#arisnotebook

[trippinsorrows]

lessons in love + two

authors note: lord, the way ya'll love this concept blows my mind. everyone and they mama, it feels like, has been waiting on this lil' meetup, so i just hope it doesn't disappoint. and yes....if you know me, know how i write, you know some stuff in here lays down foundations

words: 4k

masterlist

warnings: brief moments of angst. also, roman is still a dick.

Solana has learned to embrace the loneliness.

And perhaps it’s less an embrace, and more of a forced acceptance. Acknowledging something that’s unchanging and unmoving. 

Over the years, she’s tried to make friends. Tried to be social. Especially after her mother’s murder, the loss of her best friend creating a large, gaping hole in her chest she thought actual friends her age could sort of help fill. Never entirely. 

Never that.

But, for every attempt she made, every girl she managed to find some sort of connecting bridge of shared interest with, there became a new target. 

A target for her father. 

In those moments of his unbridled rage, where his heavy fist rained down on her, blow after blow, kick after kick until blood would sometimes spurt from her mouth, a threat would be made.

“And if you tell anyone, that new friend of yours is as good as dead! You hear me, you ungrateful bitch! Dead just like your fucking mother!”

And Solana believed him. Believed with everything in her that he would make good on his promise. That he would find a way to end the life of her friend. Of anyone she befriended. So, the little joy she received from connecting with other kids and teens as she got older was a pleasure she had to deprive herself of. Had to deny herself. Solana pulled away. Stopped interacting. Stopped trying. Stopped being.

With herself and by herself was the only option and has been for years. 

Forced acceptance.

“Hey.”

Solana's heart thuds against her chest, her stomach tightening and dropping as she looks up from the sketchbook in front of her. 

Striking blue eyes and a handsome face. Features perfectly symmetrical, thin lips pulled into a small smile. An almost identical snapshot seen in the likes of Abercrombie and Fitch ads.  

He's so cute.

Solana struggles with conversation as it is, and the person before her doesn’t help with that one bit. 

Austin Theory stands on the opposite side of the table, football team issued backpack slung over one shoulder, gaze landed directly onto her.

“H—hi,” she stammers. Solana first “met” Austin when they were in the same group during orientation weekend. And despite sitting next to each other at various points due to assigned seating, he never once said one word to her. Not that she said a word to him. Or, anyone really. No, Austin was too busy flirting with some of the other girls in the group. Blonde, brunette, hazel and blue eyed. Skinny. The kind of girls Solana would always see walking in packs in the hallway. Who always hung out with the jocks.

The popular girls, and Solana is many things, but popular has and never will be one of them.

So, for the life of her, she can’t understand what someone like him is doing approaching someone like her.

And, then it hits her. 

She looks around the table, reaching for her textbook. “Do—do you need the table?” Without an answer, she reaches for her bag, preparing to load it up. “I can mo—”

“Move?” He finishes for her, chuckling quietly. “Now, why would I want that?” The surprises continue as he pulls out the chair opposite her, plopping down. “Then I wouldn’t be able to talk to you.”

Oh. 

“Me?” She points to herself. This has to be some sort of joke. Why in the world would he ever want to talk to her? “Wh—”

“Sable, right?”

She shakes her head, borderline tempted to not correct him. “Umm, S—Solana.” 

He sucks his teeth, making a sort of clicking sound. “That’s right.” Nodding to himself, she shifts under his gaze, his lazy smile returning. “Nice.”

Solana is almost certain her cheeks burn brighter than the red of her textbook. If she didn’t know for a fact that only celebrities are eligible, she’d swear she’s being Punk’d.

“I’ve seen you around, you know.” Her eyes widen, her chest tightening. “You’re so….quiet.”

It feels like he has another word he wants to use, but she’s still too stunned by the fact that he’s even speaking to her right now for her pick up on such things. “I dig it.”

“Oh?” The dumbest response that makes his smile widen and her embarrassment multiply. 

“Yeah.” He nods, leaning over, Solana naturally inching back in her chair. “Maybe you and I could, uh, hang out sometime, yeah?” 

What….the….hell?

The Punk’d thing seems more and more an option, Solana’s eyes darting around the library, as if searching for a camera crew or someone holding some type of recording device. She finds nothing but the boy across from her with bright blue eyes and a surprisingly friendly demeanor. At first glance, Solana had chalked Theory up as just being another pretty boy. A jock who lived for the limelight and praise. And, perhaps all that is still true along with the fact that he’s actually a nice guy.

If only she was allowed the space to see what that could look like. Where this could go. 

A friendship.

“Maybe.” It’s the safest answer she can provide. Not a yes. Not a no. Just something in the middle. 

An acceptable answer, clearly, as his smile widens yet again. “Cool.” Solana watches him stand up from the seat, adjusting his backpack. “I’ll see you around, Solange.”

It’s an interesting wrong name to use, one that makes her smile because it feels so innocent, nothing malicious. Nothing to bother correcting. He doesn’t wait for her response, just turns to walk away, Solana offering a small wave to his retreating form. “Bye….”

One of the most unexpected encounters she’s had since starting college, for sure, nothing beating the unexpected pairing of herself with Roman Reigns, of all people. 

But, a nice one, nonetheless. 

One that keeps that small smile on her face as she digs through her bag, pulling out her CD player and headphones. Some music needed to help her prepared for the arrival of Roman himself. 

She can only hope that it goes as well and nice as her interaction with Austin.

Hopefully. 

----------

It’s not hard to spot her. 

She’s sitting at a table by herself, head down, pen in hand, focused on the notebook or whatever in front of her. Roman sighs, already dreading this whole thing, but there’s something even more irritating about where she decided to sit, for whatever reason.

Second floor, in the back, near the tables where few occupy. A "dead" area to most college students, the majority preferring to use the tables and computer area on the first and second floors. Rarely do kids bother climbing up three damn flights of steps if avoidable. But, not Solana. 

Of fucking course not. 

“Hey.” He greets, sighing when she jumps, dropping the pen, clearly startled.

This girl is so damn jumpy. 

Roman drops his backpack on the table at the same time she sits up in the seat and removes her headphones, reaching to probably hit pause on the CD player sitting on the table.

“H–hi,” she stammers, moving to close her sketchbook, shoving it to the side. Roman has to bite back a smartass reply. A lot of things annoy him, passivity being near the top of the list, and this girl is the walking definition of passivity. “You’re—” She glances at the large clock on the wall behind him. “You’re early.”

He gives her a pointed look. “You want me to leave?”

Her eyes widen. “No, I just—” She stops, looking down, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “Sorry.”

Roman rolls his eyes and starts to pull his notebook and laptop out of his bag, laying them out in front of him when he notices she’s not moving. Still sitting there, looking down. “Solana.”

She jumps once more, and this time, Roman can’t hide his irritation.

“Why the fuck do you keep doing that?”

A noticeable wince and yet another, “I’m sorry...”

“Jesus Christ,” he curses, running his hand over his face. “Just forget it.”

She doesn’t say anything at first, and it’s unsurprising. She’s someone of few words unless it’s unnecessary contrition. However, something fucking weird and annoying flicks within him in sensing her guilt. And something else close to sadness. Like he hurt her feelings. 

Why he picks up on that, or why it’s even something that he considers given he’s never been one to give a fuck about anyone outside of a few folks is beyond him.

But, he senses it.

He does.

Solana remains with her head and eyes down, quietly moving to put her CD player, headphones, and an album back in her bag. An album that catches his attention, Roman finding himself asking, “is it any good?”

At that, she looks up, brown meeting brown. “Huh?”

It takes a lot for him to bite back a smart ass reply as he gestures with his chin to the CD. “Is it any good?”

Why he's even asking her is yet another 404 file not found. He doesn't care. Not really. But, there's something preferable about her not looking so....sad and dejected like she was at his objectively rude tone.

Again, the why....is beyond him.

Solana looks down at said CD, fingers running over Usher’s name, written in gold lettering. She shakes her head, clearly thinking about her answer. “Yeah, it is.” He’s partially taken back when she actually follows up with a question of her own. “You....you like Usher?”

Roman shrugs, continuing to lay out the necessary books and items needed to get started. “A couple songs.” He wouldn’t call himself a fan, per se. Just someone who, as he said, likes a couple of his songs. And since the album released this past March, he’s had his cousins and Naomi on his ass about listening to the whole thing through versus the singles that have been dropped over the summer. 

“Well, it’s….it’s really good,” she continues, Roman noticing the way the tension in her shoulders seems to melt, the way she maintains eye contact. Even the faintest hint of a smile on her face. “The—the latest single is petty good, too.”

“What is it?”

“It’s umm, it’s a duet with Alicia Keys.” Her cheeks suddenly redden, eyes darting down. Again. “Called My Boo.”

He makes a sound, acknowledging, “I think my cousin and his girlfriend were listening to that the other day.”

“I like it,” she offers, eyes shutting as she admonishes herself. “I’m sorry, you didn’t—”

“Alright, you gotta stop with all the fucking I’m sorry’s.” Because the fact that more have been offered to him in a less than ten minute timespan than what he’s received in his 19 years on this earth is quite insane to him. 

She opens her mouth as if to say something—and he knows exactly what she’s about to say—when she stops herself, murmuring, “bad habit, I guess....”

“It is,” he confirms. “Doesn’t make sense to say sorry all the fucking time if you haven’t done anything.” She says something in a low voice, something he can’t make out. It almost sounds like it’s in a different language. “What’d you say?”

She looks up, eyes widening, something indecipherable flashing in her expression before she shakes her head. “Nothing.” Solana clears her throat, Roman slightly curious what she said but also with whatever that flash was. “We should, umm, we should get started?”

He wants to say something else, wants to push her on what she was going to say, but something stops him. Mostly because what does it matter anyway? 

Knowing her in the little time that he has, it was probably just another “I’m sorry” or variation of it, and Lord knows he’s heard more than enough of that from her to last him a lifetime. 

“Yeah,” he finally agrees. Roman watches as she reaches her in her bag and pulls out a book, spine and edges worn, colorful tabs and sticky notes poking out of the pages. “Damn.”

She looks over at him, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I, umm, I marked sections I thought we could use.”

“So, you’ve read it already? All of it?”

Solana nods. “Several times.”

At that, he stills. “Seriously?” And without thinking about it, he asks, “why?” Roman doesn’t hate reading. Not at all. It’s formative and pertinent in the accumulation of knowledge, but reading a classic one time is more than enough for him. He can’t imagine reading it several times unless forced. 

“It’s—it’s my favorite book,” she answers. That small smile makes a reappearance. “They’re filming the movie right now actually. There’s already a show—”

“The one from the nineties, right?” She nods, as he offers, “yeah, I saw something about that when I was looking up stuff for it. Figured I’d just watch that instead of reading it.”

She presses her lips together, as if readying to reply, only to stop herself. But, this time, Roman doesn’t ignore it. “What?”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Nothing.”

He shakes his head, pressing, “naw, tell me.”

It’s not that he cares. He doesn’t. Why should he? Roman just dislikes things that are unknown and unlabeled, and her now giving him a second instance of an unspoken truth doesn’t sit well with him. For whatever reason. 

“It’s just….” She shifts in her seat, hands on the table as she fiddles with the pages of the book. “I think….to fully understand it, you should read the book.” As if believing her words to be offensive, she almost backtracks. “I mean, the show is really good and worth a watch, but I just think the source material will give you a better understanding. Not that you couldn’t understand just from watch—”

“Solana.” Roman has picked up on the undeniable fact that this girl is either not saying anything at all or everything at once. There is no in-between. “I get it.”

He does, and while he doesn’t fully agree, he can respect her take. Disagreement or not.

“Oh.” She seems surprised, like she was expecting some other sort of reaction. Like for him to be angry or offended, which he can’t exactly blame her. Roman is fully aware of his reputation. One he’s 1000% earned.

However, being overtly pissed with someone so small and….innocuous isn’t his thing. For some reason, Roman can’t really imagine anyone being overtly upset with the girl across from him. She’s the walking definition of innocence. 

They transition into less talk of adaptations versus source material to identifying the main tenets of the assignment, subjects and topics that need to be covered as per the assignment rubric. 

It’s not often that Roman is impressed, but there’s something that takes him back about how focused and able Solana is to break it all down. Section by section, she outlines potential views they can utilize. Points out the ease, or lack thereof, for both. 

She doesn’t stammer. Not really. Only when her gaze lifts from the textbooks or notebooks that writes into, taking notes, documenting everything in her handwriting, neat and girly. When she has to look at him, or when she reaches across the table and her fingers accidentally graze against him. That’s when he sees more of her nervousness emerge, but outside of that, when she’s assignment and book focused, she’s in the zone. It’s abundantly clear how passionate about and just how much she loves this damn book. Enough to where she can step out of that hollow shell and into the light, somewhat of her personality shining through. 

He feels like he sees more of her.

“Big Uce!”

Roman turns to his left, catching the way Solana jumps at the loud, obnoxious voice of his cousin. 

Naomi sucks her teeth, hitting him on the arm. “Would you shut up, fool?” She shakes her head, arms crossed. “This is a damn library.” 

“So?” Jimmy matches her energy, waving off her warning, looking around past the group of them that includes himself, Jey, Bayley, and Naomi. “Ain’t nobody here. They all on the first floor.”

“Yeah, why ya’ll up here anyway?” Jey asks, tossing up the apple in hand. 

Roman sighs, leaning back in his chair, shirt rising up a bit. He put on about 15lbs of muscle over the summer break, and it shows in the way some of his clothes have started to fit a bit more snug. “This was where she was.”

Gesturing over to Solana brings the focus of the group onto her, earning that blushing, flustered expression. Roman seeing more of that earlier, timid, reserved version of herself reappear, something about that irritating to him. 

His damn cousins have the worst fucking timing. 

“Hey, lil bit,” Jimmy greets, welcoming himself in the seat beside Solana. Jey sitting on the other side of her on the edge of the table. “Sola, right?”

She hesitates. “S—Solana.”

At that, Bayley’s interest piques. “That’s Spanish.” 

Solana nodes, shifting in her seat, as if trying to maximize the space between herself and the twins. “Y—yeah, my uhh, my mom was Mexican.”

Roman most definitely takes note of the was. Past tense. No longer here.

Huh.

Maybe they have more in common than he realized. 

Bayley says something in Spanish, Solana nodding, responding in the same language. She gestures to the four of them, clearly offering introductions.

“Aye, now we got three native speakers in the group!” Jimmy applauds, clapping and rubbing his hands together.

“Jimmy.” Naomi closes her eyes, the bright orange tips of her nails a contrast to her deep complexion as she rubs her temple. “You don’t speak Spanish.”

“Yes, I do!”

“Being able to order your meal in Spanish from Taco Bell does not count, dumbass.” 

“The hell it don't!” 

In the midst of questioning just why he puts up with his cousins, Roman catches the way Solana covers her mouth, clearly trying—and failing—to hide her laughter.

For some reason, whatever reason, it makes him smile. Small. Subtle. So subtle. But there.

It’s there. 

Naomi gives Jimmy the hand, speaking directly to Solana. “Please ignore him. He’s fine as hell but dumb as hell, too.” 

At that, Jey snorts, taking a bite out of his apple, but not before adding, “sure is.”

Bayley rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If he’s dumb, you’re dumber, ding dong.” 

It’s the comment that breaks the camel’s back. Laughter tumbles out of Solana’s mouth, and it’s a sound that makes something calm settle in Roman’s stomach. There’s something nice about her laugh. Soothing, almost. Especially as her hand drops from her mouth, revealing her smile. 

He’d thought before that she's pretty, but there’s something beautiful about her in that state. Seeing her smile. 

Something breathtaking. However, it’s quickly washed away and replaced with that other side of her. Quiet, shy, and clearly insecure. She shifts back into being overtly apologetic. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Girl, what are you apologizing for?” Naomi cuts her off, shaking her head. “It’s—oh my God, you like Usher?” Her eyes landing on the album that sits besides Solana’s notebook redirects her attention and sentence. 

“Who doesn’t like Usher?” Bayley says, Naomi reaching for the album, the biggest smile on her face.

“He is fine as hell.”

“Hey!”

“Boy, be quiet,” Naomi dismisses, looking back at Solana. “You got good taste.”

Solana’s blush returns. “Th—thanks.” 

Bayley then asks. “Who else do you listen to?” 

“Everything.” It’s a surprisingly quick and seemingly easy answer for someone who struggles with just basic sentences. “I love Christina Aguilera though, and Alicia Keys.”

“Make that excellent taste,” Naomi revises her previous statement, gesturing between herself and Bayley. “You need to hang out with us sometime.”

“Yeah, Soso.” Jey adds, Jimmy nodding in agreement. “You seem like you’d fit right on in with us.”

“Don’t insult her like that,” Roman speaks up, breaking his silence, Solana’s gaze switching to him. “And, that’s not her name.” 

“She don’t mind,” Jimmy ignores him, looking at her. “Do you, Soso?”

“Ya’ll are irritating,” Bayley shakes her head. “Ignore them, girl. We suspect they were crack head babies.” 

“Better than being—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll kick your ass right here and right now,” Bayley threatens. Roman chuckles. She’d make good on it, too. Since they were kids, Bayley has always been the one to always back up what she says. If she makes a threat, trust and believe she’ll make good on it.

It’s one of the things he likes about her.

A hard feat considering there’s few things he likes in life, even lesser when it pertains to people.

Naomi reaches in her Juicy Couture purse, handing over her hot pink, bedazzled Nokia. “Put your number in. We’ll text and make plans.”

Roman can see it. The hesitation that appears in Solana’s face. Reluctance. Nervousness, almost. It’s similar to when he’d asked her before for her phone number.

“Her phone isn’t working.” What causes him to speak up, to answer for her, he isn’t quite sure. Not even a little. “Email works better.”

“Oh.” Naomi frowns, pulling her phone back to her before shrugging. “That’s cool, too.” She motions to Solana’s open notebook. “Can I…..”

Shaking her head, as if still in shock from Roman speaking for her, Solana grabs a pen and reaches both that and her notebook to Naomi.

“Give her my email, too,” Bayley instructs as Naomi writes away.

“Ours too.”

“Shut up,” Roman mutters. 

However, Naomi most certainly writes down everyone’s email, including the twins. She starts to hand the notebook back to Solana only to stop mid-movement. “Oh my God, ya’ll are meeting like every Wednesday, right?” And before Solana can answer, Naomi is already jumping the gun. “You should join us then.”

Offering the answer and clarification clearly missing, Bayley explains, “we watch the guys practice every Wednesday, since our cheer practice is in the morning.”

Jimmy joins the persuasion party. “Yeah, come on, Soso, what you doing after this? Why don’t you come now?”

Roman’s focus is on Solana the whole time. Watching the way she shuffles between confusion, excitement, trepidation, reluctance, and finally, a sort of regret.

“Sorry, I, umm, I have plans this evening.”

With who?

It’s the strangest, most out of pocket thing to cross his mind, but the exact thing he thinks following her almost nervous answer. 

Naomi frowns. “Damn. That’s okay. There’s always next week.”

There’s that flash again, something Roman is almost certain is fear, but why?

That’s what gets him. It shouldn’t, because why does it even matter? It’s not like he cares. 

The twins jump off the desk, looking at the clock on the wall behind the table. “Damn, we better get headed to practice, or you know Coach Booker gon’ have all our asses.”

“Sure will,” Bayley agrees, a sort of satisfaction in her voice and face. “Solana, make sure you email us, alright?”

She nods, that small smile returning. “O—okay.”

“See you round, Soso!” Jey calls out, the rest of the group walking off, heading towards the steps.

“Stop calling her that,” Roman warns, standing up, having almost completed packing his backpack. Looking over, he sees Solana stand as well, two things catching his interest. Once again, he’s taken back by just how small she is. He’d be surprised if she’s even 5’0. But, beyond that, there’s something that makes him pause seeing the wince on her face as she stands. Like she’s in pain. 

His voice is even, asking, “you alright?”

Her head snaps up, eyes widening slightly. “Y—yeah, of course.” 

Roman is a lot of things. Intelligent and perceptive near the top of that list, if not at the top, which is why he knows that she’s not being honest. 

She’s lying. 

But, why?

However, before he can think about it more, can maybe even press, for reasons beyond him, Solana mutters out a quiet goodbye before turning on her heel and almost rushing out. That’s another thing. Why is this girl always in a damn rush?

A rush that, in glancing down at the desk, makes Roman realize she’s left something behind. 

Her sketchbook. The thing he saw her drawing in when he first arrived. 

Roman starts to go after her, but the watch on his wrist reminds him that doing so will only make him late for practice, and the last thing he feels like hearing is Coach B's loud ass mouth scolding him like he’s a fucking child. 

Fuck that.

Roman grabs the sketchbook, unzips his bag and stuffs it in there.

He’ll just have to email her and arrange to give it back to her tomorrow or something. 

Heading down the steps and out the library, confused but also not allowing himself to think too much about the fact that the initial irritation he had about having to meet with Solana in the first place doesn’t accompany the thought of seeing her again, sooner than their agreed upon Wednesday meetings. 

Not at all.

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: roman and the girls group chat

he’ll use that one lil heart emoji…..that’s it.

[trippinsorrows]

witness

authors note: this is pretty heavy, but it's necessary background and context for the next short i have finished and will post at some point.

again, minimal, limited tags, cause i've been posting way too much.

this one is also in roman’s pov.

masterlist

words: 2k

warnings: angst

In the five years that my children have been alive, I’ve had less than a year of time spent with them. Majority of that time being when they were still babies, far too young to remember anything.

To remember me.

But, regardless of that limited time spent with them then, the two weeks spent now have provided a lot. A lot of memories. A lot of one on one. A lot of bonding. I’ve “known” my kids now for only two weeks, an act of unspeakable violence brining us together but creating some of the fondest, easiest experiences I’ve had in life. Him. Her. Them. Us. It’s been….nice. An escape, to say that least. But, it’s through that time spent with them, that I’ve learned, to a certain extent how to read them.

It’s allowed me to pick up on when something is right and when something is off.

And, something is definitely off with Kaiden.

I’ve noticed it especially over the past two days. So has Solana, but it’s not like it’s something that fully baffles us, either. With what happened, what he’s been through, what they’ve both been through, how could they not be affected in some sort of capacity?

Regardless, there’s something pressing, heavy, and unspoken that settles in any interaction with Kaiden these past couple days. Something present and noticeable, wedged behind the smiles and laughter that we can evoke out of him. That Fetu and Ava can extract.

Regardless, it’s still there.

“Can you try?” Solana asks, leaning back against the counter, ready to wash the dishes used from the dinner we worked together, twins included, to prepare.

I can see it. The weight his unspoken weight has on her. I also know that she’s tried to talk with him but has mostly hit a dead wall.

Desperate. She seems desperate.

“Yeah,” I agree. Her small smile slightly comforting as she mumbles a “thank you” and moves to finish cleaning the kitchen. My gaze remains on her though, something that’s been lingering and pressing, pulling, gnawing at me ever since we landed. A discussion that, on some level, I think she also knows needs to be had. “Sola—”

“Shut up!”

“No!”

The voices of both the twins carrying from where they are upstairs is enough to have both myself and Solana already mid step on the staircase, heading directly towards their rooms.

“Take it back!”

“No! It’s true!”

Kaiden’s room is where we find them, the twins standing in front of the bed on opposite sides, Kaydence sniffling and holding onto her teddy bear. Kaiden is in front of her, his small hand formed into a tiny fist, a scowl on his face.

My scowl.

“Hey hey hey,” I move in between them, focused more on Kaiden and his clearly being angered by something, while Solana crouches down to tend to Kaydence. “What’s going on?”

“Why are you guys yelling at each other?” Solana questions, looking between the two of them. The expression on her face is all I need to see to know that this is out of character for them. The twins don’t argue.

Ever.

“He’s saying bad things, mommy,” Kaydence hiccups.

“No, I’m not,” Kaiden defends vehemently. I move to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching to turn him towards me only for him to lash out once more. “Daddy did it!”

“Don’t say that!” Kaydence shouts back. “No, he didn’t!”

“Yes, he did!”

“That’s enough,” my voice cuts through, my interest—Solana’s as well—more than piqued. “What are you guys talking about?” I have to focus on that versus the fact that something deep within me rages at hearing them refer to him as anything at all, let alone daddy. He’s not. Never was.

Never will be again.

It’s Kaydence, however, turning to Solana, tears streaming down her face and what leaves her mouth next that changes it all. “Mommy, Kaiden says daddy’s the one who hurt you.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “But, he didn’t, right?" She shakes her head. "Daddy would never hurt you.”

“He did!” Kaiden snaps, but I see it. See what’s boiling beneath the surface. See the unshed tears that sit ready and needing though reluctant to fall. “He said—he said he was gonna kill her!”

“No!” Kaydence cries.

“Oh my God,” Solana gasps, hand over her mouth. It’s a heavy situation on all sides. Kaydence’s grief. Kaiden’s anger. Solana’s distress. It’s all palpable and consuming, filling the room, dancing up all of us in one way or another.

A realization that clearly both of us understand and realize has to be the cause for all of this. Kaiden saw what happened that night.

He saw that son of a bitch try to kill his mother.

Try to kill Solana.

My Solana.

“Mommy?” Kaydence heartbroken voice pulls us both from the heaviest fucking realization, reminding us that the time for shock and everything else can wait. The kids can’t. 

