.”

The accusation hung like cigarette smoke, cloying and dismissive.

Nate huffed a breath, pressing her back against the doorframe for support. “Wow, you’re really earning your reputation as the quiet genius of the family tonight, Ivan. Because, yes, clearly I’m getting drunk at—” she glanced at the clock on the hallway wall, “Three in the morning. Alone. In the bathroom. You got me.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable but somehow managing to convey exactly how little he cared for her theatrics. “You reek of desperation,” he said coolly, “And that’s usually when people in this family reach for a bottle. But you’re right—it’s none of my business.”

“Glad we agree,” Nate shot back with a sour smile, pushing herself off the doorframe. She was about to walk past him when the faint sound of muffled voices reached her ears. She paused, glancing toward the direction of the staircase. “What’s that?”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

Her patience, already thin, was evaporating fast. She met his gaze head-on, her own as sharp as broken glass. “You know, I’m getting really tired of not knowing what’s going on in this house…”

She barely saw him move. One moment, she was standing her ground; the next, his hand was wrapping around her arm, his grip iron and unyielding. Before she could pull away, he had backed her up against the wall, his face close enough that she could smell the faint trace of his last cigarette—bitter, like him.

“You should know by now,” he said quietly, “That your father executes plans with precision and secrecy. And you,” his grip tightened slightly, enough to make her audibly wince, “Have proven yourself unreliable.”

Now, Ivan never scared her. Even as the little brother of Dimitri and Sergei Volkov, two of the most menacing people she’d ever come across, that’s all he ever was. Never surpassed that title, always worked to earn that extra bit of notoriety, just to fall back into the same role as messenger or errand boy.

But that word. Unreliable. It hit her.

And the thing was… She knew it. She knew that she’d lost the trust, complete trust, of her father for a while now. Just by being herself, something he scarcely permitted and tried relentlessly to prevent for years. But… why now?

Ivan must have sensed the confusion, and he smirked at his niece with a smugness that matched the disposition of a man who had finally found an ounce of power and clung to it with a vice-like grip.

“Naive Natalka… Who do you think told Mitya about your moment with Roman Reigns at Madame X?”

What. The. Fuck.

“Oh,” she swallowed, “So it was you then… You’re the one who told him about that.” She gritted her teeth and smiled pitifully at her uncle, though her face still twisted with irritation, and perhaps, the slightest trace of betrayal. Wondering if he understood what he’d caused. A further turbulence between father and daughter. An unintentional push in the direction of the enemy.

Maybe Nate should have been thanking him… In some twisted, deflective way.

Maybe if it weren’t for the strain brought on by Dimitri’s knowledge that her daughter was seen drunkenly talking to Roman Reigns in their own club… maybe Nate wouldn’t have considered working with Roman. And then maybe…

No. Don’t go there.

“You’re not my father,” Nate whispered evenly.

“Nyet,” he agreed, releasing her abruptly and stepping back. “But I know him better than you ever will. Sergei, Borislav… even Alexei… We all know him better than you or Katerina ever will.”

The unease that had grown in her chest gnawed at her. Burrowed under her skin. There was something wrong, something she couldn’t place her finger on exactly, couldn’t grasp, but it was there. And she didn’t like it.

Ivan gestured dismissively down the hall. “Go to bed, Natalka. That’s where you belong.”

This time, she didn’t relent; her energy was gone, drained completely, and she had no desire to keep up the facade of defiance any longer. She turned and walked away without a word, her footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor.

But as she reached her door, she couldn’t shake the sense that her uncle’s eyes were still on her, watching her intently, evenly, carefully… like a predator surveying its prey.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Roman sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, his face framed by the glow of the laptop in front of him. The familiar hum of tension vibrated just beneath the surface of his composed exterior, though you wouldn’t know it from his subdued expression—impassive, if you may. His eyes flicked to the small grid of silent, blacked-out squares that represented the other participants in the call. Maria’s lawyer, his lawyer, two social workers… All watching without truly being there. Silent observers. Judging eyes.

He hated this.

It should have been simple. A call with his daughter. Just him, Ava, and whatever silly stories she wanted to share about her day. But nothing about this situation was simple anymore. Maria had seen to that.

“You ready for this, Sir?” Paul’s voice cut through the quiet, low and measured. He sat just off–camera, hands clasped in front of him like some kind of watchful guardian angel—or devil, depending on who you asked.

Roman nodded once. “Not like I have a choice, Wiseman.”

Heyman’s gaze softened, just a little. “Remember, they’re waiting for a slip up. Stay calm. Keep it light.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Light.”

With a final click, the call connected, and suddenly, the screen shifted. Ava’s face filled the centre square, her smile so wide it threatened to split her face in two. Her curls were pulled up into a lopsided ponytail, and she waved frantically at the camera.

“Daddy!”

Roman’s features softened instantly, the weight in his chest easing just a fraction. “Hey, baby.” His voice calmed too, warming like sunlight through storm clouds.

“I missed you so much!” Ava chirped, bouncing a little in her seat.

“I missed you more.” He leaned in a little closer, as if it would somehow bridge the distance between them. “What’s goin’ on? How’s school?”

Ava’s eyes lit up. “Guess what? We did this thing today about animals, and I picked wolves because they’re cool and they’re kinda like you. Like, you’re a leader and stuff!”

Roman chuckled, dropping his eyes briefly. “Yeah? Wolves, huh? I like that. What else did you learn?”

She launched into an animated description of her project, her hands moving wildly as she described wolf packs and how they worked together. Roman listened intently, nodding at all the right moments, never averting his gaze from hers. For a few minutes, it was easy to forget about the silent audience lurking just beyond the screen.

“Did you draw a picture of your wolf pack?”

“Uh-huh!” Ava disappeared from the frame for a second, then reappeared holding up a piece of paper covered in crayon drawings. “That’s me in the middle,” she explained, pointing to a smaller wolf with a bright pink bow. “And that’s you next to me ‘cause you’re the alpha!”

“You made me the alpha, huh?” Roman grinned. “I like it. You did a good job, baby, really good.”

Ava beamed, her pride shining through the screen. “Thank you, Daddy!”

But then, out of the corner of his eye, Roman caught the faint flicker of movement in one of the dark squares. Just a subtle shift, like someone adjusting in their seat. The reminder hit him like an icy slap.

The lawyers. The social workers. The goddamn spectators.

His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay focused on Ava. It wasn’t her fault. None of this was her fault.

“You still doin’ your gymnastics?” he asked, steering the conversation back to safer ground.

Ava nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! I’m practicing my cartwheels. Mommy says I need to work on keeping my legs straight, though.”

“Yeah, that’s important,” Roman chuckled. “You’ll get it. Just keep practicing. You’re already better than me, and I never even tried.”

She giggled, like pure music to his ears. “Maybe you should try, Daddy! Then we can do cartwheels together!”

“Oh, I dunno about that, baby, I’m a little old for cartwheels.” He gave her a mock-serious look, which made her laugh even harder.

“Daddy, you’re not old!”

“I’m not?” He raised an eyebrow, playing along. “I feel pretty old.”

“Nope. You’re strong… like a wolf!”

Roman smiled, a rush of genuine warmth shooting straight for his heart. “I’ll take that.”

They kept talking, the conversation bouncing from school to her favourite cartoons to what she wanted for Christmas. Roman soaked up every word, storing them away like precious treasures.

But even as he laughed with her, a darker thought lingered at the edges of his mind. The last conversation he’d had with Nate.

The bruise on her cheek, the casual way in which she’d admitted that her father had hit her. The rage he’d felt then simmered beneath the surface now, feeding into the frustration of this whole situation.

The idea that he had to prove to these strangers that he wasn’t like that, that he wasn’t the kind of man who would ever hurt his daughter—it made his blood boil.

He took a deep breath, pushing it down. Focus. Stay calm.

Ava was talking about a classmate now, something about a boy named Tyler who always stole the blue crayons. Roman listened, nodding along.

“Next time, you tell Tyler that if he wants the blue crayon, he’s gotta ask nicely,” he said.

“Okay, Daddy.” She paused, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Or I could just take it back.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, or that… But remember—be nice first, okay?”

“Okay.”

They talked for a little while longer, until eventually, Maria’s voice cut in from somewhere off-screen, telling Ava it was time to say goodbye.

“I don’t wanna go yet!” Ava protested, her face falling.

“I know, baby, but we’ll talk again soon, okay? Real soon.” Roman’s voice softened. “Ti amo, bambina.”

“Ti amo anch’io papá.”

The screen went dark, and the call ended.

Roman pushed back from his desk, shutting the laptop with a little more force than necessary. He let out a slow, measured exhale, his shoulders still tight from the silent tension in the call.