I honestly have no fucking clue how Solana should respond, if she should respond, or any of it. This is all new to me, but this especially is unfamiliar territory. I can navigate and finalize deals with anyone, handle myself with the best of the best, remain the last man standing regardless of who my opponent is. But, this? This….I’m at a loss.

I don’t even know where the fuck to begin.

“Y—Yes.” Despite my being at a complete loss, there’s still shock that surges through me at her most unexpected answer. I didn’t know what I expected Solana to say, but my reaction sure as hell confirms that it wasn’t that. “Yes, baby, your dad—he—”

Kaydence’s expression crumbles, her lower lip trembling, “no.”

“Baby—Kaydence!” Solana calls after her as she turns on her heel and runs out the room. Naturally, I stand and start to follow her when quiet sniffling below yanks me to a completely different task. Solana looks over her shoulder, clearly hearing it too. Her shoulders drop. “Kaiden….”

“Go,” I encourage. “I’ve got him.”

She needs to handle Kaydence. Solana looks torn but does as such, offering one last sympathetic look to Kaiden before heading out of the room to find our daughter.

Left alone with just the two of us, I don’t waste any time kneeling in front of him, ready and willing to do whatever it takes to help him, to support him, to make him feel better. Whatever he needs, I’ll fucking do.

For any of them.

“Hey buddy, talk to me.” He keeps his gaze down on the ground, clearly trying to contain his emotions. I fucking hate that shit. Not even involved in his life beyond the infant years, and somehow, someway, he got that repressing emotions shit. He got that shit from me.

My hands move to his shoulders, light, gentle, comforting squeezes. “Kaid—”

“I didn’t help her.”

The frown that’s been on my face since the minute Solana and I heard the twins arguing deepens. “What?” He doesn’t say anything, thus my gentle probing, “buddy, what do you me—”

“He was hurting mommy.” My stomach tightens. If I didn’t understand what he was saying before, I most definitely understand now. “I—I saw him, but I—I was scared, and—and —” He sniffles, the emotions clearly becoming too much for such a young child. As they would for and with anyone in his situation. “I ran to my room.” Jesus. “I didn't—I didn’t help her.”

“Kaiden—” It’s when he finally allows himself to do it. To feel. The tears tumbling out. It’s the same second I gather him in my arms, holding him, letting him just be.

“Kaiden, listen to me.” I haven’t the slightest fucking clue where it comes from. How I go from feeling completely lost and out of my element, to the words, much like his cries of sorrow, cascading out almost naturally. Like comforting him comes second nature.

Comforting my son.

“You did nothing wrong.” And the fact that he thinks he did, thinks that he somehow failed Solana by not “doing anything” fucking guts me to my goddamn core. “You went and stayed safe, and that’s exactly what your mom would have wanted you to do.”

Because there's no doubt in my mind Solana would have taken that bastard beating her 10x worse than he did if it meant Kaiden staying far away and remaining safe. God forbid he did try to "help" Sola that night.....

I can't even think about what that outcome would have looked like.

“But, he hurt her really bad,” he continues to cry, his fingers grasping at my shirt.

“I know he did.” And, I’m going to make that son of a bitch suffer 100x worse what he did to Sola. I wish I could tell him that part of it. But, I can’t. There’s only bits and pieces I can share, one in particular the thing he’s probably looking for the most. A promise. A promise of safety. “But, I promise you, he will never hurt her again.”

Nor you or your sister.

I have to quickly push that away, the memory of Solana sobbing into my chest as she told me what Cody said. His promise. His threats. Not only to kill her but them as well.

I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced such difficulty as I felt in that moment. I wanted to rip him apart with my bare fucking hands.

Still do.

Will.

Kaiden calms down just enough, pulling back as I wipe away his tears. “But—why—why did he hurt her?” He shakes his head, innocent confusion abundant. “Mommy’s the best mommy ever.”

She is. The best, period.

“I don’t know, buddy.” I hate lying to him. Lying, despite the irony of how he even came to exist, is that I hate lying in general. It’s never really been my thing. I’ve never had many reasons in my life to do so. Never had to.

Not until her.

But, I can’t. I can’t tell him the truth, because the truth is far too complicated, too heavy, too muddy for such a young child. He can’t and shouldn’t be saddled with that. Not with what he’s already been through. That bitch beat the shit out of Solana, her injuries something that almost caused her miscarriage. To lose our baby.

I can’t imagine seeing any of that in person, let alone a young child.

I hate that he’s been carrying this the past two weeks. He doesn’t deserve that.

None of them did.

“I hate him.”

Three words that have never felt so relatable. So true.

But, it’s not as simple as that. Even with my limited knowledge of children, even I know that Kaiden’s words come from a place of hurt, anger, and confusion. Perhaps some part of him does hate Rhodes and understandably so.

However, the fact of the matter remains that the bitch is still the man Kaiden—and Kaydence—have grown up knowing and calling daddy. In his eyes, that’s still his father. Someone who, prior to this, he loved wholeheartedly.

I have to ignore the aching bitterness that fills me at such a thought. This isn’t about me. It’s about my son.

My son.

“I know.” It’s all I can say. No agreement or disagreement. I don’t want my personal feelings to influence Kaiden. Again, I recognize this is a layered situation that calls for a tremendous amount of caution, and I won’t do anything to risk further traumatizing him.

Any of them.

Which is why this conversation has only solidified a decision I made as I held Solana’s hand while Michaels and his team worked to treat her injuries.

That that was the last time Cody Rhodes would ever be in the same vicinity as my Solana and my children. Consequences be damned. Gotham could burn to the fucking ground in the war that could ensue once this gets out. I don’t fucking care. I don’t care who has to die, who I have to kill. I don’t even fucking care if it costs me both or either title of Capo or Tribal Chief. I don’t care. None of that shit matters to me anymore. The only thing that matters is keeping them all safe, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Starting with killing Cody Rhodes.

He might have been their “father” before, but he never will be ever again.

And that’s a fucking promise.

[trippinsorrows]

dirty little secret

authors note: this is a short based in the universe of 'what the heart wants', but it can 100% be read as a messy standalone.

warnings: smut. age gap (10 years). forbidden relationship. oral sex (female receiving). vaginal penetration. digital penetration. dirty talk. unprotected sex. multiple positions. roman is possessive in any and all universes. porn with plot sprinkled throughout.

words: 3.5k

song inspo: 'freak me' by silk

The first thing Solana feels when coming to is the press of soft, thick lips at the base of her ass, moving up her spine, coarse fingers squeezing the meat of her hips. 

Eyes blinking open, she realizes that she’s laying on her stomach, arms underneath the pillow. A quiet sound leaves her partially open lips as she blinks again to focus on the LED time on the clock situated on his nightstand.

A flashing 9:15am blares at her almost as loudly as the sun peeking through the bottom of his dark curtains that cover the bay of windows in his massive master bedroom. 

But, it’s the combination of the two things that have her awakening and coming to the reality of her situation. 

“Rom—” Solana moans into that pillow when his hand shifts downward, squeezing her ass cheek, slapping it, evoking a hiss. 

“Bout time you woke up,” he chuckles, cool breath icy against the warm skin of her back. He continues to press kisses, fingers digging into the meat of her ass. “Been waiting to eat this pussy all morning….”

It’s embarrassing the things his dirty, filthy words do to her, but it’s not nearly as embarrassing as how loudly she moans when his kisses switch directions, heading downwards instead of upwards. 

“Roman, please.” Her voice is finally found, a necessity given she knows exactly where this is going. The place it goes every time she’s alone with this man. “I have to—” Silenced one more not by his mouth but by the way he hikes her up, ass tooted, weight on her elbows as she looks back at him. Their eyes meet, and right then and there, she just knows.

Knows that she won’t be leaving anytime soon. 

Her eyes snap shut, and her head drops down when she feels it, feels one of those thick fingers enter her pussy that has to still be good and swollen from the pounding he gave her last night. All night, really. It’s no wonder she slept so late. A miracle that she’s even up now. 

Movement from behind followed by the removal of his hand and the replacement of the next best thing.

“Shit,” she curses, arching her back, pushing her pussy into his face as he eats her out with a hunger that makes no sense. He makes no sense half the time. The way he craves her in all of the nastiest, ungodly ways. 

The same way that she craves him.

Another slap and squeeze to her ass as that thick, talented tongue of his moves in and out of her, his fingers playing and toying with her. 

Solana finds herself moving back more, fucking his face, her fingers moving up her nude body, playing with her hardened nipples. 

Roman sounds behind her. “Fuck, baby.” She trembles at the feel of his thumb peppering over her clit. “Taste so fuckin’ good…”

Head lolling once more, Solana’s strength gives out on her as she falls into the mattress, face against the pillow as Roman continues to eat her out from behind, hands separating her ass cheeks to give him all the access he wants and needs. 

She’s a bit unsure just how long he stays down there, playing with her, feasting on her like the juices that saturate his face, beard, and probably the sheets at this point, are the sustenance he needs to tackle the day.

Like, he needs her. 

She just knows the moment she’s trying to come down from her shattering orgasm and the instant, tight, almost suffocating feeling of that big dick easing into her. 

Naturally, she curses at the stretch, fisting the sheets, back arching. 

“Easy, sweetheart.” His voice is calm and coaxing, hands gripping her hips, helping to hold her up. “Shh, just a little more…” It’s a lot more. Roman’s dick is huge, girth intimidating as all outdoors, much like the equally intimidating man it’s attached to.

It still amazes her just how she manages to take all of him, even with how patient he was the first couple times. 

Her first time.  

Still is. 

Eventually, she feels it, feels him settled and completely sheathed into her. A finalization marked by a groan sounding from the sexy ass man behind her, the same man who gradually slides that thick member out and right back in. Teasing and easing her into it. Into what’s sure to be another frenzied round of fucking. 

Solana moans and reaches for the headboard as he rubs an almost comforting circle on her hip, praising, “you’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.” 

The adulation—or maybe just the man who it comes from—has her back arching once more, the way he likes it. The way she loves it. 

And, it’s his expert and adept ability to read her, to know her like the back of his hand that has him doing an almost 180. No longer is it slow, accommodating strokes but rather hard, hammered thrusts of that big dick into her tight little cunt. 

Solana uses the headboard for leverage as he fucks into her, hitting all of the best and right spots. “Fuck, Roman, you’re fucking me so hard, baby.”

Too hard, almost. Naturally, her hand moves behind her only to be swatted away.

“Where you going?” He growls, her hair fisted firmly in his big hand as he keeps her head up, watching the way her big breast bounce against her body. “Stop all that damn running. Take this dick, baby girl.” 

“Roman,” she whines.

“Where you gonna go?” His breath is hot and fanned against her temple as he kisses her hairline, her eyes fluttering and struggling to remain open. “Nowhere,” he answers for both himself and her. An answer she can’t deny. “You know exactly where you belong and who you belong to.” Her cunt flutters around his dick as he licks her face. “Me.”

Lies.

It’s all lies. He knows, and she knows it, too.

She certainly does not belong to him. 

She can’t.

Not when he’s already spoken for. 

Roman continues to fuck into her, holding her body flush against his, playing with her titties that he can never seem to get enough of. If it’s not her ass, it’s her breast. If it’s not either, it’s that space between her legs he’s absolutely pounding right now. “Fuck, look at you right now…” She moans, hand over his as it moves down her stomach. “I lov—”

Three, successive, loud knocks against his closed bedroom door 100% captures and steals the attention of both Roman and Solana. But, while her eyes widen with horror, Roman’s face is marked with one of his infamous scowls. 

“What?” He barks. Solana works to separate herself from him, only to find that arm across her chest unmoving.

A loud scoff from the other side of the door that makes Solana’s stomach drop instantly. Such a simple, auditory thing but one she knows well. Very well. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of fucking random bitches all the time?” Vai’s question would be completely valid if not for the fact, it’s not a “random bitch” he’s currently fucking. 

It’s her best friend of over ten years. 

“What do you want, Vai?” The irritation in his deep voice heightens at the same time he resumes his movements, continuing to fuck Solana like his little sister isn’t on the other side of the goddamn door. 

“My car won’t start,” she groans, Solana practically imagining the roll of her pretty eyes and the scowl, looking so much like her big brother. “I’ve got shit to do today.”

“Take one of mine,” he answers, pushing down on Solana’s back, pressing her down against the bed as he deepens his thrusts, finding that delicious spot that has tears forming in her eyes. She has to be close to drawing blood with how hard she’s biting on her bottom lip to keep from moaning and/or screaming. 

Probably all of the above.

“But, I want to use mine,” she argues. Typical Vai. 

“Well, if it’s not fucking working, that isn’t an option, is it?” Comes Roman’s irritated reply. As much pleasure as he’s giving her right now, Solana is equally mortified at how he’s able to carry on with such a conversation like he’s not literally doing exactly what he’s doing right now. “Just take one of mine. I’ll handle yours.”

Solana groans quietly, gripping the sheets. 

Wrong choice of words.

“Well, whatever it is, make sure they fix it fast, please.” Such a Vai type request. “And Random Bitch? Make sure you wash yourself down with bleach whenever you get done.”

“Go away, Vai,” Roman’s angry growl is sounded out by Vai’s laughter and footsteps, followed by what has to be the front door opening and closing. 

“Fucking annoying,” he curses to himself, Solana unable to even open her mouth to protest when he begins that almost animalistic fucking all over again. 

“Roman!”

He leans over, moaning into her ear, “do you know how much I love seeing you like this?” He’s got his hands tangled in her long hair once more, forcing her head up as he trails his mouth along the outside of her own, ajar and panting, whimpers evoked from the depth of his thrusts. “How much I love knowing can’t nobody else pound this pussy like I can? Can make you come like I can?”

All facts. Words she cannot and will not deny. As wrong and immoral this all is, one thing cannot be denied is the mastery he holds over her body. No one could ever fuck her like he can. 

Jey was good.

Roman is better.

Solana is thrown about once more when he suddenly pulls himself out of her, leaving an unbearable, uncomfortable, and unacceptable ache. 

She groans in protest when she’s flipped over almost erratically, breast flopping from the suddenness of it all. “Roman—shit!” Once again, words are silenced by the way he pushes her knees up to her chest, spreading them as he dips right back into her. “Oh my god.” Spanish words tumble out her mouth from the change in positions and the depth this provides, the way he has to be poking at her cervix, an undeniable outline of his dick in her stomach if she looked down. 

And above her, all he does is smirk, that smug expression widening when he leans over, reaching her G-spot, their lips connecting for a steamy, sensual, hungry kiss. “Let me show you how much I mean what I say….”

—-------

Hours pass, filled with steamy, toe curling, mind blowing sex that would have even adult stars turning away from the erotic of it all. Roman has both a gift and a curse in not only the danger that lies between his thick legs, but that irritatingly talented pink organ that rests in his mouth.

Both of which have Solana not seeing the outside of his bedroom until damn near 1pm. He fucks her several different ways on the bed, on the floor, propped up on the dresser. Even in the shower when she attempts to break away. Her body pressed up against the shower wall as he uses her in all the ways he pleases.

She pleases, too. 

Because that’s the worst part of all this. She loves it. She loves the way he makes her feel in and out of the bedroom. The way he holds her after sex. The way he actually cares about what she has to say. The way he always seems to make time for her. How, for him, it’s never just about the sex. He enjoys it. They both do, but it’s more than that.

She knows it. She feels it, and it makes her sick.

Sick that she can have and feel all these things with her sister’s fiancé. 

Solana walks out of the bathroom, showered and changed into one of the spare outfits she keeps in Vai’s room at Roman’s penthouse.

She makes a mental note to bring a new one next time she’s over.

And, walking out of said bathroom, down the hall is where she finds him.

In his office. 

Standing in the doorway brings about an uncomfortable memory that has her frowning and temporarily paralyzed. 

“Roman, please.” She was propped up on his desk, his big body in between her legs, those warm, piercing eyes staring down to her, into her soul. Seeing her in a way no one else in her life had. “We can't—”

She was silenced by the sound of her phone buzzing atop his desk. A glance at said phone from the man before her darkened his eyes, prompting her to see what brought about the change.

She looked over and stilled.

Bobby’s name and photo filled up the screen of her iPhone. 

Fuck.

Roman’s voice was dangerously calm. A scary thing considering Roman Reigns had never been calm a day in his life. “Who is that?”

She swallowed. “He—”

“You fucking him, sweetheart?”

Such a bold, brazen question that, really, she owed no answer to. It was none of his business who she was or wasn’t seeing. “He’s a classmate.”

Roman made a sound, his hand moving under the material of her short sundress, resting on her thigh. “That’s not what I asked you.” Solana’s breath hitched as he started dancing his fingers up her thigh. “I asked if you’re fucking him.”

Her eyes fluttered against the backdrop of the phone continuing to vibrate. “Roman, please.”

“Does he know you sat on my face last night?” Her eyes slammed shut as he moved his fingers to her underwear, bypassing the cotton, collecting the arousal already building on his fingertips. “That you rode my dick last night until you were crying and damn near screaming?”

“Roman, stop,” she whimpered only to stop when he yanked her head back at the same moment he entered a finger inside of her.

“Does he know that you’re mine?” He spoke against the nape of her neck, Solana reaching for his wrist when she should have been reaching for her phone.

“You should tell him.” It’s the last thing she heard before movement and the infamous sound of a call being answered. Her eyes widened immediately looking between Roman and the phone that was now counting the duration of an active call.

“Solana?” Bobby’s happy voice sounded from the other end, Roman having hit speaker when he answered for her. “You there?”

Roman’s smirk incensed her in a way she’d never felt. “Hey. I—I’m here.” A necessary answer, at least, that’s what it felt like in the moment. 

“You busy right now?” Was his natural question that came at the same time Roman inserted another finger inside her cunt that seemed to always accommodate him just right. 

“N—No. What—what’s up?” Solana did her absolute best to keep her voice even, not giving away any sort of indication of what was really transpiring. The betrayal.

“I was just wondering. I—uh. I got tickets to the Kendrick concert for my brother and I, but he’s come down with the flu—”

“Oh no.” Solana genuinely felt bad. Bobby always talked about his big brother with such pride. Aspiring to be half the surgeon he was one day. It was one of the reasons they first started to bond. Over their shared medical aspirations.

Something that led to them talking.

“Yeah,” he sighed on the other end. Solana arched her back on Roman’s desk from yet another finger being inserted. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go?”

Solana opened her mouth to respond when Roman moved his mouth back to her neck, sucking on that same spot where her hickey just healed not even a week ago. A hickey she told Vai came from Bobby and told Bobby was just a burn from her flat iron.

Lies had become her best friend and closest companion, it seemed.

“S–sure,” she managed an answer, hating the change in intonation, largely due to the man before her. “Wh—what t-t–time?”

“Well, it starts at—are you okay?” The dreaded question prompted by the breathy sigh that tumbled out her mouth as Roman started finger fucking her. 

“Yeah,” she answered, quickly. Much too quickly. “Just—just at the—at the gym.”

Roman’s deep voice chuckled against her neck. “Liar.”

She wanted so badly to tell him to shut up, but it was interrupted by Bobby. Sweet, kind, considerate Bobby. “Oh wow, I’m sorry, want me to call you back?”

“N–no,” she stuttered, head falling back. “It’s oh–fuck!” 

Right then and there, at that very second, was the moment Solana desired the world to stop, collapse, smother and eviscerate her. A much preferable alternative than the guilt that wrecked her body. 

Silence on the other end as Solana’s stomach dropped. The feeling of Roman curling his fingers inside her while his thumb toyed with her clit and he continued to suck on her neck too much pleasure for her to downplay. To remain silent about.

“Bobby,  I—”

“Bye, Solana.” 

The sound of a single beep. The end of what never got a chance to be. 

Solana’s heart swelled with tremendous guilt while Roman, that damn devil of a man, merely smirked, grabbing her chin in his. His mouth lowered, pressed against the corner of hers. “I think he knows now.”

It’s a memory Solana would do anything to cleanse from her mind, something she’s reminded about every time she thinks of Bobby.

He didn’t deserve that. 

He was a sweet, nice guy who only wanted a chance with her, and she blew it. 

She blew it for the man in front of her.

Roman’s eyes lift to her as he leans back in his chair. “You heading out?"

Solana nods, stepping inside his space, working to keep a distance. “I—I have to meet with my sister today.”

A purposeful explanation. Not necessary. She could easily just explain she's not feeling well, which isn't entirely true. That damn random ass nausea was returning again.

She also makes a note to monitor that as well. It's been happening way too frequently for her liking.

No, the wording is solely due to the fact that she wants to see if referring to the woman who wears an engagement ring he put on her finger will mean anything to him. If it’ll reveal any sort of care. Any.

It doesn’t.

“I’ll come over later this evening.”

“No.” A natural answer that does evoke some kind of reaction from him, and it twists Solana’s stomach.

This is all so fucked up.

“No?” He says it slowly, like talking to a child.

But, Solana isn’t a child. Far from it. She’s a grown ass woman and needs to start acting as such.

“Roman, we—we can’t keep doing this.” He sighs. Her eyes never leave hers as his big body stands up from the chair. “It’s—it’s wrong.” 

On so many levels. All the lying and deceit. This isn’t who Solana is. Never has been. So, how she ended up in this situation is beyond her. But, at some point, she has to start untangling all these messy ass webs she’s created. 

Roman stands before her, his hand going to her back as he pulls her against his hard body. 

“Roman—”

“You know what your problem is, sweetheart?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just lifts his hand to her face, tracing the outline of her lips.  “You care too fucking much about what others think.” Words that penetrate. That burn with the sting of truth. “Or, maybe you don’t.”

She stares up at him, body tense in his embrace. “What are you—”

“Did you care when I sent you late to your sister’s wine tasting with my cum still dripping down your legs?”

Her breath hitches. 

Son of a bitch.

“Or when she called you to ask about your fucking bridesmaid dress when my face was buried between your legs?”

Her eyes shut, hand on his chest as he moves his under her dress. “Please—”

“Or, how about every time you let me inside you and no one else?” She breathes against him, his finger ghosting over her underwear. 

Sick, uncomfortable truths that she can’t deny, because he’s not saying anything wrong. This is tired. An old song and dance. She brings up the same reasons every time only for nothing to ever change.

This is wrong.

We can’t keep doing this.

She’s my sister.

Vai is my best friend.

All facts that, again, haven’t changed at any point, the same way Solana hasn’t changed any of her behavior. It continues. 

It will continue. 

Until it can’t, and as much as Solana would love to tell herself she’s prepared for that day.

She’s not. 

And, neither is he, clearly. 

“Solana….” She hates it. Hates the way he says her name. Hates the vulnerability in it that he hides and keeps reserved for her and only her. A reluctant gaze on him reveals that same vulnerability reflected in his eyes. “I love you.”

She looks away. Has to. 

She hates when he says it. 

Hates how it makes her feel.

How it makes her feel the same.

His hand lifts to stroke her head, pushing back some of her hair. A touch she’d love to move away from. The same way she'd love to move away from him. 

As far as possible, but something always brings her back. Brings her back to the man who made her fall in love with him, broke her heart, repaired it and hasn’t let go since. 

He steps even closer, holding her, reminding, “doesn’t matter what you say or do, Solana, you’ll always find yourself right back where you belong.” Her eyes shut for a final time. Helpless. It’s all so helpless. “With me.”

[trippinsorrows]

love lies

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

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

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

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

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

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

She should have broken it off a long time ago. 

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

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

Stay away from Roman Reigns.

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

Or, it was. 

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

Roman lost.

He lost. 

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

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

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

Something that felt and seemed inconceivable at the time.

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

She wonders if he still feels the same. 

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

Talk to her like that. It was…confusing. 

It all is, but especially that. 

Especially something so….personal. 

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

And, he always does. 

At one point or another. 

—-------

March, 2022

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

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

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

Or, at least, tried to.

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

Of course.

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

Go fucking figure.

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

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

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

Everything about him screamed power. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, I—”

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

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

The eyes of the Tribal Chief himself, Roman Reigns. 

—-------

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

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

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

She wasn’t his type. Too thin. 

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

But.

Alamea…she was most definitely his type. 

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

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

—------

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

Alamea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One he could absolutely learn to manage.

—-------

April, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna take this in a little more.”

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

“Man, you are magic, Lay Lay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled, “did you design this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—---------

May, 2022

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

Until then.

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

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

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

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

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

That was the hate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s just go.”

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

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

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

And, she was right.

It was just the two of them.

Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ….”

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

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

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

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

For this setting, at least. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s get out of here.”

—------

June, 2022

It’d become a routine really.

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

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

Always to her pleasure though. 

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

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

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

Except for her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, then it happened. 

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

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

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

What….the….fuck?

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

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

And with her. 

Peace with her. 

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

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

But.

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

—----------

July, 2022

“Does he eat pussy?”

“Mom!”

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not little, is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

Usually Martin or One Tree Hill. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If they could ever be more.

A dangerous line of thinking, for sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not what it could never be. 

—----------

July, 2022

It happened again.

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

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

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

“Tell me something about you.” 

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

And yet….

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

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

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

He chuckled. “Definitely not like you then.” 

“And my oldest sister, Paris—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t say anything after that. 

Neither did she.

—-------

November, 2022

Oh hot damn, this is my jam

Keep me partying 'til the AM

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

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

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

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

Jimmy was a good ass DJ.

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

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

Some mess, it certainly was. 

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

The group cheered, as Roman sighed heavily. 

Over his dead body. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were all a hot fucking mess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

On him.

Roman’s jaw clenched.

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

Wait, no. That wasn’t his name.