“Not bad, my Tribal Chief,” Heyman offered, standing up from his spot in the corner. Whilst Roman didn’t directly acknowledge the compliment, the Wiseman knew what they meant. What he meant. To Roman.

Paul followed closely behind as Roman strode toward the door with his brain already one step ahead, already moving to what was next. But when he opened the door, he found Solo standing there like a stone sentinel. Arms crossed, stoically unreadable, a sheer presence that filled the hallway.

Roman blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his cousin’s appearance. “What are you doin’?” he asked.

Solo remained calm, still looking ahead of him. “Just makin’ sure no one’s sneakin’ around. Don’t need pryin’ eyes or ears up here.”

For a beat, Roman’s brow furrowed in confusion. Then it clicked, and he rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Man, you serious right now? You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm, doin’ all this paranoid shit.” His tone carried a blend of humour and irritation, the kind of blunt honesty that only family could get away with.

“Just lookin’ out.” Solo shrugged.

Roman shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Ain’t got time for that.” He brushed past Solo, leading the way down the hall and toward the stairs.

The living room stretched out before them as they descended, the wide open-plan space bustling with quiet activity. The hum of muted conversations mixed with an occasional burst of laughter, creating a strange yet comforting harmony.

At the coffee table, Tamina and Nate sat side by side on the couch, a laptop open between them. Nate’s posture was relaxed, slightly hunched forward as her eyes narrowed at the screen, scrolling through with her delicate fingers stroking over the touchpad. Tamina leaned back, one arm draped over the couch, but her attention was clearly on Nate.

Across the room, Jimmy and Sami were huddled at the dining table, surrounded by a chaotic mess of papers—the same ones from the folder Seth had handed over. Sami was gesturing animatedly, his voice low but intense, while Jimmy nodded along, occasionally jotting something down.

In the background, the sound of Naomi and Jey playing table tennis at the counter could be heard, with a level of competitiveness that was somehow both serious and ridiculous. Naomi was clearly winning, and Jey’s loud groan of frustration served as temporary punctuation marks.

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Roman’s arms rested at his sides as he took it all in. As usual, his eyes landed on Nate again, almost feeling a small jolt in his chest that left as quickly as it came.

She looked… at home.

There she was, smack in the middle of everything, like she’d always been there. Like she belonged there. Her leather jacket was draped casually over the back of the couch, leaving her in a red lace bralette, the deep crimson standing out against her light olive skin—a contrast that made her dark hair and sharp features even more vivid. Her black jeans and studded boots completed the look entirely. Effortless. Lethal. All at once.

But it wasn’t just what she was wearing. It rarely ever was. It was the way she carried herself, the way her brow furrowed ever so slightly in concentration as she worked. That subtle scowl of hers—the one that hinted at some quiet anger or irritation—was there and damn if it didn’t stir something in him.

Roman let himself linger a second longer than he should’ve, tracing the curve of her jaw, the slight downturn of her lips. She was gorgeous. No, she was more than that. She was magnetic. Pulling him in when he knew better.

She fit it in too well, and that was dangerous.

He blinked, forcing himself to look away, sweeping over the room again, yet still… he always circled back to her.

She’s just workin’ with Tamia, he reminded himself. That’s it.

But the thought didn’t settle the way it should’ve. It idled, heavily.

For a man who prided himself on control, Roman hated how easily she could make him forget himself.

“Y’all look busy,” he said finally, breaking the easy tone of the room. He stepped forward, commanding everybody’s attention without asking for it. Heads turned toward him, but Nate didn’t immediately look up. She stayed focused on whatever was on the screen, only glancing his way after so long. And when she did, that scowl softened slightly, her lips twitching like she was fighting a smile.

Roman felt the corner of his own mouth tug upward, almost involuntarily. Damn, she’s trouble.

He decided to walk over to Jimmy and Sami, glancing at the table cluttered with papers and the glowing laptop screen in front of them. Sami’s fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard, muttering to himself in a low, focused voice. Jimmy leaned back in his chair, clicking a pen with one hand and rubbing the other over his face like he’d been staring at the same document for too long.

“What we got?” Roman asked, folding his arms and looking between them.

“Shattered Dreams Armory,” Sami started, his eyes glued to the laptop. “Formed in Florida in the ‘90s. Seemed to have shifted their base to Queens around ‘07… They keep their heads low. A few permits here, some sketchy tax records there, but no solid names. It’s like chasing ghosts.”