Fuck.

What was it?

Shmuel?

Yeah, that!

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

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

On his lap.

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

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

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

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

You wanna see some ass?

I wanna see sum cash

Keep dem dollars comin

And das gonna make me dance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, he didn’t.

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

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

But, Roman stopped him.

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

Paul left the Tribal Chief alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was this a part of your plan?

I don't really understand what to do

What to do with a boy like you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—------

December, 2022

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

But, that was exactly what she got.

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

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

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

Physically and emotionally. 

“Where the hell have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He fucking hated seeing her cry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-----

2023

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

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

It was an…adjustment for her, for sure.

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

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

In not the best ways.

Ways that were starting to directly impact his Bloodline.

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

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

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

Even if it was true. 

He still had Solo. Still had Jimmy.

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

If only she felt the same. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

—----------

2024

He never said goodbye. 

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

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

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

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

It was the one following Mania. 

His loss at Mania.

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was Jacob.

He was just fucking terrifying. 

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

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

At the head of the table.

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

Roman never showed up.

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

Never replied to any of her calls and texts. 

He’d completely abandoned them. 

Abandoned her.

And, he never even said fucking goodbye. 

—-------

August, 2024

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

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

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

She’d paled. 

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

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

Win the Undisputed Title from Cody Rhodes.

Roman’s title.

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

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

It was a common, shared understanding thing.

Not for Alamea. 

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

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

“Distract his ass!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Go to hell, Solo.”

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

Solo, however, he was enraged.

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

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

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

The hell you are.

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

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

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

But, it didn’t. 

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

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

But, then she saw it. 

She saw him, and he looked livid.

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

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

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

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

—---------

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

That she was finally done after that.

But, she can’t.

She can’t because that would be a lie. 

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

Sure. 

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

No. No, she was not alright.

“I’m fine.” 

A lie. A fucking lie.

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

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

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

You abandoned me.

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

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

Leaving me here.

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

That definitely didn’t help. 

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

He was silent.

“You think I don’t care?”

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

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

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

Divine.

He was divine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was too good at this.

Way too good.

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

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

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

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

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

It made her even wetter.

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

Damn you.

“You missed me?”

Her eyes widened. This bastard. 

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

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

Damn him.

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

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

It pained her to not have him.

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

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

He was too good. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only she was so lucky. 

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

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

It just worked.

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

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

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

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

“That’s it, baby. Take this dick.”

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

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

That wasn’t the problem.

Afterwards was the problem.

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

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

Or, something, at least.

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

They needed to talk. 

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

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

—-----------

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

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

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

“I’ve got this, Ally.”

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

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

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

Roman needed help.

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

Right when Roman needed him the most. 

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

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

“For you,” she mouthed. 

Because, she had. She did it for him.

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

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

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

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

A big problem. 

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

Except, they couldn’t find a fifth member.

Until they did.

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

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

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

If something held him back.

If someone.

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

This meant another match was needed. 

Just the two of them.

Roman vs Solo in Tribal Combat.

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

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

Seemed that way, at least.

—-------

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

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

Something important.

Something that was currently biting him in the ass.

The favor.

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

He was being screwed over.

Back to back. 

Punk eliminating him at the Rumble.

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

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

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

Betrayal.

Roman was being betrayed.

Again.

And this….this, he couldn’t ignore.

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

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

Cali things, apparently.

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

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

Not at first.

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

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

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

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

She frowned. “Roman…”

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

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

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

So what does that make me?

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

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

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

Do I not mean anything?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—----------

She needs to talk to him. 

Not a text. 

Not a phone call. 

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

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

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

Never to share with others except his Bloodline.

Whatever that means and looks like these days. 

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

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

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

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

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

Roman is gonna fuck him up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He...he deserves to know.

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

She frowns.

What the hell?

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

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

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

Never her though. 

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

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

“Who is that?”

Another voice.

Not hers. 

Definitely not Paul’s and most definitely female.

Familiar, too.

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

“Oh, nothing, just—”

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

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

“I said who is that, Paul?”

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

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

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

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

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

Her pregnant belly.

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

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

Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: happy father's day

authors note: wanted to do something for father's day with our favorite not so little family. went a little overboard, cause i intended for the writing portion of this to be around 1k. don't ask.

the included graphics (the typos are intentional for the sake of realism) involve a lot of reading, but i think ya'll will appreciate them. at least, that's the hope.

happy father's day to all the dads' out here who actually deserve it.

lastly, there's a lil' line in one of the letters (it'll make sense once you reach that part) that will tie into sbto.

words: 3.5k 

warnings: none.

It’s chaotic, but in true Reign’s family fashion, it’s just to be expected. Not the morning, per se. No, that’s pretty simple. Roman wakes up alone in bed, unsurprised yet partially annoyed to find his wife not pressed up against him but the space next to him vacant.

An unacceptable thing.

It doesn’t take him much time to head to the bathroom, empty his bladder, complete his hygiene routine and head out the room. Moving through the halls of his massive house, the smallest smile on his face as he nears closer and closer to the kitchen. The sound of his kids, trying—mostly failing—to keep their voices down. The delicious, mouth watering aroma of whatever is being prepared, his favorites, most likely. And finally, the actual sight of it all.

Aroha is the first to lay her eyes on him from where she’s being held by Tama as he sets the table. But, instantly, she’s wiggling and itching to get down. “Daddy!” The loudest, happiest greeting as she runs towards him, Roman easily scooping her up as she holds him by his neck and kisses his cheek. “Happy Father’s Day!”

Shared sentiments from the rest of the kids who make their presence known. Lina and Leya from the kitchen where they help Solana finish up breakfast. Aria, as she steps away from the big banner that expresses the same happy wishes. Tama, as he finishes setting the table, making a smart ass comment that’s easily rebutted by Koa and Kai who walk in from taking out Coco and Max.

And finally, his stunning, amazing, perfect ass wife. That beautiful, bashful smile as she walks over, leaning up to kiss him on his cheek.

It’s the best kind of greeting.

Breakfast is just as chaotic as lunch. And dinner. And any time all of his kids are gathered in one setting, except there’s less requests for things the kids want and more obvious difficulty with keeping the day’s agenda a secret.

He could get one of them to break, most likely Aroha. Or, Aria, and he tries, but one pinch on his arm from his wife is all he needs to know that’s not the best idea.

Doesn’t stop him from trying again later in the day.

A day that has to be one of the calmest he’s had in so long, he can’t even remember a time where he could refer to any weekend as calm. No arguing between the Littles. No Aria popping up asking him the most random of things or talking for almost five minutes straight with little to no pause.

He’ll never understand just where in the hell she got her talkative personality from.

Not even his shadows—Lina and Tama—hovering around, either asking for something or just wanting to pick his brain/chat/or try to convince him to do something for their TikTok account.

Hell, even the fifty million pets that his kids all somehow finessed him into getting—or keeping—keep their distance.

It’s….peaceful. So much so that he even takes a nap. Something he’s certain he hasn’t done since his thirties. Maybe twenties.

And, it’s all do to the woman he honestly doesn’t know what he would do without. Solana manages it all, makes sure the kids give him some maybe needed space and alone time. Forces him to take that annoying, nasty ass tea that has him out within half an hour of consumption, thus allowing him to take said nap.

She handles everything, granting him some hours of relaxation before the madness.

And, there is madness. Such is the case when it comes to their kids.

Especially when it’s for an outing that requires the whole family. From Lina and Leya, all the way down to Roro. It’s the full family for what Roman realizes is dinner arrangements Solana made for him for Father’s Day. At Imàgo, the nicest Italian restaurant in the city. One of his favorites. Since Solana, Roman doesn’t have a specific favorite restaurant, and that would only change if his wife decided to open one of her own.

Not that he hasn’t mentioned it to her at one point or another over the years, and for a brief while, it was a loose idea, but it never materialized into anything more, mostly because of her already insane schedule, working PRN shifts for nursing, the foundation, and just all of their kids. Still, if it’s something she wants at some point, he’ll support it. He’ll support her. He’ll always support her.

“You like em’?”

Roman looks over from where he stands in front of the dresser, open velvet, black box in hand that reveals two black diamond tennis chains. Complimentary to the 44mm AP Skeleton Tourbillon Ceramic watch on his wrist.

Also a gift from his wife.

His wife who suddenly has Roman wanting to cancel anything she has planned that won’t let him stay in their bedroom and spend the rest of the night ravishing her. Solana’s dress is short and royal blue, long sleeves with her shoulders and upper arms exposed, along with a deep slit by the neckline that reveals her perfect ass breast. Silver red bottoms, large diamond teardrop earrings, and her massive pink diamond wedding ring are her only accessories. Her hair is pulled into a nice updo, and her makeup, though unnecessary, is just as bold and glamorous as she looks.

Good.

She looks good.

“Damn,” he breathes.

Her smile widens as she walks over, reaching for the box. “I’ll take that as a yes, though my outfit isn’t exactly what I was referring to.”

Roman is listening. Trying, at least. “Baby….” Her being so close to him also allows him a whiff of her perfume, sweet and gourmand. She always smells so damn good. Solana takes the box from him, laying it on the dresser, the turn of her body allowing him a brief glimpse at her ass that sits nice and round in said dress. His jaw clenches. “You sure you don’t wanna just stay in tonight?”

She gives him that look. “And do what exactly?”

You.

All night long. Till he physically can’t. And even then, what’s a little pain?

Solana shakes her head, motioning for him to bend down so she can place the necklaces on him. Roman straightens to his full height when she does as such, Solana’s palms on his chest. “Nice.”

He watches her gaze travels over him. In true Roman fashion, his outfits consists of mainly black. Dark dress pants, black dress shoes, a simple black shirt with a dark gray suit jacket.

Simple.

Solana leans in closer, Roman moving to tug her into him, hands resting on her ass. She makes a sound, batting her lashes. “Maybe we should st—”

“Okay.”

His quick and easy agreement makes her giggle. “Nice try, mi amor.” Solana lifts her hand to stroke his beard. “But, the kids are excited about going out with you tonight. It took a lot for them to keep it all a secret.” Hence why they should have just told him in the first place, but he digresses. “However, if you’re up to it, when we get back…”

He makes a sound, dipping his head to kiss along her jawline. “Baby, you know I’m always up for that with you.” He doesn’t even need to be looking at her to see the smile on her face as she moves her arms around his neck. “How you think we got all these damn kids now?” He squeezes her ass, prompting her to squeal and shove him away.

“Behave,” she warns, eyes narrowed playfully, wagging her finger.

“I’m not promising nothing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

The surprises continue for the Tribal Chief as he and his wife make their way out of room, some of the kids already downstairs, ready to go, a few others (Tama and Aria) the ones to keep everyone waiting. But, there’s something that comes over him when finally, the last two arrive down the steps, Aria saying something about “perfection taking time” and Tama popping the collar of his shirt.

That’s expected though. What’s unexpected is what Roman feels at seeing all of his children together, each wearing some shade of blue. His favorite color. Sure, Lina’s dress leaves little to the imagination. Leya’s does somewhat, too. But, seeing Aria and Aroha do “twirls” in their dresses. Koa and Kai, phones in hand, making snide comments about Tama still looking “washed.” It’s all so….wholesome.

And, it means a lot.

It really does.

The ride to the restaurant is, for the most part, fine. Lina drives Leya, Tama, and Aria, while the Littles ride with Roman and Solana. There’s a brief moment when they start arguing, but before he can even give them the, “when we get in this damn restaurant” speech, Solana is already on it.

Turned around in her seat, eyes narrowed just slightly, finger gesturing between the three, rapid words in Spanish leave her mouth, and though Roman has only learned a few words in Spanish since they’ve been together, he doesn’t have to be fluent to know she just instilled the fear of God in their three youngest. Especially when all she receives in response is quiet, synchronized “yes, ma’am.”

It puts a small smile on his face.

If only she would do that more often.

Imàgo is rented out. The only guests present the ones with the last name of Reigns and the security details assigned to said family. Three tables are used for the family of nine. The OG’s and Aria at one, the Littles at another, and Roman and Solana by themselves at the last. He’s a bit skeptical of that, primarily his youngest three being together in such close proximity, but it seems whatever the hell Solana said to them worked because they remain, for the most part, behaved.

All three tables are in their own worlds, sans Roman overhearing Lina make flirtatious comments to the waiter. A young punk probably in his early twenties.

Roman has him replaced with another waiter.

Aroha then confuses said new waitress with her requests for “chickey nuggies.”

“Chicken nuggets,” he clarifies, the young girl looking over at him with a mixture of clarity, confusion, and anxiety. “She likes chicken nuggets.”

“Umm, well, we don’t serve—”

“You do now.”

Aroha ends up with her nuggets, pleased and happier than ever.

Roman hasn’t a clue what Tama and the boys order, just knows there’s way too many plates, specifically in front of them. Same for Aria who always likes to order a damn near sampler of everything on the menu every time they go out.

“Daddy, I need options!” is her usual “explanation.”

“Damn kids acting like we been starving them,” Roman mutters as Solana steals a forkful of his Traditional scarpariello.

She chuckles, waiting until she’s done chewing before responding. “They like going out, baby.” She trades in her fork for a spoon to gather more of that nasty ass soup she ordered, taking a spoonful before adding, “besides, they’re paying for it anyway.”

Roman gives her a look. “What?”

She nods, using a napkin to blot her mouth. “They wanted to. Part of their gift to you.”

He reclines in his seat, partially taken back. “How can they even aff—” It’s the combination of Solana giving him that look along with him remembering who he’s talking about. “Never mind.”

Roro is too young, Aria spends money as soon as she gets it, Tama still probably owes his brothers, but the rest of them? Lina, especially Leya, Koa, and Kai? They most definitely have it.

Still, that doesn’t mean he wants his kids spending money on him. Roman makes a mental note to wire money back to their accounts tomorrow.

Solana is taking a sip of her champagne, gaze jumping from the other two tables back to her husband across from her when she sees him staring at her. She frowns. “What?” The frown deepens, Solana moving to pull her compact mirror out her Birkin. “I have something on my face, don’t—”

She’s stopped by the way he reaches over to take her hand in his, thumb brushing over her knuckles, before he lifts her hand to his mouth, placing the gentlest kiss. “You look beautiful tonight.”

Her smile is the equivalent of a million watts. “Thank you.” Roman notices the way her cheeks redden, an almost nervous shake of her head. “I almost didn’t wear this.”

His thick, bushy brows furrow. “Why?”

“I’m a mother, Roman. I’m in my forties now.” She shrugs, gesturing to said dress that has him thinking nothing even remotely appropriate considering the presence of all their kids. “It just feels a little weird to have my breast so exposed—”

“I don’t mind.” Not one bit. Not even a little.

She rolls her eyes. “Of course, you don’t.”

Curious, still holding her hand, thumb caressing her soft skin, he asks, “what made you wear it, then?”

Solana’s mouth curves into an amused smile. “The girls.” A quiet giggle, as she sighs. “Lina, specifically, said I should remind you just why there’s so many of them.”

Roman’s eyes rake over his wife’s curvaceous ass body, settling happily on her breast. “She wasn’t wrong.”

Not wrong at all.

It’s a nice, pleasant thing. Talking. Spending time together, even in the presence of his kids who occasionally require the attention of either parent. There is a brief issue though when arguing commences between The Littles. Over what, Roman doesn’t know nor does he really care to know.

It’s usually something stupid.

Aroha ends up sitting at the table with her parents, something that pleases her as she opts to sit in Roman’s lap versus the chair they’d pulled up for her.

It’s a bit inconsequential though as it occurs right before dessert arrives. A beautifully decorated sheet cake that reads Happy Father’s Day in blue icing, surrounded by the names of all his kids, and a customized cake topper. OTC in red and black.

Solana’s lips press against his bearded cheek, murmuring a quiet, heartfelt “happy father’s day, mi amor” as Tama cuts the cake, Aria pouting over how she wanted to do it, and Aroha standing on his lap, reaching for the first slice.

The cake was made by Solana and the kids, primarily Solana, Lina, Leya, Aria, and Roro. Roman is certain the extent his boys helped was using the piping bag to sign their names. It’s obvious with the distinct lettering of all the signatures.

However, surprises continue when the kids start sharing their gifts with him, starting with the drawing Aroha made of the family, Koa and Kai with big red X’s over their face. To the phenomenal sketch Leya drew, using one of his favorite photos of the two of them when she was Aroha’s age as the inspiration. Lina and Tama gift him with two pairs of custom Nike’s, the designs black and red, and blue and white. OTC stitched on the back. Koa and Kai give him a new iPad, again, OTC customized on the back, but even better, it’s already set up with the settings and everything the boys know their tech illiterate father knows and enjoys.

And lastly, Aria’s gift is a video montage she put together of home footage from Roman and the kids over the years. It’s similar to the one she curated for Roman and Solana’s anniversary that one year and appreciated just as much.

Loved just as much.

The night is finalized in the best sort of way.

Pictures.

Individual and group photos.

Roman takes photos with all of his kids individually and in group settings, whether it be him with the OG’s, him with the Littles, him with the girls, or him with his boys throwing up the one's. The final set are, naturally, with Solana. His favorite perhaps being the candid Leya captures of Solana holding onto him, head back, in mid laughter, a small, content smile on his face as he looks down at her.

And then, the entire family, those images captured by their young waitress.

Pictures that includes his youngest to his oldest and the woman that made it all happen for him.

Roman only feels strongly about a handful of things, most of those things revolving around his wife and family. And, tonight is no different. He’s not sure he’s ever felt as loved, or even as happy, as he does in that moment.

At that point.

Because it’s truly not until a few hours later, when they’re all home, the kids all in their rooms, either fast asleep or close to it, that Solana meets him in his office as she typically does the evening after Father’s Day or his birthdays. In hand, a variety of cards from herself and the kids, except this time, she doesn’t have card envelopes.

She has long rectangular envelopes.

Letters. She has letters.

Roman’s brows are furrowed as he accepts them, his wife leaning over to kiss his temple, as she quietly explains, “we did it a little different this year.”

"I see," he murmurs, shuffling through the envelopes, counting eight. One from each of the kids, including his wife.

Roman lays the letters down on the desk in front of him, pulling her into his lap. He lifts his hand to her face, palm on her cheek. "Thank you, Solana."

It's not unlike her to go above and beyond for things like his birthday and Father's Day. She's been like that since Lina and Leya were born. But, it's the fact that even after all this time, she still jumps through hoops, deals with the headaches that comes with arranging everything, managing all of their kids with their variety of personalities, to make it happen. To make these little days of celebration sprinkled throughout the year something memorable. Something special.

Solana tilts her head, leaning into his hand. "How many times do I have to tell you that you never have to thank me for loving you?" Solana shifts again, leaning forward, her forehead pressed against his, fingers against the thin cotton of his black undershirt. "That's one of my greatest gifts in life."

Second to only loving the kids. Of that, he's sure.

Despite it feeling virtually impossible, with every year that passes, Roman's love and appreciation for his wife continues to grow exponentially. Each selfless act of love and kindness fodder for an evergreen of emotions.

Of love.

It's what makes him even more appreciative that he ignored her wishes when she said she didn't feel like doing much for her birthday this year. Roman also knows his wife well enough to know that was simply a generic response and filter for the truth being that she didn't want to see him go out of his way to take time off work and find arrangements for the kids.

Too bad. He did all that already.

Solana will spend three days in Bora Bora for her birthday with her girlfriends. He'll fly and meet her there on the third night, from which he'll take her to the Maldives (she loved it the last time they went) where they'll spend the remaining four days together. Just the two of them.

It prevents their kids from being away from both parents for too long, something that hasn't ended up going very well the few times they've tried. Nothing terrible. Just a shit ton of phone calls, texts, and an endless amount of voice messages. Usually from the Littles. Roro claiming the boys are being mean to her, and the boys trying to convince their parents why she should be put up for adoption.

So, the usual.

Solana climbs up off his lap, stroking his beard. "Don't take too long." Her hands drop to her waist as she fiddles with the tie of her silk robe, tone suggestive, "mami still has to give papi his final gift." Fuck. "And, it's only a matter of time before one of the kids will be outside our door—"

"I hope they like the feel of the carpet outside it then, cause that's exactly where they'll be staying."

"Roman." She giggles, shaking her head. He wonders if she knows he's being serious. Solana leans over, a final kiss to the lips and a soft, “I love you,” before she walks out, heading back to their bedroom.

Roman can’t really remember when or how it started, but as far back as he can recall, this part of the day has always been reserved just for him. When he reads the cards from his family. He’s almost sure he never outright told Solana he prefers to read them alone. Just knows that she knows it’s his preference.

To have that space.

That space for vulnerability.

And there exists no greater word to define what Roman experiences reading each letter, starting with Aroha’s and ending with Solana’s, the combination of it all leaving the Tribal Chief quiet and full, eyes misty from the abundance of it all.

The love.

[trippinsorrows]

truth

authors note: this one is pretty heavy and a hard read, but it's how cody reacts when he finds out the truth. again, a brutal read, but it's just what happens. again, you must read 'the space between us' to understand the context. 'stuck' is more optional, though insightful.

the space between us // stuck

words: 3.5k

warnings: angst and violence (strong, graphic violence against women)

One glance in the mirror, our eyes meeting, his darkening with something familiar—and unwanted—I already know what’s ahead. Or, what he’d like to be ahead.

My focus remains on removing my jewelry, starting with my earrings. Beautiful diamond studs he believed, or just assumed, were a gift I purchased for myself when in actuality they were gifts from Roman.

One of several I have in this house.

The minute he’s behind me, arms enveloping my body, settling on my stomach, I manage a small smile. “It’s been a long day.” My throat clears as his mouth drops to my neck. “I’m—I’m tired.”

Not an exact lie. It has been a long day, even though that’s not the sole reason I’m rejecting his advances for intimacy. An understandable “request,” given it’s been weeks since we had sex. Something he’s always seemed okay with given the nature of our union and my low sex drive. For him. It’s a low sex drive for him.

Not that he can ever know that.

“Went to the doctor today,” he speaks, lips to my neck. I’m thankful for the words, because they assist with a needed distraction from the feel of him on me. It’s not unpleasant or uncomfortable. Just wrong. Years of being with him has unfortunately made any other touch feel inadequate. Feel wrong.

“Oh?” I don’t have to feign interest in that. I may not love Cody, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about him in the way humans should care for one another. “What—”

“They had to rerun some tests.”

It’s the word ‘tests’ that especially has my interest, my eyes on him through the vanity mirror in front of us. Watching as words are mixed in with cold kisses that pepper my exposed shoulder. “Tests? What kind of tests?”

It’s not as if we talk a ton, but I would like to think if something was going on with him, medically speaking, he would have said something.

So, why didn’t he?

He makes a sound, and it’s subtle, so subtle, but his arms around me start to tighten. Lightly but consistently. “Routine labs, but since I’m getting older, they also ran a hormonal panel.” I don’t say anything, just continue to watch him, my hands moving to his forearms. His grip suddenly something less sensual and more…something else.

Something unfamiliar.

And uncomfortable.

“Cody—”

“And those hormonal labs came back with extremely low numbers, so much so that my doctor ordered additional tests—”

His grip continues to tighten, my chest also starting to tighten at the combination of his words and his hold. “Cody, you’re hurting—”

“So, he did,” he carries on, one arm still enveloped around me, the other lifting as his hand flattens on the space of my chest, fingers spread. “And you know what those came back with?”

I can’t look away from him, utterly confused by where he’s going with this, along with why he’s touching me like this, only for him to drop the single most unexpected sentence I think I’ve ever heard in my entire life. “They said my sperm count came in at zero.”

It’s only then my weak attempts at freeing myself from him stop. My breathing stops. My thinking stops. My heart stops.

What?

Cody’s thin lips form into a small, innocent smile. “I told him that can’t be. There must have been some sort of mistake. I have two beautiful kids with my lovely wife.” His hand snakes up, resting comfortably and calmly on my neck, before applying just enough pressure to force my head to crane back. “So, he ran it again….same result.”

“Cody—”

“I thought perhaps something had happened over the past few years. That maybe my sperm count somehow depleted in that time since the twins were conceived, but he explained that I have a condition.” He chuckles, darkly, and it’s right then and there, I know, just know that nothing good is about to follow.

Nothing good at all.

“Azoospermia,” he pronounces it so carefully, enunciating each vowel, like he’s been practicing. Practicing for this very conversation. Or, confrontation. “And that it’s more likely than nit I was born with it, so you know what that means?” A sharp, pained gasp when his hand wraps around my neck. “That means I’m infertile. That I’ve always been infertile.”

Oh my God.

“Who’s the father, Solana?”

It’s strange. I’ve dreamt about this. Nightmares. Night terrors, even. What it would be like if someway, somehow, the truth made itself known. If all the dark, shameful things I’ve kept from my husband, at the top of that list, the true paternity of the kids, escaped to the light. Wondered what he would say, what he would do. What I would say. What I would do.

I just never, ever imagined it would happen like this.

Words are suddenly the most painful, impossible thing in the world.

“I—I—”

His smile widens. Sinister. He looks sinister. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

My eyes double in size at the exact moment he yanks me up by my waist, dragging me towards our balcony. “Cody, wait—”

My weak attempts at prying his arms off of me, of pulling myself away from him are of no use. He drags my jerking and writhing body to the closed doors, managing to open one while still keeping his unrelenting grip on me. But, it’s not until we’re on said balcony, cool breeze whipping against my face and hair that I realize what’s happening.

Not until he starts trying to push me over said balcony that the horror of what’s occurring truly settles.

“No!”

Empty, soundless protests, my body flailing, feet struggling to stay planted on the ground, hands so tight around the railing of the balcony, I’m sure the pattern imprinted into the iron will be imprinted into my palms as well. “Cody, please!”

“Who is it!” He screams, continuing to engage in a form of psychological and actual torture, “forcing” my body over the ledge while also allowing me to remain on the tiles. “Who the hell have you been fucking, Solana!”

Angry, furious words of demand, tears spilling over and down my face, my heartbeat something in the danger range. The shock of it all, the unexpected nature of such a violent reaction, it all has me struggling to provide such a simple answer. That’s all he wants. An answer.

The truth.

But, the truth, though said to set people free, seems like the very thing that will damn me. That could tip him over the edge of sanity.

That would break him.

Except, it also seems like the only option I have when suddenly the connection between my feet and the flooring disappears, his strong grip leaning me more and more over the edge. “Tell me!”

And, it’s when I feel it, feel my weight primarily over the railing than not that I break, that I realize there is no escaping this. No running.

This is it.

“Roman!” I shout, heart and resolve breaking simultaneously. “It’s Roman!”

There’s a stillness. No longer that pressure of his firm hands pulling and pushing my body one way. His grip releases, and I waste no time in yanking back, stumbling onto the floor, hyperventilating.

The horror of it all settling in as I move my hands to my stomach.

My baby.

“You lying bitch.”

I can barely look up at him at such cold words when intense pain shoots through my face, my hand going to my jaw which feels like it’s just been hit with a block of cement. A short-term point of focus when Cody’s hand is back in my hair, gripping tightly and painfully as he starts dragging me back into our bedroom.

“Cody, no—” I’m silenced once more by another massive blow to my face, one that has my eyes blinking, my cognition disoriented and discombobulated.

“You disgusting whore!” Vision blurred, all I can make out is the unclear view of my vanity before he drags my face across it, items flying, splintering, sharp pain across my cheek followed up with a dull, heavy pain in my lower back where he stomps me, my body plopping to the floor. “I saved you and your pathetic family, and this is what you do!”

My body is on fire, screams tumbling out of my mouth as he continues to mercilessly punch, kick, and stomp me. “Stop, please!”

Again, pointless begging as I work to shield myself, in a fetal position, working to protect my core. My stomach.

My baby.

“I’ll kill you!” Chills. “I’ll kill you and him!” Another punch to the top of my head. He’s swinging and hitting at me wildly, barbarously, like he has no control over himself. Because he doesn’t. “I’ll kill all of you!” I faintly hear what sounds like a sort of sucking followed by a “pftt” sound. Spit. He’s spit on me. “You wanna be a fucking family with him? Then be a fucking family in death, bitch!”

That. That is the single moment that changes it all for me. It’s not about me. Not about the pain that wrecks through my entire body. The burning. The aching. The possible fractures and broken bones. The dizziness I’m struggling to fight, that threatens to carry me into unconsciousness. It’s the realization of what he’s saying. What he intends.

He’s not trying to hurt me.

He’s trying to kill me.

And after he’s done with me, he’ll go after Roman.

And after Roman….

No.

I can’t allow myself to even think about that. To even to think about the possibility of such an act. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. They’re babies.

How could…..

But, that’s not something I can consider in this moment. Consider how much of this is Cody just spewing hatred and vitriol at a life shattering revelation. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because if he can be violent with me, he can be violent with them. And, I can’t have that. I’m their mother. It’s my job to protect them.

And, I will.

But, I have to protect myself first in order to get to that point.

And the opportunity presents itself when he lifts my battered body and slams my back against the nearby dresser where items remain atop, one in particular catching my attention out the corner of my eye. His hands wrap around my neck, choking me, his deep blue eyes, dark, cold, unfeeling, as he watches almost with enjoyment as he works to end me. To end my life. My eyes clench shut, however, determination blooming to protect them, to protect my children. I lift my knee as hard as I can, Cody’s groan of pain conjoined with the release of his hands from around my neck. And, the second he’s doubled over, hands over his crotch, I reach for the stainless steel box on the dresser, a small but weighty trinket, and bash it across his head.

His body plops to the floor, one glance revealing he’s out cold. I gasp for breath, working to regulate my breathing while leaning down to lift his limp wrist. A pulse. Somewhat faint, but there.

That’s all I need to know.

Acting fully off of adrenaline, I grab my purse and stumble out of the room, forcing myself to make it down the hall to their rooms. Hitting the light switch near the door for Kaydence room, I’ve never been so thankful to see an empty bed.

She’s sleeping with her brother in his room.

Good. I can get them both at the same time. Rushing over to her closet, I rip it open and pull out her emergency bag. Bags that I made and packed for both the kids in the event of a home intruder. Things they could need and benefit from if we were stuck in the panic room for an extended period of time. If only I knew that said bags would be needed one day not to protect from outside danger, but the same danger that put them to bed not even an hour ago.

From within the home.

Her pink, sparkly bag swung over my shoulder, I make haste to Kaiden’s room, hitting the light switch that manages to stir but not wake Kaydence. The same can’t be said for Kaiden. He sits up almost immediately, as if already awake frowning, eyes widen. “Mommy, what’s wrong?” It’s only then that I briefly glance at myself in the mirror attached to his dresser.

Horrible.

I look horrible. Face swollen and bruised, my neck red and ruddy, the imprint of his hand from when he tried to choke me loud and visible. Blood drips from my scalp, down my face and onto my disheveled clothes. I look like I just survived a murder attempt.

Because, I did.

I did.

“I’m—I’m okay, baby. We’ve—we’ve gotta go.” It’s such a damn struggle to remain calm while everything within me screams and burns with rage and fear. To manage to grab his bag from his closet as well, moving over to the bed, gently shaking Kaydence. “W—wake up.”

Kaiden’s sniffling from next to me kills me. “Mommy...”

“It’s okay,” I try to comfort him, using the sleeve of my shirt to dap away the blood. "I'm—I'm okay."

Kaydence blinks while sitting up, rubbing at her eyes, a similar expression dawning across her sleepy face when she sees me. “Mommy—”

“We’ve gotta go now,” I stress, reaching over and lifting her out of bed. I look over at Kaiden, reaching for his hand. “Come on, baby.”

“What’s going on?” Kaydence is the one to ask as I somehow manage holding the bags and Kaydence, all the while with my hand never unclasping from around Kaiden.

It's the hardest thing in the world to keep from breaking down in front of them. “Bad—bad people tried to hurt mommy, and—and they’re gonna hurt you, too, so we have to go somewhere safe—”

Kaydence starts to cry while Kaiden remains uncharacteristically quiet. Or, perhaps, it’s just the shock of the most unexpected of situations.

I can understand that better than anyone.

“Where’s daddy?”

I freeze in the middle of the doorway, unsure just how I tell my children daddy is the danger we’re trying to escape.

“I—I don’t know.” A horrible answer, I’m sure, but it’s the best I have in this moment.

It’s all I have.

Continued sniffling, confusion, and crying as I manage to get us all to my Range Rover, hurriedly buckling the kids in, all the while looking over my shoulder, as if expecting and preparing Cody to come and finish the job.

To finish me.

And then….

Silent tears spill down my face the entire time, trembling hands starting the car as I rush out of the garage and speed down the driveway, out onto the main road.

“Were are we going, mommy?” Kaiden asks, a glance at them through my rearview mirror reveals the two of them holding hands. They’re holding hands.

God.

What have I done?

Kaiden's question is a valid question I didn’t think about until this very moment. Just where are we going? My first thought is my mom. It makes the most sense.

That’s why I can’t go there.

Cody will know that’s where I would think to go, and I don’t have a doubt in my mind he would show up.

And, I can’t bring this….mess to my mom’s house.

Can’t put her in danger.

Even if…if she already is.

Still, there’s only one safe place for us right now. A place where Cody, even with all his rage, could never reach us, even if he tried. Would be killed on the spot.

Roman.

We’re going to Roman’s house.

"Somewhere safe, babies."

Roman.

The same man at the center of all of this, the man whose mere existence rages Cody like no other person, brings out the worst in him.

Or, maybe that’s me now, because in all the years I’ve known Cody, that I’ve been with him, I’ve never known him capable of such….violence. He’s always been a man of carefully chosen words and sharp instinct, and I’ve never been naive enough to believe a mafia boss incapable of violence.

I just never thought him capable of violence with me.

With them.

And yet…..a part of me, some small, maybe unhealthy, illogical part of me understands it. Understands why Cody reacted so brutally. To find out the way he did that Kaydence and Kaiden are not his biological children is one thing. To find out their biological father is the man he hates most in this world, the man responsible for the grisly murders of his family, once a friend, now forever a foe, is…is different.

Much different.

It was too much. The human brain was only made and intended to process and compute so much, and even Cody, with all of his intelligence, could not handle such a truth. It broke him.

I broke him.

Which is why he tried to break me.

And while I might feel different when the shock wears off….I get it.

I drove him to this point.

I did this.

The blame can only go towards the person in the mirror.

It’s a crushing thing that sits with me, weighs me down, distracts me from my pain. That along with my babies who continue to sit in the backseat, confused and crying, clearly worried about me.

I did this.

Three words that stick to me, circle in my head like a bad song on repeat, even as I arrive at Roman’s place, security at the gate letting me through without even stopping me. As per usual. But, it’s only when I pull up in front of the house, the twins questions transitioning into “where are we, mommy?” that the logical part of my brain takes a backseat for something completely opposite, completely different. Grueling, confusing, and so much heavier.

Feelings.

I start to feel.

The gravity of it all, the implications and outcome of such a devastating, life-changing night. The pain that soars through my body, blood that continues to stain and drench my shirt.

I’m feeling it all.

But, nothing can prepare me for the feelings that surge and rush the minute Roman rips open the door, his eyes widening at the sight of me. And, the kids. There’s a lingering glance on them, between the both of them, children he hasn’t seen in years but asks about all the time. Supports in the only ways he can with gifts during major life events like birthdays and holidays like Christmas and Easter. Children who share his DNA. His bloodline.

There’s such an influx of emotions present in his expression, but it’s something he clearly catches as he focuses back on me. A few emotions outshouting others.

Confusion.

Shock.

Fear.

Kaydence and Kaiden cling to either side of me, as I finally find words to share. “We…we had nowhere…nowhere to go…” I don’t know what it is, the adrenaline that fueled and enabled me to get my babies out of that house and to somewhere safe. Being in front of Roman who’s always, in the most ironic of ways, made me feel the safest. Or, perhaps a combination of it all. Regardless, something comes over me. All of it. The extent of Cody’s attack, physically and emotionally, smashing and shattering into me. My body sways forward, Roman easily catching me as Kaiden and Kaydence cry out.

“Mommy!”

I hear them. I do, but it’s all so distorted and almost distant. I hear Roman shout out for someone to call Michaels. His long-term doctor.

“Please, mister, you gotta help her!”

“Yeah, mommy’s hurt really bad!”

I’d take an endless amount of Cody’s fists to my face if that meant never again having to hear my children beg and plead, so terrified and desperate for help as Roman carries me into the house. They don’t deserve this.

Any of it.

Something soft underneath, his sofa. A place I’ve sent so much time on, in so many different ways, but not like this.

Never like this.

My vision remains blurred, the fight with staying awake and conscious a losing one, but one I continue to stay in, nonetheless.

“Baby.” Roman’s voice, the most calming thing right now. His hand pushing back the hair that clings to my face, wet and caked with blood, some old, some new. “Baby, look at me.” I feel him take my hand at the same time I overhear a familiar voice.

Naomi.

I hear Naomi, soft and soothing. The kids. She’s talking to the kids. If not for the situation, for the pain that rakes through me, exploring every inch of my body, I might laugh.

Not even two weeks ago, spending the day out with the twins, I’d run into her. The first time we’d spoken in years. Since college, I believe. It was the first time she’d met the twins. I still remember the peculiar look she gave them initially. Like, she was studying them. Like she knew.

And, if she didn’t then. She does now.

“Solana.” Roman’s deep voice brings me back to him, tears intensifying the blur of my vision. “Who did this to you?”

In theory, a simple question. There’s only one answer, but it’s an answer I can’t say. Not with the kids present. They can’t know.

They can never know.

So, I give him the only answer I can. One that protects my babies but also warns Roman that anything and everything about us, about them, is about to change.

Forever.

It’s the last thing that leaves my mouth, the sound of my children’s voice and Roman’s concerned gaze and gentle touch the parting gifts before I succumb to darkness. “He knows.”

[trippinsorrows]

my all + oneshot

authors note: this is all deranged, dysfunctional, toxic, and unhealthy. i condone none of the shit ya'll are about to read. none. inspired by this ask.

words: 8.7k

song inspo: 'my all' by mariah carey. because solana is just as down bad as mariah was singing this shit about a young derek jeter.

warnings: smut, violence, some angst. age gap relationship (10 years). a bit of a daddy kink. breeding kink. blink and you'll miss it cum play. toxic relationship. rough sex. roman is dominant and possessive. solana is passive and a bit of a nympho for him.

Solana Miller knew the minute she laid eyes on Roman Reigns that he would be trouble. Without even knowing his story, his case, or the reason he was serving a 10 year sentence, she just knew he would be a problem for her. 

It started with the first man that he sent to her infirmary. Badly beaten. Multiple cracked ribs. A ruptured kidney. Eyes swollen shut. 

The reason for the vicious attack?

Because he could.

The man ended up needing care beyond what Solana could provide, hence being transferred to the main hospital.

And that was just one of several. Over the course of four weeks, several men who found themselves on Roman Reigns' bad side—if a good one even exists—laid on her bed. Bloody, beaten, unconscious. The more inmates she saw, the more severe the beatings. His cruelty seemed to know no limits.

And, Roman himself wasn't even the one who'd caused such mayhem. He had people working for, and inmates doing his dirty work for him. Even behind bars, he was still running shit.

It was the final inmate to need intense, urgent medical care beyond her clinic that Solana had to ask, had to inquire as to why. The how this kept happening. How Reigns hadn’t earned himself at least a good month or two of solitary confinement.

The answer?

“He’s untouchable.”

That was the only answer she received from her direct supervisor, the medical director of the prison, Dr. Trish Stratus.

And, it made sense. Because one look at Roman and one just knows he’s bad news, anyone who’s anyone knows exactly who Roman Reigns is.

The Tribal Chief. 

The Head of the Table.

The Capo.

He has many names, many titles, but all lead to one thing.

Danger.

Roman Reigns is the personification of danger.

The feared, brutal leader of two of the biggest crime syndicates in the world. His stint in federal prison only occurring due to betrayal from within his inner circle and a freshly appointed DA who thought he was hot shit by bringing down “The Big Dog.”

Solana knows it’s only a matter of time before he “mysteriously” disappears. Any sign or trace of him most likely to be found in the form of scattered body parts. If anything at all is to be left. 

Just like she knows it’s only a matter of time before Roman is someway, somehow released. A man as powerful as him can only be kept in chains for so long.

It'd been a little over a month since Solana first locked eyes with Roman Reigns in passing as he was being escorted to his cell. A brief, powerful, memorable thing. The faintest hint of a smirk on his handsome face as she redirected her gaze to her shoes.

Avoid.

Solana was determined to avoid him at all cost.

A difficult, almost impossible thing to do when one day she walked into work to find him sitting on the patient bed in her room, waiting for her almost, wearing a smug expression. 

The reason for his presence?

“Said his chest was hurting.”

Solana had never felt so disgusted with a person before when she received that bullshit answer from the guard. The guard who not only left her alone with Reigns, door closed, left him alone, completely unshackled. No cuffs on his wrists.

It was….unnerving, to say the least.

She’d heard the gory tales of his brutality. Knew what he was capable of. And, she’d been left alone with him. 

Wonderful.

Solana swallowed, doing her best to show no fear as she placed her bag on the hook behind the door. “Take your shirt off for me.” She issued her command while washing her hands, taking longer than what was necessary, already knowing she was bound to be distracted by the sight of such a man shirtless.

And, damn, was she correct.

Roman sat, still smug, shirtless, rippling muscles on full display. His tattoos, almost entirely tribal in nature, decorating half his body. A beautifully sculpted body.

Solana’s resolve had never been tested as much as it was in that awful moment.

“What’s your name, pretty girl?” It was the first thing she heard him say, the deep timbre of his baritone voice shaking her in an unsettling way.

Solana managed to avoid eye contact, drying her hands and answering. “Solana.” Throwing the used paper towels away, she added, “you can call me Nurse Miller.”

Roman shook his head, a teasing smile growing. “I like pretty girl better.” Fuck. “What’s a nice, young thing like you doing working in a place like this?”

“What are your symptoms?” She asked, somehow, someway maintaining professionalism despite the burning of her cheeks. She’d never been spoken to so boldly. 

Roman’s gaze was assessing, causing Solana to suddenly regret bypassing picking up a new set of scrubs. Having gained some weight over the past few months, she found her work uniform a little too snug in all the places one wouldn’t want attention in. The same places his eyes seemed to focus on. “You’re too innocent to be here.” He spoke, proudly and easily not answering her questions. “Too pretty. Too damn fine.”

Solana cleared her throat. “Mr. Reigns—”

“Roman,” he interrupted. “Call me Roman.”

Oh, fuck.

Solana’s suddenly shaky hands moved to grab the stethoscope off the counter as she walked over to him, managing a quiet, “just relax.” The same advice she tried to tell herself in being so close to him, the scent of his cologne, strong and masculine, just as distracting as his perfect face and body. Solana assessed his vital signs, hearing nothing abnormal. 

Clearing her throat, she moved to step away only for him to grab her. She froze as he tugged her in between his spread legs.

Her stomach dropped. “Mr. Rei—”

“Shhhh.” His index finger moved against her lips. “Roman.” He corrected once more, just as his eyes lowered to her chest. His tongue dipped out, licking his bottom lip. Solana utilized all sense of self-control to keep her thighs from clamping together from such an innocent act. 

Eyes never leaving her, he stood up, slowly. The height difference between them enough to make her head crane back to maintain that contact. Why she would even want to maintain it? She hadn’t the slightest clue. 

Solana’s mouth went dry as Roman grabbed his orange discarded shirt, laying it on his muscled forearm. She went to back away, the distance between them too suffocating, too cumbersome. 

But, the minute she did, his hand was on the small of her back, holding her, keeping her near him. 

Her eyes shut when he lowered his head, mouth near her ear. “I’ll see you around, pretty girl.”

A whispered promise followed by a light slap of her ass before he separated from her, walking out the door without another word.

—------

Solana would love to say that was the one and only time that happened. 

But, that would be a lie.

A big, fat lie, because that man earned himself an undeserved visit to her medical bay more often than any other patient she’d ever had. And not once did he come with any medical necessity. His reason always the same. 

“I wanted to see you.”

To her credit, she tried her best to maintain those boundaries. Corrected him every time he called her “pretty girl.” Ignored him whenever he made an inappropriate comment or innuendo about her body. Avoiding him seeing the blush on her cheek when he referred to indecent acts.

She truly did her best, but with each visit, her resolve crumbled. A straight face slipped into a small, shy smile. Physically assessing him with her hands, while limited to the usual, medically approved checkpoints, shifted into something else. When he grabbed her wrist and slid her palm over his heart, it rested there for longer than what was necessary. 

The personal questions he asked shifted from being ignored into being answered, though some information was omitted.

And, the physical distance she did her best to keep between them minimized with each encounter. He was breaking her, and he knew it.

She thought of going to Stratus. Even briefly considered asking for a transfer. But, something about it, something about him, prevented her from doing so. Prevented her from putting an end to it all, because another part of her, a stupid, naive part liked it.

She liked the attention he gave her.

She liked him.

And almost a month into this game of cat or mouse, it all came to a head. 

—----

It was the usual routine of him lying and forcing his way into her space, but the air about it was different. It felt different. 

Right away, she knew he had other intentions.

Roman’s big body eclipsed her last glimpse of the door closing, the two guards outside of the room instead of one inside and one outside, as protocol dictated. 

A protocol that’d been disregarded from the moment he stepped foot into her infirmary.

But, instead of sitting on the bed as usual, he remained standing. Nearing her, watching and studying her.

Nothing but lust and desire dancing in his beautiful eyes. 

Solana swallowed, partially already knowing what was about to happen.

Didn’t stop her from asking.

“What—what are you doing?” A question that should have been laced with fear and concern. Roman is a monster. A cold-blooded killer whose ledger is soaked and dripping with blood. 

He was also standing directly in front of her. 

He said nothing at first, head tilted as he effectively backed her against the patient bed. Solana’s ass bumped into the end of said bed, preventing her from going anywhere. He had her boxed in. 

“Giving you exactly what you want.”

His answer was hard enough to process, followed by his big hands reaching down and grabbing her, lifting and placing her onto the edge of said bed. Solana gasped, going to scold him, “Mr. Reigns, this is inap—”

“Shut up.”

Solana would be lying if she tried to deny she hadn’t thought of what it would be like to kiss Roman. A monster he may be, but ugly, he most certainly is not. Visually speaking, tall, strong, dark, and handsome, he checks off every single box a woman could be looking for.

Except, she didn't push him off when he smashed his lips onto hers. Didn’t shove him away and scream for help, for one of the guards to restrain him and keep him away from her.

She pulled him closer, ignoring the smirk of his full lips into their passionate kiss. A kiss she found herself not wanting to end as he shoved his tongue into her mouth the same way he’d shoved himself into her life. Without request and without protest.

Solana moaned when his hands moved down to squeeze her breast, his thumb peppering over her hardened nipples that felt brick solid, poking against the fabric of her scrubs. 

Her attraction for him and enjoyment in their passionate make out couldn’t be denied even if she tried. So much so that she doesn’t bat an eye when that same hand previously groping her big breast jumped down to start tugging her pants off. 

Solana moaned into the kiss, as Roman expertly rid her of her scrubs, ripping them past her sneakers, that he also removed, all items discarded onto the floor. He pried his mouth from hers, full lips swollen, pink tongue darting out and glossing over his bottom lip. 

“Lay back.”

Two words. A single command. One response.

Never mind the consequences, the repercussions, the career ending outcome that could stem from such a major fuck up. A mishap or mistake were too watery of terms to use. Too downplaying of what should easily be the biggest regret of her life, because so much, all, stands to be lost with just one knock or entrance of the right—or wrong—person.

Fraternizing with the prisoners was one thing, but sexual conduct with said prisoners was entirely different.

Solana could lose her job, could lose her license, could lose everything she’s worked so hard for.

And, yet none of that prevented her from doing a damn thing to stop this man. 

Solana laid back on the patient bed, sitting up and resting her weight on her elbows as she watched him drop to his knees before her. Heart rate erratic, she lifted her hips just enough when he started tugging down her underwear. As expected, they were thrown to the wayside, just as her pants and shoes were. 

An inconvenient obstacle preventing him from his destination. 

His warm eyes lifted to hers at the same time he grabbed her by her calves, forcing her down on the bed and right onto his waiting mouth.

“Oh, fuck!”

Solana had always enjoyed this part of sex. Tried to enjoy it, at least. Consistent good head had always been hard to come across. It’d be great at first and lackluster every time after. Or, the usual of way too much theatrics and not enough actual performance.

None of that was the case with the man before her. 

Roman didn’t ease into anything. It seemed like a trait that felt applicable across several areas of his life. Including with sex. Because, he ate her pussy with a ravenous, carnal, sinful need. The sounds of him sucking and licking on her clit battling with the moans that left her mouth and the withering of her body on the bed. 

The minute his thick, talented tongue circled her sensitive nub, Solana was off her elbows and on her back, head reclined from the delicacy of his exquisite mouth on her most sacred parts. 

“Oh my God.”

Solana was too caught up in the bliss of it all to care when he pulled back, humming almost. “That’s it, sweetheart.” He brought his fingers to toy with her arousal, thick finger teasing her tight hole. “Fuck my face.”

It was only then Solana realized how her body moved against him, how one hand fisted in his hair, holding him right where she wanted him. To stay.

Forever.

“Shit, Roman,” she cursed when he went back to work, sucking and kissing her pussy like it was the best thing he’d ever been blessed to experience. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

He moaned against her, hands moving under her ass, tugging her even closer. Solana cried out from the euphoria of it all, continuing to grind against him, an eager, needy nympho for his fix. 

And, he continued to provide it, continuing to grace and grant her with a level of delight she never knew possible. Roman ate her out within an inch of her life, Solana’s attempts to pry him off her only met with him forcing her hands away, further burying his face into her safe haven. He continued to torture her, never retracting or stopping, even as her orgasm coursed through her, practically knocking the wind out of her.

Never in her life had she come so hard. 

Or so much. 

She was a discombobulated mess, the only thing pulling her from that post orgasmic daze was the sight of Roman lowering his orange pants and black boxers, freeing what had to be the biggest dick—outside of porn—that she’d ever seen.

The excitement and libido was momentarily altered by an understandable amount of trepidation.

“I—” Solana wasn’t quite sure how to say it, especially as he rubbed the massive mushroom head of his equally massive sized cock against her slippery, wet folds. “It’s—it’s not going to fit.”

She knew this well. Basic science and common sense. Maybe some fear as well.

A lot of fear.

There’s no way he could get that inside of her. Not without her landing in someone’s emergency room from vaginal tearing. If not worse.