Roman exhaled slowly. “Ghosts don’t steal shipments.”

“Right,” Sami agreed. “But if we’re looking at their trade volume, they’re moving serious weight. Weapons, ammo, maybe even more. They need a warehouse—a big one. And they’ve been doing this for years without getting caught.”

Jimmy finally stopped his pen-clicking, which had started to drive Roman crazy. “You think they the ones who lifted the shipment?”

“Their bullet was at the scene, of course it had to have been them. Or affiliated…”

Sami shrugged. “It’s frustrating as hell, but they seem to be good at covering their tracks.”

Jimmy, for a moment—just a split second—exchanged a glance with Solo, who was standing over by the stairs, listening in. His face scrunched up as he shifted in his seat, something clearly springing to mind. He hoped Roman missed it, but he didn’t. Roman rarely missed a thing.

“What was that?”

The older Uso hesitated, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Uh, nothin’, Uce. Just… remembering stuff.”

“Remember it out loud, Jim.” Roman’s patience was hanging by a thread.

Before Jimmy could respond, Nate’s sharp intake of breath sliced through the conversation.

“Oh my God…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried across the room like a gunshot.

Everyone turned to her. She was on her feet, paling in the face, eyes locked on the laptop screen in front of her. Tamina was beside her, a hand on her arm with a face equally grim.

“Nate?” Roman called over to her, instantly alert.

She didn’t respond right away. Her hand ran over her hair, gripping onto it as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. It was Tamina who spoke first, keeping her voice low.

“She found somethin’, Ro. And it ain’t good.”

Roman was already moving, leaving Sami and Jimmy behind as he crossed the room to crouch down beside Nate once she’d slowly sat back down to get a better look at the screen.

“Nate,” he said again, a little quieter this time. “What is it?”

Blinking, her focus finally shifted from the laptop to his face, her teeth gnawing together in fury in horror. “Alexei,” she hissed.

Roman furrowed his eyebrows. “What about him?”

She sighed heavily, moving her hair from her face as she picked up the laptop to place it on her lap. “I needed Tamina because… I wanted to pull some records. Needed to know who my dad is forcing my sister to marry, right?” She paused and swallowed hard. “And now I wish I hadn’t.”

Roman glanced over at Tamina, who gave a subdued nod. “Worse than we thought.”

“Worse how?” Roman demanded.

Nate’s voice dropped as she turned the laptop in Roman’s direction, heavy with disgust. “Alexei Lebedev. Born in Moscow. Came to the US in the 90s. Started small—drugs, weapons. By the mid 2000s, he’d expanded into uh—” Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the bile crawling its way up inside her. “Expanded into… human trafficking. Girls as young as fifteen, Roman. Fifteen. He’s a monster.”

The room went dead silent. Even Sami, who had been quietly working in the background, froze, his face a mask of shock and disgust.

Roman’s expression darkened, his jaw tightened so intensely that it looked like it might shatter. His nose twitched, and his tongue ran over his teeth as he took a moment to compose himself, looking down and rolling his neck. When he looked back up, the brown in his eyes had darkened to pools of tar. “You sure?”

Nate nodded slowly. “It’s all here,” she confirmed with more resolve. “He’s been running this for years. And it gets worse… He’s tied to these hate organisations, neo-Nazi groups. Racist, homophobic, misogynistic—you name it, he embodies it.”

Tamina added, “There’s also evidence out there of him being involved in hate crimes in the city. Assaults, even murder. The guy’s a tickin’ time bomb, Ro.”

“And my father wants Katya to fucking marry him,” Nate spat. “Selling her off to this… this… evil bastard.”

Roman and Nate locked onto each other, the former taking in the latter’s rage and pain that radiated from her. It wasn’t often that he saw her this rattled, not even when she opened up about her dad. But it stirred something deep down in his gut.

“You’re not gonna let that happen,” he said finally, full of conviction.

Nate’s eyebrow arched up, nostrils flaring a little as her chest started heaving. “Fucking right I’m not,” she declared through gritted teeth.

“I’ve already started gathering more,” Tamina added, “We’ll get everything we need to bury him.”

Roman stood, looking down at Nate with narrowed eyes. “Good,” he responded to Tamina, despite the fact he was looking at Nate. “Keep digging.” He finally looked at his older cousin. “I want every dirty little secret this bastard has ever tried to hide.”

Nate leaned back on the couch, almost obsessively scrolling through the pages they’d found on the laptop, muttering a small “thank you.”