But, her apprehension didn’t extend to him. Roman smirked in response to her overt concern. “Yes, it will.” He prompted with his chin, one hand stroking that beautiful, long dick. “Lay back.”

She swallowed. “Roman.”

“Trust me.”

Her eyes widened slightly. Trust him? She shouldn’t have even be doing that with the man, let alone trusting him to fuck her without causing great bodily harm. It was crazy. All of it. One of the most dangerous men in the world, serving a ten year prison sentence, a man who had run this place like he owned it since starting his sentence. A man who’d gradually made his way past her wall, albeit weak from the get-go, standing before her, about to fuck her in the infirmary where she was supposed to be working. Like the guards outside the door who were also supposed to be working but had turned a blind eye, like almost everyone has with Reigns’ outrageous conduct.

It was fucking ludicrous.

And yet, she did exactly as he directed.

She laid back, demonstrating an undeserved and unearned amount of trust. 

Her stomach doing all kinds of somersaults, also in battle with the desire that still coursed in the depths of her belly. The wonderful sensations that came from him continuing to coat his dick with her essence, their makeshift lube in absence of the actual product.

Not once did she think to ask about protection. Or anything else, really, because all she could think about and focus on was the immediate, almost painful feel of him as he started to enter her.

Her eyes clenched shut, her fingers gripping the bed underneath her. “Shit.” An almost burning sensation, something similar to what one experiences when being split or cut open.

An accurate description. 

Solana felt a shift and a sort of weight on top of her, followed by Roman’s soft, full lips on hers. Nasty, tongue kissing accompanied the gradual descent of him inside her, providing a salacious and needed distraction. Inch by inch, he stretched her walls, forcing her cunt to accommodate his big dick.

Solana clutched onto his shoulders, moaning into his mouth when he spoke against her lips, “that’s it….let me in, baby girl.” Her eyes didn’t need to be open to see the haughty expression on his face. It seeped through his deep voice. “Let me ruin you.”

Concerning words that should not evoke the kind of moan it did. But, it did. The same way Solana couldn’t stop herself from realizing at some point the pain and discomfort of her taking someone of his size and girth transcended into something delicious and pleasurable. That it moved into her rocking against him, eager for more and all of him.

Something most definitely noticed by the man above her.

“Am I in there?” A possibly rhetorical question that was followed up with a more demanding question. “Where am I? Tell me, baby.”

An easy question, but one that was a struggle to verbalize as Roman had eased into a slow and steady pace. Solana hugged him closer as one hand moved under her ass, holding her up a bit while he fucked her. 

“My—my stomach, oh my God.” The only answer she could provide, the one that felt the most truthful, cause God, he was so deep. If not for rolls and pudge of her belly, even more profound from the position they were in, she’s certain she could have seen his sizable dick driving into her. Balls and stomach deep.

“That’s right,” he growled. Solana’s head fell back, wincing when he kissed and bit down on her neck. Equally painful as it was delightful. “Can’t nobody fucking beat your shit up like this but me.”

Another true statement she couldn’t deny or even try to. Solana couldn’t do much of anything with the way he was pounding into her. Wild, animalistic, uncontrolled. 

Fucking into her with a sense of need and urgency. “Fuck, your pussy feels amazing.” He grunted, leaning over, sucking on her neck. “Tight ass cunt….”

Her thighs locked around his waist, hungry for him, begging to feel his dick continue to dive into her. She’d never had a sexual partner hit and feel as deep as Roman was and felt in her. “Keep fucking me like that.”

Roman’s smirk was loud and proud. “This what you been wanting?” His tone cocky and knowing as he flicked her nipples through her top. “Me to stretch this pussy?”

Her response was a moan as she gripped his arms, holding him tighter and closer. “Y–yes.”

He made a sound, hiking her up further, Solana crying out from the angle of the thrust. The tip of his dick repeatedly knocking into and nudging her g-spot. “God, yes, right there.” Words in Spanish tumbled out of her mouth at the way he rocked into her, over and over again, driving her mad with delectable ectasy.

“Pretty girl just wanted me to slut her out on my dick, huh?” More bragging. Well deserved, because the way he was digging her out, pounding into her, should be studied, framed, and preserved for all eternity. “Wanted to be fucked by a real man.”

Another undisputed fact. 

“Fuck.” His hissed curse drew her gaze to him, Solana biting down on her bottom lip at the sight. Eyes shut, tension evident by how he was clenching his jaw, he looked like he was enjoying it just as much as she was. And there was something empowering about that, something that got her off even more. Knowing that a man as powerful as him, in all the ways, could be brought to this level of bliss because of her.

It had to be what emboldened her to bring her hands to his face, forcing their swollen lips to lock once more as she demanded, “you like how my pussy feels, baby?” Such an uncharacteristic thing for her to say, in the middle of being fucked numb, or not. Regardless, it’s exactly what she said. 

Roman’s response was to grind his hips against her, as he answered almost darkly. “Yes.” Solana nearly came right then and there from a single answer. “The Tribal Chief loves it.”

Another orgasm inducing acknowledgment that had that familiar sensation building and budding inside her. “Roman…”

“I know,” was his only response. He could feel it, too. “Not yet.” He said more to himself than her. “I’m not ready...”

Solana had a good feeling about what he was referring to, but it did nothing to slow down the autonomous response of her body. Unless he stopped fucking her like that, there was no stopping it. 

A whimper left her mouth as she dug her nails into his cheek, their foreheads pressed against each other. “I can’t….”

“Yes, you can,” he encouraged, slowing down the pace of his thrusts. She couldn't tell if that helped or hurt. “Don’t come on daddy’s dick just yet, pretty girl.” The ‘pretty girl’ most definitely didn’t help. It never did. “Let me feel this good ass pussy a lil’ longer…”

She wouldn’t be opposed to feeling his good ass dick inside her a lil’ longer as well, but wants oftentimes can’t stand up against needs. And, what she needed was to come.

More than she’d ever come before. 

It felt almost impossible, but Roman talked her through it. Kept her from tipping over the edge just long enough, so that he could catch up with and reach her, where they could climax together. And, they did. God, they did. Solana holding onto him, mouth ajar, connection to reality momentarily severed. Her orgasm was otherworldly. Too good and grand for her to even put into words, to be fully, physically, emotionally, and spiritually present.

All so earth and world shattering that it never even occurred to her how Roman came inside of her. Ropes of his cum, combined with her own, filling and spilling out over her used and battered pussy. 

She was partially cognizant to when he eventually pulled out of her, dazed look in his eyes as he brought his finger to her vagina, pushing some of their cum back inside. 

But, she was very aware when he used that same hand and brought his hand to grab her jaw, squeezing just enough to force her mouth open. That same hand, those fingers, still with their juices on it, entered her mouth. The unspoken command obvious. 

Solana sucked his fingers dry. 

Imagining it was that big, beautiful dick of his instead.

His look of pride at her obedience was followed by him removing said fingers. His mouth back on her, Solana shared the taste of them on her tongue and lips. An erotic, nasty exchange of sorts that had her pussy fluttering. 

It was all so kinky.

Roman broke the kiss, looking down at her with something she couldn’t name, but something that had her both aroused and fearful. 

And with all the conviction in the world, he laid his claim. “You’re mine now.”

—-----------

That first time was the start of something inescapable and avoidable.

Something sinful and forbidden.

An affair.

Four months deep, even if Solana wanted to get out, she couldn’t. It’s a known, open secret among several of her coworkers and colleagues. Something that once shamed her, embarrassed her. Now, she can’t seem to think or see straight beyond Roman. 

Even now, as she sits in the trailer, the place intended for prisoners who have an exemplary record, who have completed the Extended Family Visits (EFV) Program, that allows prisoners to have family time with loved ones in this separate space on prison grounds. 26 hours to live as normal a life as possible.

It’s a resource Roman has now commandeered for their alone time, adding to their visits that still happen at least three times a week.

For almost four months now, this has been the routine. Short, not as long meetings in the prison followed up with the Friday into Saturday she spends with him in the trailer almost weekly.

The closest sense of normalcy she’ll ever receive in such a fucked up situation.

But, the moment Roman arrives, she knows. 

Knows that something is wrong.

He’s upset with her. She can tell from the minute he walks in. Big body and tall frame almost too large for the trailer. Nicer and even bigger than the average, it’s just too small for him. Too simple. Too basic. A man like Roman demands and requires only the best of things. 

A difficult task, however, given the situation he’s in.

The situation they’re in.

He heads straight to the shower, which is the norm for him. However, what’s not the norm is the way he doesn’t even ask—or tell—her to join him. That’s usually how they kick things off. In the shower. Her washing him. Him washing her, and then her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounds into her her, her on her her knees, her body propped up against the wall, then on the bathroom counter, and eventually into the bedroom.

The normal trajectory of things. 

But, not tonight.

No, tonight is clearly bound to be different.

For a minute, Solana considers just leaving. It’s obvious he’s in a mood, and she doesn’t feel much better herself. It’s probably just best if she goes home. The smart thing. The right thing.

She doesn’t do it.

She remains there, sitting and waiting on the bed, wearing an old Selena shirt, a gift from her cousin back when they were in college.

And, she waits. For what, she’s not entirely sure anymore.

She just waits.

Roughly 25 minutes pass from the time he entered the trailer and the minute he walks out of the bathroom, nothing but a thick white towel wrapped around his waist. He’d clearly used another to dry his hair as best as possible given its damp, but not wet, appearance.

He stands at the end of the bed, ringlets of water dripping and traveling down his body, that sculpted, divine, fine work of the Gods. And, he looks at her. Says nothing. Just looks.

Suddenly exhausted and minimally frustrated, Solana runs her hands through her blown out hair. “Roman—

“Did you fuck him?”

And now, she’s looking at him. Of all the things he could say, of all the things he could ask, that….that was most definitely not on her list.

Confused, but maybe not, she asks, “what?”

 “You should know by now I don’t like repeating myself.” His expression is hardened. The perfect match for his voice. “The same way I don’t like when people lie to me.”

Both things that she knows. Solana has treated the brutal, gruesome wounds of the men who had to learn one or both of those lessons the hard way. And yet, she remains staunch in her partial confusion. “Roman, I don’t—” She’s silenced by him grabbing her ankle, yanking her down to the end of the bed. The action causes her shirt to scrunch up, revealing her blue thong.

His favorite color.

Not that she wore it for him. No….not at all.

Roman’s gaze briefly drifts to that same thong, and she sees the flash of desire that builds only to be squashed by frustration. “Don’t test me, Solana.” A dangerously delivered warning combined with his hand loosening its hold, only for him to gradually move it upward. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Her eyes never leave his traveling hand. “F–find out what?”

He stops only for a second. “You’re a terrible fucking liar.”

Solana says nothing, unable to disagree. She’s heard variations of the same thing over the years. Doesn’t mean she’s willing to cave.

“I know you went out last weekend with your friends.” And, there it is. Though startled, she remains unmoving. “That you went clubbing.” There’s an undeniable disdain in his delivery of that last word. A marked contrast to his hand that’s now in between her thighs, fingers hovering around the perimeter of her thong. “That you were dancing and talking to some piece of shit.”

All things she can’t and won’t deny, partially because it’s true, mostly because it’s practically impossible to focus with his hand so close to her pussy.

“So, I’m only going to ask you one more time, sweetheart.” Her eyes shut, lips parted, mouth drying as he travels his thick, long fingers past the band on her thong, collecting and playing with her arousal. “Did you fuck him?”

The him comes out at the same time he moves two fingers inside of her, evoking only a moan for a response. 

It’s the wrong answer. 

Solana cries out in protest when he hastily retracts his fingers, leaving her yearning and wanting more. 

“Ro—”

“Shut up.” An angry silencer accompanied by his big hands moving to grab her hips, tugging her forward even more and hurriedly turning her over. Solana is hoisted up on the bed, guided on her hands and knees. 

“Ro—”

Solana is once again silenced, but not by his words this time. By that same big hand coming down on her backside, the sound echoing throughout the room, her ass jiggling in the recoil. 

“I said shut the fuck up,” he reiterates. There’s not going to be a third repeating. A mixture of confusion and excitement fills her at feeling and hearing him move behind her. The drop of the towel from around his waist, the way he snatches and rips her underwear clean off her body. His moan that’s followed by her own as he drags his thick dickhead up and down her folds, collecting her arousal.

It’s all so dysfunctional and wrong.

And, she loves it all.

A loud shout and moan falls out her mouth the minute he plunges his long, girthy dick inside of her. No build up. No preparation. Just the massive intrusion of his sizable member in her tight opening. 

And, he’s relentless. 

Solana’s body jerks back and forth from the force of his thrusts. Angry. Possessive. Jealous. 

“Roman,” she moans. “Baby, please.” One hand reaching back to push him away is quickly snatched and held against her lower back as he starts fucking her harder.

“You’re mine,” he growls, leaning over, deepening the feel of the delicious dick inside of her. It hurts so good, feels so bad in all of the right, wonderful ways. “You belong to me.”

More possessive statements accompanied by his hips slamming against her big, round ass, jerking in and out of her, like each thrust is another assurance of his ownership. “Your pussy is mine.”

A decree followed up with a switching of his pace. Roman opts for slower, deeper thrusts, his hips grinding against her as one hand goes to slap her ass once more.

Solana moans, head down on the pillow, her other hand snatched and restricted behind her back. He’s got her pinned down as he continues to fuck into her like a man on a mission.

“Did you give him my pussy?” There’s an edge to his voice, like anything but the right answer could easily send him over the edge.

And, it just might. 

“N–no,” she finally answers, praying the truth of her response translates despite the weariness of her voice. He always fucks her in a way that makes her feel so exhausted. “It’s—it’s your pussy, baby.”

His. All his. Every part of her. The good, the bad, the somewhere in between.

His.

“That’s right,” he grunts. Solana’s eyes burn with unshed tears. Never in her life has she been fucked like this. Fucked so good. It’s almost impossible to resist. To deny him this. To deny herself this. “Who do you belong to?”

She’s about to reply when he frees one of her hands only to fist her hair, forcing her up, head back, burning gaze on her. “I asked you a question.”

An easy answer but a difficult answer given how he’s fucking her right now. “Y—you, baby. I’m—I’m your—shit—only y–yours, Ro.”

“Damn right,” he huffs, releasing her hair. Roman moves her shirt up, exposing her big, heavy breast, gripping them, fingers playing with her nipples. “My pretty girl is mine and only mine.”

Eyes fluttering closed from being fucked numb, she can only blindly nod and agree, stuttering from the impact of his unforgiving his pace. “Y–yes, daddy.”

Head lolling back against his chest, Solana moves her hands atop his as he continues to grope and play with her titties.

His mouth near her ear, kissing and nibbling, his deep voice rumbles, “you’re gonna give me a baby.” If not for her sex fueled haze, Solana would have done a double take. Eyes wide, mouth ajar for an entirely different reason. “Gonna fill this tight, little cunt up with my seed and put a baby in you. My baby.”

Crazy.

She should call him crazy. Delusional, even. But, she can’t. She can’t, because his statement isn’t also sex fueled, the result of being caught in the throes of passion. 

It comes from her.

Came from her.

Was a request straight from her mouth.

Solana had asked Roman to give her a child, to give them a child. Has done nothing to prevent said child from occurring organically given the numerous times she’s let this man come all in her without a single form of protection.

“That’s what you want, right?” He taunts, his heavy balls slapping against her from the force of his thrusts. “Me to put a baby in you? Why you let me come in you every time?”

Truthful words that should bring her to shame. But, they don’t. They just turn her on even more.

“Yes, Ro.” She moans, ass moving in tandem with him, swallowing his dick with the hunger the fills them both. “Oh, fuck, you fuck me so good, baby.”

“That’s right.” His hand squeezes her booty, jiggling and slapping it once more. “My pretty girl is a dirty cum slut for me and only me.”

Continuance of filthy truths that reveal all the ugly, tainted things about herself that only become evident when she’s with him. The secrets of her desires that could only come to the light because of him. The things she’s not sure how to get back into the box.

Or, if she even wants them to. 

As he does most times, Roman puts her in any and all positions he wants to. On her hands and knees. Propped up on his dick as he watches her ride him. From the front and back. On her back. On her knees as she deepthroats him till she's on the brink of vomiting. Her knees up against her chest, juxtaposed to her ears. One leg over his shoulder, the other held up against his waist as he relentlessly pounds into her. It never stops. His sex drive is endless, his hunger and desire for her is insatiable. Always has been.

It’s only when she tells him she’s too sore, that the pleasure is completely gone, pain and discomfort the only sensations she has left inside of her is when he lets up off her. A constant thing. The minute it’s no longer pleasurable for her has always been his stopping point. 

As intense and dominating he can be in the bedroom, he’s always been mindful and respectful of her consent. When she says stop, he listens. 

Every single time.

When she taps out for good, he accepts it.

And, she is completely tapped out. 

Roman carries her to the bathroom where he turns on the shower, bringing her under the running water as he washes her and then himself. A type of gentleness that’s a stark contrast to almost everything else about him, but a normal thing when it’s just the two of them. Both clean and cleansed from the mess they’d made of themselves, he kisses her forehead and brings her back into the bedroom. An extra blanket is laid over the bed, over the other mess that was made.

He lays her down first before climbing into bed with her, another clean blanket on top of them. Solana presses her naked, clean body against his own, head on his chest as he kisses her temple, encouraging her to rest.

And while her body enjoys the much needed respite, her mind cannot.

She can’t find a way to settle her many, racing thoughts at this. At all of it.

Madness.

This whole thing is a type of madness that makes no sense when she’s not with him and all the sense when it’s just him. That’s the power this man has over her. Solana can’t see or think straight when it’s Roman. He’s clouded her judgment, turned her into a version of herself even she can’t recognize.

She’s yet to tell if that’s a good or bad thing.

It’s all bad, according to Jade, Solana’s older cousin and confidant. 

Well, prior.

Because the minute Solana made the mistake of confiding in the woman she thought she could tell anything, she learned just how wrong she was. 

“Solana, have you lost your goddamn mind? You’re fucking a prisoner? A mafia boss at that?”

That was probably the nicest of the response she received. Everything else was a lot of judgment and lack of understanding. Or, trying to understand, at least.

Needless to say, the conversation didn’t go well, and every outreach attempt Solana has made in the weeks that have passed have gone without a response.

It hurts. For sure. But, Solana can understand. 

Jade also works as a nurse in the local hospital and most likely doesn’t want it to get out that she knew about this illegal, forbidden affair and played any part. Distance is probably for the best.

But, the conversation and aftermath did get Solana thinking. Forced her to consider all she stands to lose should this ever reach that point, and not even her professional standing and achievements.

Her family. 

What would they think of her? They’d be disappointed for sure. 

The child her family never had to worry about suddenly boosted to the top of that worry list.

A dangerous thought that led her stumbling into even more dangerous territory.

Solana will never say she has a bad family. Ever. She loves her parents. Loves her siblings. Her family is good.

However, the youngest of five siblings, some of them hitting rough patches at various points in life, there were definitely moments where she just felt….there. Like, she was just another member of the family. Another Miller kid. The “good” Miller kid. The one who always had it together, for the most part, thus not needing as much attention from her parents who were already stretched thin from their other children. 

And, that was pretty much the dynamic her entire life. Solana did well, did okay, and that was that. Her parents would acknowledge they were proud, but it almost always felt like a distant thing. Like, they were saying it as a pleasantry, distracted, too busy helping out DJ with his custody battle for his daughter. Occupied with finding Isabella a good therapist for her anxiety. Stressed out by Zuri and her refusal to comply. 

Solana was just the child they never had to worry about which, unfortunately, translated into her being the child that often felt forgotten about.

Enter: Roman Reigns.

The attention of a man like him is one thing. The interest is something entirely different. 

And, she’s managed to nab both. He should be the last person she wants to see and be intrigued by her, but that’s exactly what’s happened. Not only does Roman make her feel seen and heard, he makes her feel wanted, something she didn’t realize she lacked so deeply until him.

He makes her feel cared for.

Protected. Another, interesting, sad thing she also never realized she was missing, wanting, yearning for. 

Like the guard, Knight something, who continued to pester and bother Solana, even going as far as groping her ass as she walked past him one day. An impossible, unavoidable situation as he’d been there for years compared to her six months. Something she just accepted she’d have to tolerate.

She was wrong.

Because not even 24hrs after Roman happened to catch a glimpse of the harassment she was dealing with, Knight was found dead in a prisoner’s cell. Beaten to death. Castrated. Eyes gouged out. 

A gruesome ending for a man she couldn’t find herself feeling sorry for after learning he had a record of harassing nurses. And sexually assaulting female inmates at the prison he worked at before then.

Ignoring his willingness to kill or have people killed for her, which probably should disturb her more than it does, Solana could talk to Roman for hours and never tire. Because his gaze is always on her, eye contact consistent, attention devoted solely to and on her. She can’t count how many times she’d be trying to talk to her parents or siblings about something, anything, only for them to always find something more important to redirect their focus to. 

“I’m sorry, Sola.”

“There’s just a lot going on, sweetie.”

“Can we talk about this some other time? We will. I promise. I’m just….”

Reasons, when she was younger. 

Excuses, now, at 27. 

And, she doesn’t fault them, isn’t upset with them. It’s just realizing what void that caused for her is such an experience, especially when that void has been filled—and more—by a man ten years her senior and miles beyond what and who she usually goes for.

Amenable. Introverted. Lover of the arts. All qualities she could use to describe her exes, none of which could describe Roman.

Strong. Quiet. Brutal. There’s a strength about him she admires and gravitates to that has nothing to do with his massive build and rippling muscles. A story behind those warm brown eyes she could most definitely get used to waking up to. A man beneath the thing that is Roman Reigns. 

A…..a man who, in the throes of chaos and destruction, sometimes seeks the silence and calm. A space she knows she provides him. 

“It’s simple with you.” He’d once said as they lay in bed together, his strong arms around her, her head on his chest. Her fingers danced across the plane of his stomach.

Something told her he wasn’t talking about the silence of the room they lay in, either.

At the very beginning, she tried to tell herself he didn’t care. That she was nothing more than a source of entertainment for a man who has nothing better to do while waiting to be released from a sentence he “shouldn't” even be serving in the first place.

That thought process helped her justify her outrageous behavior just a little.  

But, it was a thought that quickly started to be debunked when things started happening. 

Like her being at home, in her quaint little apartment, only to receive a knock at her door one day with a delivery. Beautiful pink roses from the local florist. A card attached that simply read.

For my pretty girl.

-R

Moving past the shock of such a thoughtful gesture, Solana chalked it up to a singular act of kindness. Underserved, in her mind. But, appreciated, nonetheless.

And, then it happened again.

More flowers. 

Flowers morphed into gifts. Expensive gifts. Someone who had a few select Kate Spade bags and a Michael Kors backpack gifted during college, Solana found herself on the receiving end of designer brands so fancy she couldn’t pronounce. And, the flowers remained a weekly thing as well, something she valued slightly more than the six to seven figure gifts. 

Because he’d asked her what she liked, and she’d told him flowers. She told him, and he remembered. Not only did he remember, but he’d seemingly made it a mission of his to make it a thing. To make a small act of kindness a thing of normalcy. 

And while she tried her best to not make too much of it, a man in prison showing her more adoration and appreciation compared to any of her exes, who were most definitely not serving a decade long sentence, is something she can’t avoid. 

Can’t not acknowledge.

Doesn’t mean she hasn’t tried, because she has.

Solana has tried to break free from the addiction that is Roman Reigns.

Tried to avoid him as much as possible. A difficult thing on so many levels. Especially when he always seems to find a way inside of her infirmary and especially inside of her.

It was why she went out last weekend. Willing to test out that age old theory regarding how the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. 

It didn’t work. It was, somewhat, even as she made out with the random man whose name she can’t really remember. Melo, or something like that. But, the minute he started “stroking” her and boasting about how good it probably felt, it was a wrap.

Her thigh. He was stroking her thigh.

Solana went home alone that night, left early, needing to just be away from it all.

But, the fact that Roman knew about some of it, clearly not everything, comes at no surprise.

She knows he has people watching her. Has noticed the cars parked outside her parking complex. Seen the men that are almost always in not too far distance whenever she goes out. Even at the club that night.

He has a security detail on her. 

Has had one on her for a while now. 

Ever since that happened.

A fight broke out among inmates. Nothing out of the norm. A few were injured, hence several being transferred to medical. For some reason, she’s still unsure as to exactly how, a few of the prisoners weren’t properly secured. They weren’t shackled or cuffed, and it was as Solana went to disinfect a cut on one of them, he headbutted and punched her so hard that it knocked her out cold. 

Solana came to hours later in the local hospital where she wasn’t released until the next morning, being treated for what she considered minor injuries. Though the nasty bruise that marred the left side of her face was far from minor.

As recommended by Dr. Stratus, she took the next few days off. It felt a bit unnecessary. Solana didn’t feel too impacted by what occurred. Having been in the nursing field a few years now, she’d seen and experienced a lot. It wasn’t necessarily the first time she’d been hurt on the job, but it also wasn’t something that kept her up. That had her feeling traumatized.

There was some level of anxiety when she returned to work a few days later, but it quickly subsided when she learned that same prisoner who attacked her was dead.

Found tortured and murdered in his cell.

That shook her a bit. But, not as much when Roman was brought to the infirmary, her room, and the first thing she noticed was the scraped skin of his knuckles. For all of the many times he finessed his way into coming to see her, never had he actually come with anything requiring any kind of medical attention.

And even then, there wasn’t much that needed to be done outside of some disinfecting.

But, he didn’t seem to give two shits about that. 

He only seemed concerned with her. The minute the guards closed the door, he was before her. His big hands gently cupping her face, carefully turning her head to the side, examining the bruise that not even her most full coverage foundation could conceal.

His expression was a mixture of fury and regret. But, the fury couldn’t be felt not one bit as he pulled her into him, Solana initially confused but easily melting into comfort. She relished being in his strong embrace.

He kissed the top of her head, holding her, voice low and heavy with something unknown. “I’m sorry.”

To this day, she doesn’t know what exactly he was sorry for. She just knows that ever since that day, she’s had a security detail. It felt a little unnecessary and not even applicable, given she was injured on the job. Her “bodyguards” of sorts can’t really do anything to protect her when she’s on the clock.

But, Roman can.

It’s why she put two and two together, realizing Roman himself killed the man who hurt her. Every other life he’d claimed had been done indirectly. He’d used and ordered other people to carry out his fatal orders. But, this time….this time, he took it into his own hands.

He used his own hands to end the man’s life. Violently. Brutally. Graphically.

Why?

For her.

To send a clear message regarding what happens to anyone who dared to touch or try to hurt her.

Solana isn’t entirely certain, but she has a nagging suspicion that that was the moment it happened. 

The moment she realized she was falling in love with Roman.

Roman, for all his faults, and there are many, is good to her. He protects her and gives her a sense of belonging. Makes her feel wanted, something she didn’t really realize she was craving so deeply until him. 

Where she always just felt one of many with her family. With him, she’s one of one. She’s all he sees and all he wants. 

The same way she feels about him.

While the sex is phenomenal and in the plenty whenever it’s just the two of them, he talks to and with her. Asks about her, about how she’s doing. He’s always been so interested and intrigued about all the things that make her her. And, he commits it all to memory. Locks it away for sake keeping and points of retrieval. If she casually mentions working on an art piece, the next time they’ll see each other, he’ll ask how it’s going.

If she mentions not feeling the best during an interaction at the prison, their EFV visit won’t be used for a “sexscapade.” They’ll talk, she’ll learn more about him, he learns about her. It’s almost entirely domestic. He won’t touch her, unless she asks, and even then, he’s intent on making sure that she’s sure it’s what she wants.

And, it’s those moments that make her realize somewhere along the way, she stopped falling in love with Roman Reigns. 

She’s in love with Roman Reigns.

It’s all so fucked up. Everything about it. But, she’s too far gone, too deep into it to turn back now. 

And a part of her still worries that this is all performative. That he’s saying and doing all the things he knows she wants to hear and receive just to get what he wants from her. That the moment Roman is finally released will be the moment she never hears or speak to him again. He’ll be back on his throne, and she’ll be left all alone, heartbroken, life in ruins, trying to put it all the shattered pieces back together.

Potentially with a baby in her stomach.

It’s a reality she should probably consider more than she does, if at all, but it’s a reality she refuses to acknowledge. 

If that ends up being the devastating case, she’ll cross that bridge when they get there. When she gets there. Until then, she’ll enjoy this. Enjoy him. Enjoy them.

Because she’d give her all for him. 

Even if just to be a distant memory.

[trippinsorrows]

the space between us + oneshot

authors note: i need everyone to know and understand i condone none of this. the bar is literally on the ground. below it.

i don't really write a lot in first person pov on here with ya'll, just cause i'm a lil self-conscious about it, but this idea felt more fitting for first person versus third person.

warnings: angst. smut. forbidden relationship. vaginal penetration. dirty talk. unprotected sex. multiple positions. slight butt play. mature ass themes.

words: 3.8k

For as long as I’ve known Roman Reigns, three things have remained constant. Unchanging. Consistent. Permanent. 

He’s an awful person.

He’s a terrible person.

He’s the worst person.

Plain and simple. Easy to understand. Impossible to keep in mind, to remind myself of every time I find myself in his trap. 

Especially in his bed. 

His hand slams down on my ass, snapping me from undisputed truths and warnings that any sane person would heed to. That any smart person would heed to. Both adjectives I would always use to describe myself. Except for when I’m with him.

Nothing exists nor matters when it’s just the two of us. Sense, logic, and anything else that keep people from making bad decisions goes right out the window the minute I’m in the same space as Roman Reigns. That’s always been the case. 

“Fuck.” His voice, deep, strained, tinged with something unspoken is in my ear, those big hands of his on my hips, guiding and keeping me in place. Just where he wants me. How he always wants me. “So fucking tight…”

My eyes shut, the feel of his hands on me, his cool, minty breath on the side of my face, sensations that pale in comparison to the feel of his dick ramming inside of me, claiming every inch of me, marking me, etching his place inside of me. 

In more ways than one.

As hard as I try to suppress my moans, to withhold the intensity of the passion and pleasure, it’s a losing battle. Much like anytime I’m around him, my resolve is but a thing of imagination. I have none when it comes to him. I try to stomp my feet in the ground, try to pretend like I actually have a say in the situation, but I don’t. I never did.

Perhaps I never will.

“Roman….” His name tumbles out my mouth, quiet, low, hushed, moaned almost, and it’s enough to evoke that sound from him. That verbal thing similar to acknowledgment. He loves when I do that. Say his name. Especially when I moan it, and as ashamed as I am to admit it, it’s happened more times than I—or he—could ever count.

“That’s right,” he goads, another slap to my ass, his fingers digging into the meat of it. “My name.” My eyes clench tighter the same way my cunt flutters at the low growl behind his words. “Say it.” He’s met with silence, an unacceptable thing, prompting yet a particular deep thrust inside me. One that forces a hiss followed by his hips pressed against my ass, his dick throbbing inside, tip teasing my G-Spot. “Say it, Sola.”

The outcome is unavoidable, just like us, but that doesn’t mean I can’t delay it. 

“F–fuck you.” A strained act of defiance, his name almost spilling out of my mouth. Such weakness.

A dark chuckle. I already know what’s coming, and yet there’s this irritating sense of shock when he shoves me down on the bed, his chest no longer pressed into my back. The way his hand moves to my head, thick fingers tangled in my hair. 

The way he forces it out of me as he fucks into me, wildly, animalistic, uncontrolled, and unhinged. The way that unforgiving dick of his slams into my pussy, over and over again, driving tears to spill over. 

For his name to spill over. 

“Roman!” 

He says nothing, just continues to fuck me like it’s the last time. It should be. It really should, but even I, with all my refusal to acknowledge the inevitable, the uncomfortable truth, can’t deny that.

I’ve tried. 

God, I’ve tried so hard. For years. Years I’ve been under his unbreakable spell. For years, I’ve worked to rid myself of him. To remove myself from his life. To remove me from him. And for every attempt, I always end up right back where I am.

Under him.

With him.

His.

I suppose it’s true after all.

The devil doesn’t do well parting with his toys. 

“Fuck, please,” I moan, reaching behind to push him away. I hate when he fucks me like this. Like less man and more beast. Or, maybe it’s that uncomfortable truth trying to make itself known in an inconvenient or perhaps effective way. 

But, it’s not. It’s not, because as much as I hate it, I love it even more.

“Move your hand.” A growled demand, both of his hands having returned to my hips, forcing my cunt to take the massive, unrelenting assault of his cock. “I said, move your hand, Solana.”

Once again, my defiance does its best to put up a fight for a forever losing battle. Another massive hit, a casualty, when he moves said hand and pins it behind my back. 

He pins both hands behind my back.

“Shhiiiitttt,” I moan into the mattress, words muffled, my body jerking erratically back and forth, already tender breast jolting against the limited almost nonexistent space between my chest and the bed. “R–Roman—”

“You act like you have a fucking choice. Like you can deny me this. Deny me you.” I hate him. I fucking hate him. “Fuck me? That’s exactly what you do.” The snap of his hips is accompanied by the snapped delivery of his words. Pointed. Firm. Clear. “Every. Fucking. Time.”

My eyes still remain shut, like keeping them privy to only the darkness allows me the excuse of being blind to it. Being blind to it all. 

“It’s why you always end up right back here,” he continues spilling uncomfortable truths that I cannot and will not acknowledge. No matter what he says or does. I can’t. “Why he’ll never be me—”

“Stop,” I murmur, a weak protest lost into the mattress that holds every sinful, dirty secret of ours. Years worth of sins and pleasures too carnal and wrong to be uttered into the world. 

“Why you always come back to me—”

“Please.”

“You’re mine, Solana. You always have been and will be.” Another dirty reminder as his hand moves in between my ass, thumb toying with, teasing, and probing my hole, exploring yet another part of me that he’s already invaded. That he’s claimed. “He’s just the bitch I let play with you, because I’m a generous Tribal Chief.”

I hate him. I hate him so much, and yet I don’t.

Not even a little bit.

Not even close. 

I end up on top. His hands once again situated on the meat of my hips, holding and guiding me as I bounce on top of him. My head back, eyes fluttering, completely full and stuffed, I don’t have to be looking down at him to know his eyes are set on me. On my big breast that flop almost wildly against his my chest, the soreness something downplayed and overpowered by the pleasure that wrecks both of us.

“So good,” I moan, incapable of holding it in. It’s too difficult. Too painful. “You feel so good.” A language he cannot understand, something I know secretly irks him. He’s always so needy.

“Tell me what you said,” he demands. I groan as he starts to thrust up inside of me, slow, spaced out thrusts. Bastard.

“Roman….”

A sharp snap upward that makes me scream. “Tell me.”

My refusal remains stronger than what is typical, a sense of pride overcoming me at this unfamiliar ability to stay on the path of resistance. That is until he starts fucking up into me with a newfound intensity and borderline brutality. One that has me reaching for the headboard, hand squeezing the dark wood, those tears forming again.

Damn him.

—----

I want to leave afterwards. I need to leave afterwards. I should leave afterwards, but I don’t. I never do. I allow him to carry me into the bathroom and into his large walk-in shower where there’s more than enough room for proper distance to be kept.

It isn’t.

We fuck in the shower, the back of my head against the tiled wall as he fucks into me again like this isn’t the third round. Maybe fourth. I’m not sure. Time seems inconsequential whenever it’s the two of us. 

His touch is almost gentle as he washes me, a common, usual thing.

I return the favor.

No words are spoken. It’s far too intimate of an act for any sort of conversation, because then maybe we’d have to finally acknowledge it.

Or, maybe I would. 

He only says something to me as I move around his living room, retracing my steps, gathering my clothes that got discarded in various places, the location of each telling the erotic tell. 

Except, right as I clasp the hook of my bra, the familiar sound of a customized ringtone recently set fills the room. My eyes lock to his, and right away, I know he knows. 

I wish I didn’t hesitate to answer, but I do. The same way I wish I would just walk out into his backyard for privacy, but I don’t. I hit answer with him standing only feet away from me.

“Hi, babies.” 

“Hi, mommy.” It’s a synchronized greeting that automatically puts a smile on my face. I can only imagine the way they’re huddled close together, leaning over the phone that’s clearly on speaker. “We miss you.”

My stomach knots in ways uncomfortable and unsettling. “I miss you, too, babies.” Shifting my weight from one side to the other, I visually scan the living room for any sign of my pencil skirt. “Do you want me to come get you?”

“No,” Kaiden answers first, prompting me to chuckle quietly. “We come home mañana.”

“Yeah, mañana,” Kaydence chimes, her voice shifting in a way that makes me imagine her smiling happily. That familiar smile… 

I clear my throat. “Are you having fun with abuela?”

“Lotsa fun!”

“Good.” They always do. The twins love my mom probably more than I do, and there’s no one on earth that I adore more than that woman. Next to my kids, of course. “Hey, do you—”

“Where are you, mommy?”

It’s only then that my gaze somehow falls on him where he continues to say nothing, all the while never taking his gaze off me. Probably overhearing the little voices on the other end of the call, the combination of the increased volume of the phone and the silence of the room, the perfect environment for him to snoop.

If one can really call it that. 

“I’m uhh—I’m home.” And just like that, my smile is swiped. Dr. Solana Miller, MD. Pediatrician by day. Liar by night. The weight and mountain of untruths seems to grow exponentially with every day that passes, but there’s something about lying to my children that never fails to sink my stomach.

And my heart. 

“Is daddy home?”

My eyes remain locked with his as I answer. “No…not yet, babies.”

It’s only then he looks away, his jaw ticking in that way it does when he’s about to say something, and I’ve known Roman Reigns long enough to know that if there’s something he wants to say, he’s going to say it.

I have to wrap this call up.

“Hey, why don’t you use your tablets to call him?”

The happiest, excited sounds. “Okay!” My smile returns. Not much, but it’s still there, albeit barely visible. “We gotta go now, mommy.”

“Okay, babies.” I swallow, my chest swelling imagining their sweet, happy faces. “I love you.” 

More synchronized voices. “We love you too, mommy.” I start to ask to speak to my mom but quickly decide against it. She’ll ask where I am. Like she doesn’t already know. An intentional guilt tripping strategy. 

If only it worked.

I wish it did.

God, I wish it did.

A final goodbye before I end the call and resume my search for the rest of my clothes. The speed suddenly increased. 

I have to get out of he—

“You think he ever wonders why they don’t look like him?”

I’m completely still. Unmoving. Unflinching. Eyes burning on the dark leather of his sofa, the material of my dress suddenly slippery against my clammy palms. I ignore him, trembling hands moving quickly to slide the skirt up my legs and ass. 

“You think this one will look like me, too?”

Silence. A different type of silence. The type that’s palpable and suffocating. The type that can’t and won’t be ignored, gradually sucking the air out of the room until there’s nothing left, and you’re gasping for breath. For some sense of relief.

Only to find none,

“You think I don’t know?”

My swallow is followed with a quiet. “Roman—

“Think I ain’t notice your breasts are swollen—”

“Stop it—”

“That your skin is glowing—”

My eyes shut. “Please—”

“Will you give this one his last name, too?” The pin that pops the balloon. “To help you feel better about hiding the truth from him?”

It’s at that, I turn to look back at him, to see that intense smoldering expression focused solely on me. So many emotions, anger at the forefront, but it’s a cop-out. I know it is, because as much as he likes to pretend he knows me so well, I know him better. 

“Fuck you, Roman.” I’m not sure I’ve ever meant it as much as I do in this moment. But then, my gaze shifts, assertiveness melting into something docile and unconvincing. “Cody’s a–a good man—”

“But not good enough for you to take his last name?”

My eyes narrow. He’s such a dick sometimes, but it’s a welcomed deviation from that conversation. One I don’t intend to ever have with him. A topic I haven’t really allowed myself to think too much about. If at all. I can’t. “You know why—”

“You ever gonna tell him the truth?” That thick silence returns with a hefty vengeance.  “All of it?”

My eyes close again, my focus on anything and everything but him. “Roman—

“How every time that bleached bitch leaves town, you’re practically tripping and stumbling to make it over here and ride my dick?”

Disgust fills me, marring my face. “You son of a bit—”

But, he continues, and I see it. See that it’s less the man, Roman Reigns, that I’m dealing with right now. It’s the monster. “That you walked down that aisle in that pretty white dress, spent that week long honeymoon in Hawaii with him, making him believe you were his blushing, virginal bride all the while I took your virginity just a week before—”

My breath catches. “Be quiet.”

He scoffs. “Amazing how the twins were conceived on your honeymoon.” The most wicked of smiles. “Interesting timing, Dr. Miller.”

“You’re such a heartless bastard.” And, I’m the idiot who keeps coming back every time. 

So am I any better?

Rushed, angry grabbing at my shirt that I slide over my head, forcefully tucking it into my skirt, uncaring of the top buttons that remain undone. 

I just need to get out of here.

And, I don’t just mean his house.

But, the minute I turn on my heel, he’s right there, in front of me, blocking me. And when I try to move past him, he has his hands on my hips, holding me in place, keeping me right where he wants me. 

Like he always does.

My jaw clenches, my nose flaring, the anger flowing and growing. “Let me go, Roman.”

“How far along are you?” 

And there it is. That damn question I’ve been dreading, the forceful acknowledgement of something I wish was nothing more than a bad dream. If only the four tests I took didn’t indicate otherwise. 

“It doesn’t matt—” My distant response interrupted by his hand under my chin, forcing me to look at him, to confront both the source and relief of all of my problems. 

“How far along are you, Solana?”

It’s the way he looks at me, the curiosity latent underneath the question, the way one hand shifts to the indent of my waist. I can’t not answer him.

“Six weeks.” A quiet answer that’s met with no immediate response, prompting me to disclose for reasons unknown. “I don’t—I don’t know if I’m keeping it.”

I wish with everything in me that he offered no sort of reaction to said confession. Wish he could be like most men would be in this situation. Uncaring. Relieved, even, but this is Roman, and I know him.

I know as….awful as he can be, there’s a reason when I was rear ended, the kids seriously hurt in said accident, my husband was not the first person I called from the hospital at 3AM, hysterical and uncaring of my own minor injuries.  

It was Roman. The same man who stayed with me all night. Stayed with the twins.

A reason every birthday since they were born five years prior, they always get a plethora of gifts from a “secret relative” on my side of the family who prefers to remain nameless.

A reason he somehow managed his way into the hospital when Kaiden and Kaydence were born three weeks prematurely. Held them before Cody even did.

A reason he always asks how they're doing.

Always. 

It’s those reasons, and so many more, I already know what he’s going to say before he does.

“Is that what you want?”

There’s only one logical response. “Does it matter what I want?”

“That’s not what I asked you.” 

“Roman….” Saying his name is always such a toss up. The best thing to leave my lips or either the worst. I’m not sure where this utterance lies. “I can’t….I can’t keep doing this to him.” I see it. How his warm eyes flash with something angry. Something painful. I shake my head, licking my lips. “You hate him for what his father did,” A detestation that could and most likely last the test of time. “And, I hate myself for being no better.”

Because murder can come in various forms. A physical, actual act of violence inflicted on the body. But, sometimes, it’s just inflicted on the heart, and I have no doubt whatsoever that the depth of my betrayal and unfaithfulness, my lies, the extent I've gone to to continue to live out said lie would no doubt kill Cody. 

An emotional death followed by a possible physical one that could be the result of such scandal. Gotham would bleed red from the bloodshed that would transpire from the war, because Roman’s actions would no doubt be seen as a violation of the truce between the Bloodline and the Nightmare Factory. 

Someone would end up dead. 

Multiple people.

And I could never forgive herself if my children’s father ended up six feet under because of me.

Either of them. 

“You know he’ll find that suspicious,” he shares, and I wish it was something I could refute. Something I could deny, but I can’t because he’s right.

Not that I hadn’t considered that though. 

“He doesn’t have to know.” Just another thing added to the list of things my husband doesn’t know about me. A list that knows no end. “It’s my body. My choice.” Words I always have and always will live by. That I stand by firmly. At the end of the day, this is my decision to make. Cody doesn’t get a say, and neither does Roman.

He doesn’t say anything, just makes a sound, his hand shifting to the front of me, to my stomach. I try to back away, his touch suddenly burning and bothersome, but his other hand moves to the small of my back, applying enough pressure to push me closer into him.

My hand naturally falls against his solid chest. “Roman….”

“Stay the night.”

Fuck.

There’s so many things to hate about such a simple sentence, the main thing being that it leaves his mouth. That he actually asks me that. Something that’s been asked before, but I was hoping to avoid tonight. 

“I’ve been here long enough…” A few hours, at most. A few hours too many. “I need—”

“They’re with your mom. They’re fine.” He knows me. Knows me too well. Knows that that would be my reason for not staying. Not an excuse. A true reason. “And, he’s gone for the weekend.” His eyes dart to my lips, a hand to my face, thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “Not that that’s ever stopped you before.”

Shame. I should feel nothing but an ungodly, unhealthy amount of shame. Except, I don’t. I don’t because I’m suddenly hit with flashbacks from years prior. Primarily during my years of residency out in California. Countless flights on his private jet. Him coming to me. Me sneaking back into Gotham to see him. Spring Break spent with him in the Maldives. Cody thought I was with my family in Mexico. Whole time I was with the man he hates most being fucked all over that villa. 

That was when my mom first found out. A situation transpiring where she had to lie for me. 

The disappointment in her expression when I was forced to come clean after returning home to find her in my apartment is something I’ll never shake from my memory. Never.

I try to picture that, try to use it as a reminder, a warning sign. A thing of caution that nothing good waits for me where I am. Physically, and in life. Nothing will grow from this. It will only continue to destroy and poison until there’s nothing left. I’m playing a dangerous game that I was never meant to play nor win.

A dead end to nothing but destruction and heartbreak.

Or, worse.

But, then his head dips, his mouth ghosting over mine. My eyelids lower as he once again shifts his hands back to my waist, holding me close, against him, with him. Our bodies pressed into one another, my own hands moving up his chest, locking behind his neck.

“Just want you to stay….” He murmurs, palming my ass, kissing along my jaw. “Just tonight…”

It’s never just one night. Never has been. Probably never will be. It should have been. What started out as an unlikely, forbidden friendship from our collegiate days should have stayed that way. Perhaps should have never been a thing to begin with. But, it was. It is. 

Will always be.

Because the truth of the matter is that the children we have together, this unborn baby included, biologically his, but not his, will always tie us together.

I wish I could tell if it’s something I hate or love. 

Maybe neither. Maybe this strange space between. Similar to the space that will always exist between us. Rivalries. History. Perhaps even timing. All the things that will never let this be anything more than….whatever it is. 

It’s that unspoken thing, that thing neither of us, nor ever will probably acknowledge, that allows me to only give him one answer. 

“Yes.”

[trippinsorrows]

in your hands + five

authors note: this one isn't as long as the last, but i hope it's enjoyed, nonetheless.

reminder that the story kicked off in september. it’s now the end of october. so, roman and solana have been dating for essentially two months.

warnings: fluff, smut, and some angst

words: 9k

masterlist

“Fuck me, daddy!”

Roman could have came right then and there, and he damn near did from the combination of it all. The sight of Solana on top of him, those big ass titties of hers jumping, smacking against her body, taunting him, begging to be in his mouth, in his hand, something, as she bounces almost erratically on top of his dick.

Eyes shut, mouth parted, the light sheen of sweat on her forehead a testament of her exertion and determination. It’s all about her getting hers, maybe more than she cares about giving him his, none of it making a damn difference to him.

Nothing but her matters in this moment, and keeping her doing exactly as she’s been doing for what feels like the past ten minutes. 

Riding the shit out of his dick.

Roman moves his hands to her hips, not to steady or stable her—she seems to be doing fine with that all on her own—but to feel the smoothness of her body under his palm. To have as much skin connecting with skin as possible. To absorb as much of her as she can, an addiction he seems to have with her that only grows by the day.

She has him hypnotized. 

Solana’s moans fill the room and capture his attention as she moves her hand atop his, dragging them to her breast, squeezing, small, knowing smile flashing across her pretty face.

“You like that, daddy?”

'Like' seems like much too small a word. Barely applicable. An insult. 

But, it still conveys some level of accuracy. Roman groans, thumb peppering her big, brown, nipples. “Not as much as you love riding daddy’s dick.” This time, she’s the one groaning, grinding her hips atop him. “Don’t you?”

An undeniable truth. “Yes, daddy.” Solana pants, glazed over eyes falling and snapping with his. That smile on her face shifting from something knowing to something mischievous. 

His dick twitches insider her, curiosity blooming, quickly invaded by displeasure as she dismounts atop him. Quickly, his gaze drops to his dick, hard as a rock, standing at full attention, begging for her attention, coated in her juices, current and prior. This has to be round three, or maybe four. He lost track a while ago. She clearly had a stressful day, because she’s either been atop or under him from damn near the moment he stepped into her apartment.

Not that he has zero complaints.

Never that.  

Roman’s attention is once again redirected to a weight on his shoulder, Solana’s calf, her foot pressed against the headboard, his line of vision traveling the dangerous path up the length of her left leg to her thigh that sits on his chest, the same way she sits back on his dick, from a different position. Spread wide, doing a split, left leg anchored on his shoulder, the other between his legs.

A sharp hiss leaving his mouth as she resumes her grinding and bouncing, milking him dry, palm planted down on his chest to keep her even as she drives him fucking mad.

Roman groans, tempted to throw his head back, overcome at how good her pussy feels around him, like there’s only and will ever be one perfect match for him. Her. Always her. Because in all the fucking he’s done, and there’s been a fair share, he’s yet to have a woman do a split on his dick and keep riding like her life depends on it.

Where the hell did this woman come from?

“Fuck,” she curses, eyes shut as she runs one hand through her hair, slightly frizzed, roots sweated out from all the energy expended between the two of them the past hour, maybe two. Again, time is easily lost in the throes of pleasure that consume both of them anytime it’s just him, her, and a flat, available surface. 

Or, not.

They’ve definitely had to get….creative at points regarding making time for this. 

But, the time is always made. No matter what. 

“So good…” Again, another massive understatement, but the way she bites down on her bottom lip has him once again fighting to keep himself from losing control. A much easier said thing than done.

It’s almost impossible not to.

“You gon’ come for me, daddy?” A given, but also a dangerous question given his already pathetic resolve and ability to keep his shit together.

Roman’s hand maneuvers to the meat of her juicy ass, the hypnotic view of it jiggling, tidal waves on his dick, enough alone to bring a grown man to his knees. She’s fucking magic. “Solana…” His voice is strained, evident and audible enough for her to switch her gaze down to him. That knowing smile returning.