Tamina gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve got this.”

“Take a breather,” Roman told Nate after lingering on her a moment further, noting the tough exterior cracking enough for him to see the depth of her fury. But she shook her head defiantly.

“I’m not stopping until I know everything.”

And for once, Roman didn’t argue. Instead, he turned and gave a small nod toward Jimmy and Sami. “Go get Naomi and Jey.” He looked over at Solo. “You get over here too. We need everyone on this.” He then looked over at Paul, who had been sitting silently observing and analysing the scene with a muted look of horror behind his eyes.

Tamina shifted on the couch and stood up. “I’ll make a few calls. See if I can pull anything else. Back in a minute.”

Nate stayed seated, staring at the coffee table. The others began filing out, conversations low and tense. Tamina patted her shoulder as she passed.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

Nate nodded tightly, but the answer was a blatant lie.

Once the door shut behind Tamina, and Paul and Solo had both disappeared for a retrieval of coffee, the silence pained Nate, the pressure intensifying in her ears. She tried to shake off the lingering dread, but she could feel Roman watching her, waiting.

She stood abruptly, pacing across the room like a caged animal. “This is my mess,” she muttered, shaking her head, more to herself than to him. “I can handle it. I don’t need everyone dropping everything for me.”

Roman leaned back against the edge of the dining table, crossing his arms as he just watched her every move. Back and forth.

She kept talking, rambling. “You need to focus on the shipment. Seth’s intel, everything with whoever took out Priest—this is too important. I’ll deal with the Alexei thing, I know what I’m doing. You don’t need to—”

“Nate.”

She ignored him, still pacing. “Change your plans because of me. It’s not worth it. I’m not w–”

“Nate.”

This time, Roman’s voice cut through her like a machete, low and firm. Before she could take another step, he was in front of her, large, gargantuan hands on her shoulders, stopping her in her tracks.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes flickered up, reluctant but ultimately obedient. She was met with the full force of his gaze, dark and intense, burning with what she couldn’t decipher. Anger, maybe. Something deeper, possibly.

“You don’t get to decide what’s worth it,” Roman said with a low and controlled tone, albeit dangerous in its quiet fury. “You should’ve told me. If I knew this was about Alexei, findin’ shit on this guy, I’d have done this myself.”

Nate opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head, silencing her. His grip tightened just enough to ground her, not hurt her. “Half a shipment goin’ missing is nothing. Some guns? That’s replaceable. But a trafficker? A man who’s been runnin’ girls like fuckin’ livestock? That’s a whole different level. You think I’m gon’ let a monster like that exist in my world?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the venom in his words.

“I don’t want that sack of shit in my yard,” Roman continued, lowering his voice further, each word as deliberate as they could get. “You think this is about you? This is bigger than you. Bigger than me. This is about family.”

Nate’s breath hitched, the word hanging from his lips like a challenge. Family.

“I’m not your family, Roman,” she muttered.

Roman’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement breaking through his otherwise serious expression. “Gettin’ there, Princess,” he hummed, and it stumped her so much that she almost laughed.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

His hands dropped from her shoulders, but he didn’t step back. They were still standing so close, too close.

A moment passed of them just staring at each other until Roman’s face softened, just a fraction, as if letting his guard down like he had in the dark, early in the morning, weeks ago. “You feel this for Katya,” he said. “The way I feel for Ava. I get it”

Her throat tightened. She hadn’t expected him to make such an introspective assessment of her thoughts.

“And God be damned if I let him outstay his welcome on this earth.”

With a harsh swallow, Nate nodded slowly. The fire in her belly reignited, tempered now by a sense of purpose. The door creaked open, and the spell broke. Jimmy, Jey, Naomi, Solo, Paul, and Tamina filtered back in, the tension thickening again as the group reassembled. Roman stepped back, but his gaze never left Nate’s.

Tamina walked over to Nate, resuming their conversation like nothing had happened. “We’ll gather everything we can find… and then we’ll get him.”

Roman, standing off to the side, watched them for a beat longer. His eyes flicked to Nate, and when she glanced back, he gave her a small wink.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible. But she saw it. It was there.

And she liked it.

But what she liked more was the idea of taking down Alexei. And like Roman said… his presence on Earth had been long overstood. Simply burying the man would never be enough.

She’d have to make sure he’d only wish for his own demise once she was done with him. And whether Roman helped her or not…

Alexei Lebedev had to die.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

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