“Come inside me.”

Another twitch of his dick matched by the clenching of his jaw.

This damn girl….

“Don’t hold back, daddy,” she urges, continuing to gyrate and writhe, clearly on the brink of succumbing to her own release. Solana’s nails rake across his hard abdomen, her tight ass pussy clenching him for dear life. “Want you to fill me up...”

It’s not like it’s the first time. They’ve played with fire before only soothed by Solana being meticulous in tracking her ovulation days, but this would be the first time she’s asked. Requested him to come inside her.

And who is he to deny this woman anything?

Roman isn’t sure he could if he tried.

“What if you get her a car?”

The most unexpected question to pull the Tribal Chief from the filthiest of thoughts. Flashbacks of two days prior have continued to plague and taunt him since he woke up this morning, hard as a rock, imagining Solana’s full lips wrapped around his dick, eye contact never wavering.

But, that wasn’t his reality. This is. The setting before him. R Truth’s innocent, empty eyes hopeful at what he surely believes is a great suggestion.

Jey scowls. “Like a toy car?”

R-Truth’s locs slap against the sides of his face as he shakes his head enthusiastically. “Naw, man, like an actual car.”

At that, Jimmy sighs. “Truth, what the hell she gon do with a whole ass car?”

And, like it’s the most simplest thing in the world, he answers with a shrug. “Drive it.”

“She’s turning one, Truth. No sixteen.”

He shrugs, countering, “it’ll be ready for her when she get there.”

“This was a mistake,” Roman mutters, walking away, down a random aisle. His grip on the still empty basket he pushes reminds him of that irritating fact—that the damn basket is still empty. Walking around this fucking kids’ store for almost twenty minutes, and not an item has been placed inside, deemed good or appropriate enough.

Truth be told, no pun intended, Roman is starting to detect several mistakes, the first one being inviting his cousins to help him shop for a gift, or gifts, for Raya’s first birthday. He figured both being fathers would help.

It hasn’t. 

Everything they suggest seems not good enough or doesn’t make sense to him. 

And Truth….Roman honestly hasn’t the slightest clue how the hell he ended up joining, but his presence, as often is any advice he tries to provide, serves as useless.

They’re all useless. 

Passing a section of Hot Wheels cars on the shelf—they still make those?—seems like nothing but confirmation of that.

“Man, just get her a doll, and call it a day. What lil’ girl don’t like dolls?” Jey asks, motioning to a doll on the shelf, one that looks less like something a sweet little baby like Raya would enjoy and more like a part of a ritual to summon satan and his minions from hell. Dark, dressed in all black, black X's for eyes, and a wicked smile on her face. 

Jimmy squints his eyes, clearly on the same page as Roman. “Man, I think that’s a whole voodoo doll.”

“A voodoo doll?” Truth says unnecessarily loud, shaking his head grumbling protests and disagreement. After making the sign of the cross with his fingers towards said doll, he proceeds to march past the set of men, jogging to the end of the aisle. “Ya’ll better come on before Annabelle get ya’ll like she did them folks in the movie!”

Roman closes his eyes once more. 

Useless.

Venturing down yet another aisle, there’s a bit of a shift in his mood as he’s bombarded with pink. Nothing but baby and barbie dolls that look less like possessions of Wednesday Adams and more like something a little baby like Soraya would enjoy.

They remind him of Raya, starting with a doll that shares a similar complexion to Solana’s daughter, smiling happily. Picking it off the shelf, he casually reads the marketing tactics on the box. Something about it being interactive. But, the section he’s looking for is not about what the toy offers but instead the age level, something taught to him by Naomi, who, now that he thinks about it, he’d have been better off bringing with him.

Finding that section that confirms it’s safe for children ages 6 months up, Roman places the toy in the basket. A small but important victory.

“Oooh, what about this?” Jimmy holds up another doll, white with pretty green eyes and red hair. “I feel like lil Ray Ray might like Annie.”

“Don’t call her that,” Roman corrects, his cousin ignoring him, placing the doll in the basket. As Roman goes to check for the age range the doll is marketed for, his cousins seem to take his initial act of success as a sign of continuation. One by one, they start filling the once empty cart with a variety of toys, some dolls, some other things. Some Roman takes out the cart cause they seem to dangerous. Too many pieces. Raya is reaching a stage where she likes to place things in her mouth, and the last thing he wants is her choking on something. 

But, before he realizes it, R-Truth has gone and fetched another cart, the first filled to the brink, gifts starting to topple over. 

Looking over the cart, the twins and Truth in the midst of some conversation about the store having a “poor” selection and the need to visit another one, Roman’s gaze travels the valley, hill, of gifts. It still feels…..insufficient. Like, something is missing.

What if she hates them? Solana as well as Raya? What’s missing? Something feels like it’s missing. 

And, then, lazily and unintentionally surveying the shelves, he lands on something. A teddy bear, misplaced in the section, surrounded by children's art kits. Roman frowns, stepping forward, intrigued by its misplacement as well as the baby pink color of the bear with floppy ears and a welcoming smile. He picks it up, realizing it’s wearing a white shirt with gold wording on the stomach. 

Hold me close 

When you need me the most

Always with you.

Something within chinks and clicks, like a lock being secured. He’s not sure how, or even why, or what stirs within him when he imagines Raya’s smiling face as she holds onto the bear, holding and hugging it close. Near and dear to her little heart. He just knows. 

This...this is it. 

—-------

“Look at my baby!”

It’s the first thing Solana hears as she’s walking up the driveway of her mom’s house, the home she grew up in and celebrated her first birthday. That she’ll now celebrate her baby’s first birthday in.

But, the baby Nina Miller speaks of is not Solana, it’s a smiling Soraya who starts babbling and giggling at the sight of her abuela.

Nina gasps softly and gently retrieves her grandbaby from Solana who shifts the weight of the backpack and baby bag, partially relieved at not having to hold everything. 

Nina is bombarding Soraya with kisses and baby talk before she even remembers her baby.

Her warm eyes settle on her youngest. “Mija.”

“Hi, mami,” Solana greets, giving her mom a side hug as Raya starts pulling and playing with Nina’s hair. “Thank you again.” 

Nina waves her hand, Solana taking in the outfit she wears, similar to her own: shorts and a top that shows off that along with inheriting their mother’s love of cooking, both Solana and Yolanda inherited Nina’s curvy figure. Stacked on the top and the bottom. 

“Come inside,” she guides, turning and walking, completely immersed and consumed with her youngest grandbaby. Stepping inside the home, the scent of Maple Pecan, her mom’s favorite candle scent, greets her along with the unsurprising face of Kayden. 

Solana noticed her car parked across the street when she pulled up. However, why she’s there early is what has Solana partially confused. They were just texting this morning, and she hadn’t said anything.

“What are you doing here already?” She finally asks as the two separate from their hug and Kayden gets her hug from Soraya. 

At that, Kayden’s eyes twinkle. “You don’t know yet?”

Solana frowns. “Know what?”

Kayden and Nina share a look, Solana’s mother chuckling as she holds Raya’s hand. “I wanted to surprise her.”

“Surprise me with what?”

Another shared glance, unspoken communication between the two women who now have Solana frowning and deeper in the depths of confusion. 

She curses lowly and crosses her arms. “What are you all—”

Kayden squeals and grabs Solana’s hand. “Come on.”

Caught off guard, Solana has no choice but to follow, feeling her mom and Raya right behind her, as Kayden leads her through her own childhood home, a home that was basically Kayden’s second one when they were growing up.

Through the living room, down the short hall that leads to the kitchen, and through that same kitchen that bursts with the delicious aroma of food Nina and Yolanda (who'd just left to pick up Trick and the kids from her house) most definitely worked on all morning to prepare. 

Solana doesn’t have time to comment on the amount of pots, some clean, some still needing to be cleaned that sit on the counters and island. Just why there's so many. She doesn’t have time to ask, because she’s too floored by the sight that meets her as Kayden brings her into the backyard.

“Mom…..”

When Solana’s mother suggested hosting a little party for Soraya’s first birthday at her house, Solana didn’t think twice about it. It made sense. Either her place or Trick and Yanda’s, and for a couple of different reasons, grandma’s house just made the most sense.

Solana was expecting a small little get-together, maybe a small lil' cake, a balloon or two, and a few gifts. Nothing extreme. Nothing extravagant. Something that made sense for the financial situation of all involved, but especially Solana. 

Not that she didn’t want more. Solana would give her baby girl the biggest, best first birthday party ever if she could, but she can’t, so a small gathering of close family and friends would have to do. 

And, that’s exactly what this is but also….more.

Jaw dropped, Solana steps down from the house and onto the concrete that leads into her mom’s backyard, looking around the yard. “What is all this, mami?”

Solana only briefly looks back at her mother who smiles while holding Raya. “It’s my youngest granddaughter’s first birthday. We had to make it special.”

And special, it most certainly is. 

The yard, though not the biggest, is beautifully decorated. Four small tables decorated with white and pink to match the centerpiece at the middle, end of the yard that’s even more extravagant, big white, pink letters spelling out “Happy Birthday, Soraya.” In the middle of the table lies a gorgeous Cake Boss looking birthday cake with a number one topper. 

There’s a separate table that’s filled with gifts on top, the bottom, the sides, and extending even beyond that. Music plays in the background, some child tunes, one of Raya’s favorites, hence the way she bounces in grandma’s arms. 

A separate and final table houses all the food Solana is certain her mom and sister have been working on all morning to prepare. 

Tears cloud her vision as she looks back at her mother. “Mami…..” Solana is absolutely speechless, completely shocked to the point where she doesn’t even know what to say. “What…..this is…..” She shakes her head, blotting at her eyes. “Mami, this is way too much. How did you afford…?”

“I think I can help with that,” Kayden’s voice re-enters the conversation. “Well….” She trails off before pulling her phone out of her back pocket, tapping around. “I got a call from a certain someone who was very interested in this here party and wanted to know more about it.”

“Kayden….”

She smiles, reaching Solana the phone. 

Confused, Solana accepts, looking down and gasping. “He didn’t.” 

Kayden smirks. “Oh, but he did.”

Solana has gone from being rendered partially speechless to entirely speechless. She can’t look away, can’t stop reading the words that are clear as day. 

Roman Reigns sent you $5,000.00 for Soraya’s Birthday Party.

Words that are plain and easy to understand but so difficult to process. 

“I didn’t spend all of it, so he’s more than welcome to take back what we didn’t use, and I’ll tell him that when he gets here,” Nina explains, holding Raya’s hand as she uses her other one to play with her abuela’s necklace. “But, mija…” Solana looks over at her mom. “This man you’ve been seeing…..he’s clearly a good one.”

Solana can only nod, quietly giving Kayden back her phone. 

“He’s really great, Aunt Nina,” Kayden offers, seeing her best friend is still consumed by her emotions. “I’ve seen with my own eyes how good he is to Sol and Raya.”

“He’s amazing,” Solana murmurs. She wants nothing more than to grab her phone and call Roman. To cry. To thank him. To ask him why. Why is he so nice to her? So good to her? So good to her daughter?

It….it almost feels too good to be true. 

But, it isn’t.

It’s very much real. 

Wiping at her eyes, Solana is fully ready to excuse herself to call Roman, even though he should be arriving in a little under an hour, when she’s hit with yet another surprise. 

“Where my niece and great niece at?”

Her mouth drops. That’s one indistinguishable voice. 

“Uncle Booker.”

His smile is wide as he makes his way down the steps, arms open. “There she is.”

Solana giggles and moves over, unsurprised when he lifts her up and kisses her cheek. “How you doing, baby?” 

He sets her down, and Solana can’t stop from smiling. “I’m good, uncle B. I didn’t know you were coming.” 

Another new voice. “Now you know we couldn’t miss baby girl’s first birthday.”

Solana switches her attention to and accepts a hug from her Aunt Sharmell, her uncle’s wife. 

Sharmell takes her in, stepping back, smile warm. “You look good, honey.”

Words that penetrate deep. “Thank you.” Solana feels it, too. Maybe more than she’s felt it in some time.

“There she is,” comes Booker’s voice once more as he heads over to where Nina still holds a now babbling Raya. “Come here, pretty girl. Looking more and more like your mama every day.”

Another thing Solana feels immensely grateful for. The washing out of that part of Soraya’s lineage. 

As her aunt and uncle fawn over her sweet baby girl, Solana hears a loud squeal followed by, “cousin!”

Solana can only naturally squeal in response as she runs to meet her cousin halfway. “Calliope!”

The two young women embrace for a good almost two minutes before Solana pulls away. “What are you doing here?”

Only a month apart, Solana has always been close to her cousin on her dad’s side. Has always been really close with a lot of her dad’s side. It’s just her father she has the….problems with. 

Calliope smacks, melanin popping and glistening as she answers, “I wasn’t going to miss this either.”

Post college, Calliope decided to take a gap year before pursuing law school which turned into several years of just traveling, eventually becoming a now successful influencer who lives out in NYC. 

Solana hugs her again, eyes shutting. “I’m so happy you're here.”

Truly. Solana loves Kayden like a sister, loves her actual sister, but Calliope will always be her long lost sister.

“Get over here and give your aunts some love, too.”

The surprises continue as Solana is ambushed with dual hugs from her two aunts, Cora and Egypt, the former being Calliope’s mom. However, none would ever guess as her aunt Cora, a successful attorney up in SoHo, is the polar opposite of her younger sister, Egypt, a tatted, hippie aligned photographer and journalist who never stays in one place too long. 

When they were younger, Calliope and Solana used to joke about how Cali was switched at birth. 

To this day, they still wonder. 

It’s a bit of a system that happens, hugs and greeting with Solana before everyone starts to form a damn near line for a chance to hold Raya who seems to soak up and love the attention. It deepens Solana’s smile as she pulls out her phone to snap photos and record videos, not wanting to miss out on capturing any of this moment. 

The party has officially kicked off, nothing but good vibes and good feelings all around with Solana’s closest friends and family, but it’s when Kayden comes in from the kitchen after using the bathroom and slaps her arm that Solana already knows, somehow, what’s about to come.

Kayden smirks. “I think Big Daddy Warbucks is here.” 

Solana would usually chide her best friend on her comment, but the eagerness to see him heavily outweighs the desire for correction. 

She lays eyes on Raya who’s being held by her uncle before excusing herself to head into the house, through the kitchen and living room to walk out the front door. 

She catches him right on time. Stepping out of his Range Rover—she’s been meaning to ask him just how many cars he has—Solana has to catch herself. There’s no reason for a man simply wearing a form fitting black shirt, shorts, Jordans, an expensive watch and equally expensive sunglasses to have her trying to shove away the naughty thought’s she’s having. 

Clearing her throat, the smallest hint of a smile appearing on his face breaks her from the lust and propels her to meet him halfway, nearly throwing her body against his.

He chuckles, holding her, tapping her ass twice. “Hey, baby.” 

“Roman…” She starts, shaking her head and pulling back to force his lips onto her. Like any other time they kiss, it’s dangerous and far too easy to get lost in him. It takes him breaking and smiling into their lips still pressed up against each other for her to reorient herself. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Of course, he plays coy. “Do what?”

She sighs, arms still around his neck. “Stop.”

His expression softens, hands resting on the small of her back. “It’s nothing, Solana.”

“No, it’s not.” She shakes her head. “It’s not. It means…it means a lot to me.” More than he probably realizes. Remembering what her mom said, she shares, “my mom didn’t spend it all, so we can send the rest back to y—”

“Solana.” The way he says her name shouldn’t have her thighs pressed together, briefly imagining the feel of him buried deep in her two nights prior. “Do I look like I need money?”

No. He is money. Still, that’s a hard thing for her to rationalize what with her not being used to anyone being so generous to and with her while wanting literally nothing in return. 

Mostly nothing. 

His eyes dip to her mouth. “Well, spending time with you is never a bad thing.”

That. That is all he ever wants. To be around her. Yes, there’s the sex, but even that is something he’s okay with when nothing happening. They’ve had times where Raya being there just doesn’t really allow for that, and he’s been fine. Implementing her into things, whether that be him gaming while she sits with him as Solana cooks or putting on a movie while she sleeps peacefully either on top of Solana or him.

And, he’s 100% fine with it. Truly selfless in a way she’s never experienced with a man. 

Ever. 

Still, the idea of that is far from unappealing. “Spend time with you or….” Her gaze drops, tone suggestive. “Spend time with you.”

He makes a sound, hands lowering to her ass, squeezing. “Whichever you want, baby.” 

His motto with her it seems. 

Solana leans up to steal another kiss before holding and squeezing his hand, asking one more time, “are you sure you’re still okay with this?”

His answer is smooth and effortless. “Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“Good.” For some reason, it all feels right. Like, it’s supposed to be happening. Roman being introduced to her family feels like a step forward in the right direction. And, it feels good as hell.

She snatches one more kiss and goes to pull away, gesturing to the house, “come on, everyone’s out back—”

Roman stops, grabbing her hand, giving a quizzical look, motioning to the car. “I’ve got her gifts.”

Solana’s shoulders drop. “Roman—”

He ignores her, walking over and opening up the trunk, Solana following him, gasping at the sight.

“Mio Dios….” The thing is packed, filled to the max capacity with pink and purple gift bags, a few with balloons attached. 

“To be fair, some of this is from Naomi and Bayley,” he offers, big arms crossed over his body. Solana just looks at him, confused as to how he could believe that makes any difference. 

It’s all too much.

“Roman—”

“Everything alright?”

Trick’s voice sounds as both Solana and Roman turn around to see her brother-in-law and uncle standing near the front door. Their expressions instantly shifting when they realize she’s not alone. 

Solana doesn’t have to invite them over, as both men soon find their way right in front of her and Roman.

She clears her throat, taking Roman’s hand as she offers introductions. “Uncle Booker, Trick, this is Roman—” Solana looks up at her….boyfriend? “Roman, this is my brother-in-law, Trick, and my uncle Booker.” A bit of an obvious thing, in her view, but necessary.

“Nice to meet you” Roman offers a firm handshake to both, appearing completely calm despite the weary expressions cast his way from the sometimes (often) overprotective men in her life.

“You the one Sola been dating?” It’s a question cloaked in the formality of a statement. Trick nods, looking over at the vehicle, assessing, as if the type of car Roman drives is all the indication he needs to make a determination as to if he’s “good enough” for her. 

And, Raya, too. Because while her uncle and brother-in-law always see to it to look out for her, as much as possible, there’s always that extra layer of security that revolves around Raya. As it should.

Solana wouldn’t want it any other way.

Booker also assesses but less the vehicle and more the man. “You clearly take care of yourself.” An obvious thing even Stevie Wonder could see given Roman’s impressive build, bulging biceps pressing against the sleeves of his shirt. “Heard you’re a businessman, right?”

Roman nods, Solana shifting her hand up to hold his arm. “Yes, sir.”

Trick makes a sound, circling the vehicle, also taken back, clearly, by the vast amount of gifts. “You must do well.” A correction. “Real well.”

Solana bites on her bottom lip. They have no idea. 

And finally, the question that will determine it all, a dealbreaker. Make or break moment. 

“You like football?”

For some reason, Solana’s stomach flips, starts to cave, her grip on Roman’s arm tightening, like the nervousness one might expect a man meeting his girlfriend's family would experience is held solely by her and her alone.

In a lot of ways, it is. 

Without much of a thought, Roman answers with a quiet chuckle, “long as it ain’t the damn Chiefs.”

And just like that, in that very moment, Solana learns a valuable lesson and is keyed into a little secret. There’s nothing that can bring men together like the tie and lure of American Football. Even more specifically, a shared dislike of the Kansas City Chiefs.

“Man,” her uncle sucks his teeth, shaking his head, stopping himself as he asks Roman, almost interrogating, “what you think of that Mahomes boy?”

The deepest scowl appears across Roman’s face. “That motherfucker—”

Roman doesn't even have to finish, the sound of a shared feeling of contempt seals the deal.

“I like him,” Trick compliments, doing a 180 from his previous disposition from not even minutes prior. Same as her uncle. 

It evokes a giggle, Solana feeling her entire body relax as she leans further into Roman. The prior layer of tension that overcame the initial meeting replaced with a calm that feels like it’s been present for years. Like, Roman has always been a part of this.

A part of her family.

A part of her.

A peace that’s felt as she looks up at him, speaking to her family but entirely focused on the best and most unexpected thing to happen to her in some time.

Coming second to only Raya.

“I like him, too.”

—------

Similar to his introduction to the men in her family, Roman’s introduction to the women is just as seamless. Kind words and smiles from her sister, a few inappropriate comments from her cousin and aunt, a lingering sense of suspicion from her other aunt, as expected given that it’s Cora. That’s just how she is. Guilty until proven innocent.

But, the introduction that means the most to Solana is the one between her mom and Roman. Something that ended up being infinitely easier than she could have ever anticipated. Because the moment Roman stepped into the backyard, arms filled with baby bags of gifts, Trick and Booker helping him bring them all in, it seemed as if he carried a sort of beacon.

One that spoke to Raya and only Raya. Because previously content with being held by her abuela, Raya’s soft brown eyes landed on Roman, her little mouth shifting into the biggest smile. She suddenly couldn’t stand being held by Nina and not Roman. Soraya became the most restless baby ever, babbling and whining as she reached for Roman, tears filling her eyes at the time that lapsed between Roman putting down the gifts and washing hands and coming to retrieve her. Especially when he was no longer in her visual vicinity. Raya cried, her mouth in a deep frown that was only soothed the minute he carefully took her from Nina. Instant switch. In under a minute, Raya went from crying and distraught to calm and content, grasping at his shirt, smiling at him with all the innocence of a child. 

Hugging him.

It’s a sight that nearly brings Solana to tears and seems to tell Nina everything she needs to know about her youngest child’s new beau. 

An unspoken I like him conveyed through the locked eyes of mother and daughter. 

A shared sentiment that seems to go around, it seems. One she has zero complaints about.

The party continues, the vibes immaculate, atmosphere nothing but pleasant, especially when it comes time to cut the cake and sing Raya happy birthday. She remains held by her mama, giggling and happy at the crowd celebrating her big day. Roman stands close to Solana, her preference, and Raya’s too, who continues to “talk” to him, often reaching her little arms for him to hold her. 

He does so every time. 

As Yolanda takes TJ and Heaven into the house to put them down for necessary naps, Solana sits with most of the ladies present, relaxing and enjoying the calm of it all.

“Roman seems like he’s good with Raya,” Calliope smiles, playfully nudging and bumping into Solana’s shoulder. 

A blush lifts to her cheek as she confirms. “He is.” Briefly, her gaze falls to where he talks with Trick and her uncle Booker. Most likely about football. The universal language of all men, it seems. Roman, included. 

Naturally, she checks on Raya who continues to be held by her mom who talks with Aunt Sharmell as they both dote over her sweet baby girl. 

It all makes her smile. How nice it all feels.

Solana’s aunt Cora gives an indifferent shrug, bringing her red solo cup to her mouth. “Time will tell.”

At that, Egypt sucks her teeth. “Time will tell?” She rolls her eyes, protesting, “time has already told. You’ve seen just today how he’s been with her. All that stuff he got her?”

Calliope nods, clearly agreeing with her aunt. “Man must have bought out the damn store.”

It’s a reminder that has Solana torn. She makes a mental note to talk with Roman about that later. She didn’t invite him with the hope and goal of him buying Soraya all those gifts. Any gifts, really, and it’s the last thing she wants him to think. That’s not what this is. She just wanted him to be present for a special day. 

Especially since, as her cousin pointed out, he is good with her.

Solana pulls out her phone, remembering the video she captured just last week. “Let me show ya’ll.”

Navigating to said video, she stretches her arm so the other three women can see before hitting play. 

It starts off from a bit of a distance, Solana quickly zooming into where Roman sits on the sofa, dressed in basketball shorts, a plain white undershirt, his hair in a lazy, messy bun, some hair hanging and brushing the back of his neck. He’s facing the TV with the PS5 controller in his hand and Soraya on his lap. 

She continues to look up at him with her mouth slightly ajar, Roman mostly focused on the TV in front of him. 

When he takes too long to look down at her, Raya tries to reach for the controller, prompting him to give her the attention she was clearly looking for. 

“Man,” he makes a sound, feigning irritation. “What you doing?” She also makes a sound, something close to a shout and a laugh. “You think that’s funny, huh?” Raya’s response is to continue to try to mess with his controller. “Always touching stuff.”

Raya starts to babble at him, moving to climb off his lap where she stands up next to him. She starts hitting his arm, clearly displeased with something. “Hey, what I tell you about all that hitting?”

She continues “talking” as Roman sighs, putting the controller to the side. Almost instantly, Raya does the famous “baby bounce” of excitement and proceeds to climb right back into his lap. 

And then she’s reaching for the controller, taking it in hand, evoking a small laugh from Roman.

“You wanna learn how to play?”

Solana’s voice sounds from the video. “You want me to come get her?”

Roman, however, shakes his head. “Naw.” He starts speaking to her in a low voice, big hands over hers, trying to guide and instruct her. “She’s fine.”

The video ends, and Solana’s stomach flutters all over again. 

“He is literally perfect,” Calliope groans, slapping her cousin on the arm. “If you don’t marry that old man, I will.”

At that, Solana rolls her eyes. “He’s not that old, Cali.”

“Besides,” Kayden smirks, leaning back and wiggling her brows. “Old men do it better, and with the way Sola says he be breaking her back in—”

“Enough!” Solana shouts, slapping her palm over her best friend’s big ass mouth. 

Egypt, however, will have no such thing. She shakes her head. “No, I wanna hear this.”

Cora doesn’t bother to hide her disgust. “Have some decency, please.”

Egypt rolls her eyes. “Go buy some batteries, you old hag.” 

At that, a chorus of laughter, Solana doing her best to hide hers though failing miserably. For as long as she can remember, her aunts have never gotten along, most likely due to such different personalities. However, the jabs sent back and forth never fail to serve as quite the entertainment. 

That entertainment switches gears just a bit when Solana catches the opening chord of the next song on the Spotify curated playlist that’s served as the soundtrack to Raya’s birthday. 

Darkchild, oh yeah

Toni Braxton, oh

Eyes wide, gasps around, not much needs to be stated as Solana darts to the backdoor to retrieve her sister only for the bat signal to have reached her from the safe confines of Solana’s old bedroom.

Yolanda snatches her little sister’s hand, shouting at her husband, “turn it up!”

Something that only needs to be demanded once. In under a minute, shy of only thirty seconds, Solana has raced over to her mom, taking an equally curious Raya back to the middle of the yard where the group of women have gathered, all with equal fervor as they sing and dance along. 

Listen, girl

Who do you think I am?

Don't you know that he was my man?

But I chose to let him go 

So, why do you act like I still care about him?

Solana places Raya on the ground, allowing her baby girl to be the center of the circle that’s formed, most laughing as Soraya does the baby bounce, her contribution to the impromptu dance party of sorts. 

“During one of my sister-in-law’s visits when the girls were younger, she brought the Toni Braxton record with her, and the girls listened to it, every song, beginning to end, but that one right there….that’s always been their favorite.” Nina’s explanation arrives as she walks over to Roman who’d briefly separated from the group of men to grab a water bottle. 

Roman looks down at her, taking a second to study her. He sees it. Sees Solana. She has her mother’s smile, the small stature, the warm disposition. The body. He would never insult her by asking her age, but something tells him Nina looks younger than what she actually is.

Just like her daughter, beautiful on the inside and out.

And then, more sounds from the group of women cheering on Soraya who’s opted to sit on the ground, prompting her great aunt, Egypt, he believes, to pick her up as Solana dances with her sister. 

A small smile on his face. “Clearly.”

“Roman…” Nina steps closer, her eyes indicating a shift. Same warmth. Just something else. Nervous, almost. “May I speak with you?” Another step in his direction, Roman taking note of the way she angles her body so her back is more toward the group of women. As if she doesn’t want them privy to what’s being said. 

Or maybe just one.

“Alone?” The last addition confirms as such, Roman nodding as he allows the older woman to guide them back inside the house, all the while feeling Solana’s partially confused gaze on them. 

—-------

Perfect days have felt far and few in between. Non-existent, in a lot of ways. 

Except for today. Solana could and would easily argue that today was the definition of perfect. Celebrating her baby girl’s first birthday with closest family and friends. With Roman. It was the most unexpected thing and yet the best day ever. 

The party went on for a few hours, Solana stretching as much of it as she could, but fun times were only reserved for certain periods. And, her period was coming to an end, largely due to her working tonight and needing time to go home and prepare for her shift at the restaurant. 

It’s why she opted to leave Raya with her mom (and Calliope and Egypt) who were staying with Nina. Her aunts and uncle had opted to get a hotel room and would be in town for a few more days, something that lifted her spirits even more. Solana would love to spend as much time with them as possible. She might not want anything to do with her sperm donor, but his siblings are some of her favorite people in the whole wide world. 

Included in that list is also Roman, whom she would love to spend the evening with. Not even for that, though she’s never one to complain or turn it down, but even if just to be in his presence. Raya, included. Just thinking of her baby girl and Roman in the same mental space makes her want to scroll through the many pictures she got of them together, some taken of the three of them. One in particular her absolute favorite. Roman holding Raya who smiles happily for the camera, one of his strong, muscular arms wrapped around Solana who holds Raya’s hand, smiling at her daughter, him looking down at the both of them with a small, content grin. 

It’s now her lock screen photo.

Grabbing her bag after ensuring all the lights were off, Solana holds the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she promises to text Roman as soon as she pulls up to work. The same way she makes a mental note to ask him what his conversation with her mom at the party earlier today was about. 

Not that it has her too concerned. 

Not really, anyway.

The call eventually ends, but the smile remains stamped on Solana’s face, as she closes and locks the door behind her, looking over her shoulders as an added measure of protection before heading down the steps. 

She starts to dig through her purse to pull out the key fob, humming to herself, already thinking about the end of her shift. 

It can’t come soon enough.

“Yo.”

Solana jumps and turns around at the same moment her heart nearly beeps out her fucking chest. Naturally, she moves backwards, wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself and the person.

Especially when she sees said person.

“Cruz?” 

He doesn’t need to confirm. She’d recognize that son of a bitch anywhere. Granted, he looks like he’s put on a couple pounds and reeks of marijuana. Not surprising. It’s why he got himself discharged from the army. 

He kicks off the unit he was leaning against, moving closer to her. “I been calling you.” 

She ignores said comment. He’s been blocked from her phone. “What are you doing here?”

He scoffs, eyeing her up and down. “That how you greet your old man?”

Emphasis on old. “What are you doing here, Cruz?”

Her lack of response only ticks him off, as he matches her glare. “Where my kid at?”

“What kid?” Solana turns up her nose. It disgusts her just being in the same vicinity as him. “You don’t have a kid.”

“Ehhh,” he growls, lifting a finger, as if warning her. “Watch ya’ fucking mouth, Sola. That’s my daughter.”

“No, she’s my daughter,” Solana stands her grown, stepping into his space, showing him she's 100% standing on all the business. “You lost the right to call her your daughter when you abandoned her. Twice.”

“I’m here now, ain’t I?”

She scoffs. “I’m not stupid, Cruz. You’re here, because you want something, and we both know it’s not because of her.”

Because, if it was, if he really was here for Raya, he wouldn’t be showing up the night of Raya’s first birthday. He would have been there earlier, at the party, celebrating with the people who do care about her little girl.

But, he doesn’t.

He never has, and he never will. 

“Still got that smart ass mouth, I see,” he sneers, looking her up and down with disgust. The audacity. “You still selling ass to pay bills?”

Her entire face drops.

A low fucking blow. 

A very low blow.

The cold, sterile room suddenly became infinitely more somber and bleak as a frosty chill bypassed the poor, pathetic warmth of the thin blanket wrapped around her body. Her still trembling hands securing the knot near her stomach that poorly hid the scantily clad outfit hidden beneath the police issued sheet.

His eyes, bored and uninterested, complement the equally uninterested tone of his voice as he made nothing more than a few jots down on the notebook in front of him. Better, at least, than his partner who stood leaning against the wall, phone in hand. 

Solana was certain it wasn't business related. Not with the small smirk on his aged face.

The man in front cleared his throat, sitting back in his seat, protruding belly pressing against the button fighting for its life. “So you’re really expecting us to believe you’ve never had any sort of sexual interaction with the accused prior to this?” 

The sick, satisfied smile on Cruz’s face is enough to pull Solana from that memory. Something, try hard as she may, she’ll never be able to fully scrub from her life. It’ll always be an unremovable stain on her soul. 

Filled with anger at all of it, Cruz, the memory, him, Solana is seeing absolute red. “Fuck you, motherfucker!” 

She already had nothing to say to him, but now she really has nothing to say. Nothing nice, anyway. Solana turns on her heel to walk away when she’s grabbed by her arm and yanked forward. 

“Don’t you turn away when I’m talking to you, bitch,” he growls.

She tries to break free from his grasp, demanding, “let go of me.”

He opens his mouth to respond when a flash of something big and dark interferes, causing a separation between the two and Solana to only watch with shock and confusion as Cruz is pressed against the wall.

A man, tall, taller than her and Cruz, has his forearm pressed against the neck of Solana’s ex. “She said her let go,” he hisses, as Cruz flails against what looks like an unforgiving hold.

“Who the f–fuck a–are you?” Even in a position where he is not ahead, Cruz remains forever the dumbass. 

“Don’t worry about all that,” the man dismisses, his voice tinged with a bit of a street accent. “Just know where I’m from, we put boys like you down for disrespecting women like that.” 

Solana doesn’t have much of a reaction to that being said, because it’s no different from how Trick, or even her uncle Booker, would respond if present. They would never allow any man to treat or speak to her the way Cruz did.

The threat is warranted, in her eyes. 

Finally, the unnamed man steps back, standing almost protectively in front of Solana as he directs Cruz. “Get the fuck out of here, and don’t bring yo’ ass back.”

She would like to be surprised by the way Cruz simply glares at her and the man before walking off, holding onto his neck, looking back every so often. But, she’s not. Cruz has always been one to talk shit but never back it up. 

The man seems to wait until Cruz is out of viewing vicinity before turning around to face her. 

Solana stops for a minute. He’s handsome, his complexion a few shades darker than her own, one eyebrow cut in a stylistic manner with both ears pierced. His build solid and muscular, hints of his tattoos peeking past his short sleeved shirt, but there’s something else.

Something familiar about him. 

“You alright?” He asks, gaze assessing. 

She takes a second to respond. “Yes.” Shaking her head, she apologizes. “I’m sorry you had to—”

He cuts her off, waving his hand. “Don’t worry about that. I’m never the one to see a woman getting disrespected and not do nothing about it.” The smallest hint of a smile, as he shares, “my mama raised me better than that.”

“Well, good thing she did.” Solana smiles and offers her hand. “I’m Solana.” She opts to not share that she lives in said building, even though she’s certain he could probably put two and two together. 

“Zilla,” he introduces. Huh, interesting name. “Nice to meet you, Solana.”

“Same,” she agrees. “Do you live around here?”

He looks a bit surprised by what she would think is an otherwise normal question. “Yeah, uhh, just moved in a couple weeks ago.” He gestures almost vaguely to one of the other buildings. “Right over there.” He snaps, making a sound with his teeth. “Damn. Sorry, can’t remember the number right now.”

She giggles. “It’s okay. I was the same way when I first moved in.” Solana finds herself looking at him once more, unable to stop herself from asking. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“Naw.” He shakes his head. “I definitely would have remembered a pretty face like that.”

She blushes, maintaining her grateful smile. “Well, thank you again, Zilla, and I’m sorry you had to witness that.” 

His smile remains friendly and amenable. “Don’t mention it, Solana.” 

She beams, starting to walk backwards. “See you around...and welcome to the complex.”

“See ya,” Zilla says, watching as Solana turns around and jogs over to her car. He offers a final wave, waiting until she’s pulled out of the parking lot to turn on his heel and pull out his phone, quickly calling up the one and only person he needs to speak with. 

Roman answers on the second ring, his voice cold and unkind. “What?”

Zilla’s disposition changes almost entirely as he makes his way back over to the SUV. “Had a situation, Uce.”

Zilla can practically visualize the way his older cousin must sit forward in his chair, attention completely focused on the conversation at hand. “What happened?”

“Some dude was talking and acting crazy with ya’ girl,” Zilla explains. “I had to step in and interfere when he grabbed her arm and wouldn’t let go.” And as Roman sits silent on the other end, most likely planning his plot for murder, Zilla shares, “from what I could hear, sounds like it was the kid’s dad.”

A pause followed by the sound of something being smashed and broken. “Son of a bitch.”

Zilla nods, leaning back against the truck. “I told him not to come around here no more, but if that’s the baby’s father, chances are he will.” Another unwanted but necessary and accurate point? “And that means killing him ain’t really an option, either.”

More noise. Something else being broken most likely. It’s not the best timing, but Zilla has always preferred to rip the bandaid off. “We got another problem.”

Roman’s voice is dangerously quiet. “What?”

Zilla doesn’t waste any time. “I had to tell her I live around here,” Roman curses. Again. “She asked, and it would have looked suspicious if I said no.” More silence. “So, I need you to get me a unit to keep the story intact.”

Roman sighs. Loudly. Zilla feels like he’s standing in front of the Tribal Chief. Can visualize him standing up, hands on his hips, his jaw flexing as he works to calm himself down. “I’ll take care of it.” 

He nods. “Bet.” About to end the call, another thought crosses his mind, something he already knows his cousin is going to snap on him for but something he feels important at this point. “Ya know….it might help to just tell her—”

“Just continue to do your fucking job and watch her. I’ll handle the rest.” A blunt, Roman type dismissal followed by the call ending. Zilla lowers the phone from his ear and blows out a big breath.

This is all such a mess.

Zilla has always admired his big cousin for a variety of reasons. All of the reasons. Roman was the Head of the Table for a reason. Smart, genius, methodical, a man always twelve steps ahead of everyone else. A man who mastered a game beyond chess, so how and why he's in this sort of situation befuddles him.

Solana is a stunning young woman, no doubt about that, but the fact that she's not a part of their world, has no idea what their world even is, along with having a young child....it all seems unfair. It feels wrong that Roman is putting her in a position she doesn't even know she's in.

Roman has a security detail assigned to her, her mom, her sister and her family, all the while Solana remains clueless to the danger that presents because of her relationship with the biggest mafia head in this hemisphere.

He's putting her life in danger, and even worse, the life of an innocent child.

Wrong.

Zilla runs a hand over his face, pushing away all of the logical reasons why this shit makes no sense. Tries to remind himself of his cousin typically being ahead of the game.

Even, if he's struggling to understand how that can be the case.

All he knows is that he certainly hopes his big cousin, somehow, someway knows what he’s doing, because something tells Zilla none of this shit is going to end up good. 

At all. 

-----

yup. this is all going to turn out just great. 🥲

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: dinner daze

authors note: had this idea and ran with it. and, yes, this is how it is most nights for the fam.

words: 2.7k 

warnings: none.

Roman’s phone vibrating on his desk beside him is both a necessary and annoying distraction. In the midst of reviewing quarterly figures, a task he also hates but a necessity, it's something he prefers to complete in one sitting. However, the name across his screen—along with the message—quickly wash away any pre-existing irritation. 

Solana: dinner is ready, mi amor. ❤️

Roman leans back into his chair and rolls his shoulders, tension immediately hitting him. A frown falls upon his face as he checks the watch on his wrist. Just how long has he been in here?

Regardless, it’s pushed to the side the same way he closes up the files on his laptop and shuts the computer, rising from his desk. 

Grabbing and pocketing his phone, he walks across the space of his office, stopping when he steps on something. A look down reveals a doll smiling up at him, one of several on the expensive Persian rug. 

Roman sighs, taking a minute to gather the dolls, tossing them in the basket in the corner. It doesn’t bother him. Not really, anyway. From as far back as he can remember, really, when Lina and Leya started crawling, his office slowly became a playroom. A doll, ball, toy, device, something, always being found in some nook or cranny. Aroha is no different, often venturing into his space with her toys, sometimes wanting him to play with her, sometimes just wanting to be in his presence. 

All the kids, really. His office doubles as a “hangout” spot for most of his children several days out of the week, and while it can be irritating stepping on shit half the time, it’s something he’s gradually welcomed and just come to accept over the years.

Though, he can already hear Solana’s voice in his ear, chastising him for not making Aroha pick up after herself. 

He doesn’t entirely disagree, but doing it for her every so often won’t hurt. Plus, she’s probably already somewhere doing something. Hopefully not terrorizing her brothers. Roman already dealt with a round of the Littles going at it earlier in the day. He’s really not in the mood for the sequel.

Floor clean, toys put away, Roman walks out of his office, leaving the door cracked as he makes his way down the hall and through the house. And the closer he gets to the kitchen, the stronger the delicious smell of whatever Solana has prepared for them this evening has him licking his lips. 

She never misses in the kitchen.

She never misses with most things. 

Turning the corner welcomes him into the large, open floor plan of their massive kitchen where, sure enough, Solana is in front of the stove, moving a pot from off the front burner to the back burner, hitting the knob. Music plays in the background, something Spanish, but not loud enough to prevent her from hearing him. “Hi, baby.” She turns around, brushing her hands on her apron, gesturing to the dining room. “Go sit down.” 

He opens his mouth to protest, to do as he always does. “Let me help you.”

And with the smallest smile, she responds as she always does. “I got it.”

Roman would push, but years of being together and knowing how this all plays out prevents him from starting a losing battle. In the kitchen is Solana’s element. While it feels and looks overwhelming and chaotic to him, she is masterful and graceful and in control. She knows what she’s doing.

It’s why he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to take her out of said element, just ventures into the dining room where he expects to see at least some of his kids, only to find one. 

Leya looks up from where she’s just placed the last plate on the table, in his spot, her smile widening. “Hi, daddy.”

Naturally, he matches her smile. This is partially why he doesn’t really stress or worry about Solana overexerting herself when it comes to cooking for their big ass family. From a young age, Leya expressed an interest in cooking, often hanging on Solana while she prepared meals, and over the years, that interest has just grown to the point where it’s really the two of them working together in tandem.

He likes it. Loves seeing how close they are. Loves seeing just how much like her mom his little girl is.

“Hey, baby.” Roman kisses her temple as she passes him, carrying the remaining plates into the kitchen, to continue helping Solana, as she always does. He goes to pull his chair out from the table when sudden, rushed, loud ass footsteps evoke an immediate, premature sigh.

“Dad.”

Roman turns around to see Lina and Tama standing there with expectant expressions. Expressions he knows all too well.

“What do ya’ll need?” 

Tama is immediately sucking his teeth. “Why you gotta be like that, pops?”

“Because I know you two,” is Roman’s deadpanned response as he proceeds to finish pulling out his chair and sitting down, both of his kids flanking either side of the table. “Now, what is it?”

Lina doesn’t waste any time. “The pre-order window for the latest Jordans just opened up—”

“And, we need em,” Tama finishes, stressing. “Need.”

“And, I need a fucking vacation,” Roman mutters, running his hand over his face. He truly does. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. No cell reception. Just him, Solana, and a bed. 

Or, any flat surface, really. 

“Are we going to Disney?”

Aroha’s little voice chimes from the side as Roman turns to see her skipping into the dining room, the train of the dress dragging behind her the same way Nala walks quietly behind her.

It’s not the fact that his youngest is wearing a whole ass princess costume to the dinner table that causes Roman to pause. He’s used to that. If Aroha isn’t wearing some sort of costume, then there’s a problem. 

“No, baby, we’re not going to Disney.” Roman is still trying to recover from the last visit. “Aroha, what’s that on your face?”

It’s that that has his attention, especially as she climbs up on the chair in between where Aria and Leya typically sit, the….stuff on her face.

“Makeup,” she answers happily with the biggest grin, reaching over to pet Nala who stretches and stands up to be pet by her favorite person in the house. “Aria did it for me!”

Roman sighs. Of course. 

“Dad, focus,” Lina snaps her fingers, bringing his attention back to the fact that two of his older kids are impatiently waiting for his sign off. “Can we—”

“Lina, ya’ll already know where I keep my wallet.” The same way these kids already know it’s rare he tells them no when it’s something they want to order. It’s just a habit, he guesses, probably at the recommendation of Solana, that they ask beforehand. 

Lina squeals and smiles, hopping off the table at the same Tama does, while fist bumping in the air. “Thank you, daddy.” A quick kiss to the cheek from her as Tama hits him on his arm, shouting out, “you the best, OTC!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Roman mutters, refocusing his attention on the real issue. His seven year-old wearing a full face of makeup. “Ro—”

“Daddy!”

Roman jumps and places his hand over his chest, eyes shutting. He doesn’t care what Solana says. 

These damn kids really are trying to kill him. 

Waiting for his heart rate to settle, Roman finally looks over at 1/8th cause of his consistent high blood pressure who currently has her arms wrapped around him from behind, looking at him from the side. “Yes, Aria?”

Her smile is wide as she breaks away and points over to her little sister who now has that damn cat sitting in the chair next to her. “What do you think of Roro’s makeup?”

“I think I told you about putting makeup on her, Samaria,” Roman reminds. “She’s too young for all that shit.”

Aria rolls her eyes as Aroha giggles, saying something along the lines of “daddy said a bad word.” He makes a mental note to buy her a doll or something for her silence. “Dad, I needed a muse, and she was there!”

“Aria, I’m not even gon’ pretend to know what that means.” He gave up a long time ago on trying to understand his most….dramatic of children. “Just don’t put any more makeup on your sister.”

Aria pouts, crossing her arms and scowling. “But, I need to practice! How else am I supposed to master my artistic craft?”

Roman rubs his temples. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Figure it out.” 

She gasps, smiling suddenly. “So, I can order the master course, then?”

At that, he frowns. “What?”

A loud squeal followed by another hug and kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, daddy!” Roman remains confused, calling after her right as she darts out the room, running down the hall shouting, “wait for me! He said yes! I need the card!”

Roman leans back against his chair. 

Fuck a vaction. He just needs to run at this point. 

The sound of low purring reminds him that the issues never seem to disappear. “Roro, Nala can’t sit at the table with us. I told you this already.”

Aroha pouts, and Roman can swear that damn cat hisses at him. “But, she’s my baby.”

“I understand that, honey, but she’s not an actual baby….she’s a cat.”

A damn cat he didn’t even want in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there. Speaking of animals, it dawns on Roman that Coco and Max are far too quiet. They’re either getting into some shit or perhaps in the kitchen being fed by the boys. He prays for the latter versus the former. 

And then, the most dangerous combination as Aroha gives him that face with that voice. “Please, daddy?”

Right away, he knows he's done for. Resistance is futile.

“Fine,” he mutters, Aroha clapping happily and adjusting her tiara. 

Roman won’t admit it, but perhaps there is some hint of truth to what Solana and his older kids say from time to time. Maybe he does have some difficulty saying no to Roro. 

Just a little. 

Solana and Leya walk into the dining room, both with plates full of food in both hands. Naturally, Solana places Roman’s in front of him, along with his drink, a damn diet soda. Fucking dietary restrictions. “Here you go, mi amor.” 

The salivation returns as he takes in the plate full of some of his favorites. Steak, potatoes, candied yams, mixed vegetables, a bowl of fresh baked rolls that Leya places in the middle of the table and three hot, baked apple pies, the cherry on top. 

However, it’s when Solana sighs, hand on her hip that his attention is shifted. “What’s wrong?”

She rolls her eyes. “Can you get the boys? Leya and I called them before I text you, and they’re still not here. Max and Coco need to be fed, too.” Roman is already out of his seat, gently tapping his wife on the hip before she can even finish her request.

The minute he’s at the bottom of the steps, his deep voice rings out and travels far. “Koa, Kai.” There’s no mistaking he means business. “I know you heard your mom and sister calling you.” Because those two hear and see everything. “Ya’ll got five minutes to get your asses down here, or I swear to God, I’m gon’ clear your rooms of every piece of equipment ya’ll got up in there.”

Immediately, he’s met with the sound of grumbles and footsteps, his twins scowling at and continuing to mutter as they trek down the steps. “Fix your faces,” he reminds as they walk past him. Roman is uncaring. They know better than to ignore their mom like that. The kids may do a lot, get away with some things, but disrespecting Solana will always be where he draws the line. 

Period.

Roman doesn’t stop there, calling out, “Catalina, Tamasa, Samaria. Dinner table. Now.”

The Head of the Table—and his family—doesn’t bother waiting to make sure they follow suit. He just walks back into the dining room, seeing Leya place down the last plate of food as Solana reaches for her husband.

Stroking his beard, she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Roman nods, lightly tapping her ass as she walks over to the other seat at the end of the table. 

Her seat. 

Solana says something in Spanish to Roro, gesturing to Nala, a brief conversation that Roman is loosely tuned into until he catches a glimpse of Leya sitting down, phone in hand, smiling. She’s smiling at her phone. 

Or, rather, something on her phone. 

It makes him take pause. Roman knows that smile. It’s the same one Solana used to have with him, still does sometimes, when she felt bashful around him. But also happy. 

“Baby, who are you talking to?” He has to ask, cause who in the hell has his little girl smiling like that?

Leya looks up, smile shifting into her usual one. She shakes her head and locks her phone, placing it in her pocket. “Nobody, daddy.”

Roman pauses. 

That definitely wasn’t nobody.

But again, he’s distracted by the remainder of his kids, piling in almost all at almost once, Koa and Kai gaining a warning from Solana as they make a snide comment about a pouting Aroha, the seat next to her empty, revealing Solana made Nala leave. Clearly, the source of their teasing comment to his littlest. 

“No, Aria.” Lina’s voice sounds as she shoots down what was probably Aria’s request to borrow something of her big sister’s. A common thing. While they don’t get into it nearly as much as the Littles, they have their moments.

“This looks delicious, mama.” Tama rubs his hands together at the plate of food in front of him, licking his lips, moving one hand to his stomach. “I been waiting all day for this.”

Solana giggles, teasing, “didn’t you come and sample some not even an hour ago?”

“That was an hour ago,” he counters, shrugging. “I’m a growing boy. I need my food.”

“You need to grow into some money, so you can make good on your debt.”

Koa’s comment brings Roman’s attention to his oldest boy. “You still taking money from your brothers?”

Tama grumbles, “it’s not like they ain’t got it.”

And, as she sticks her fork into the steak, already cut up for her—probably by Leya—Aroha asks, “can I get a pony?”

Thankfully, Solana is already on it. “No, mija. You know daddy and I already talked with you about that. No more pets.”

Aroha scowls, making a “humph” sound as she points across the table to Koa and Kai. “Then why are they here?”

Roman closes his eyes as Kai angrily retorts, “better than being a brat.”

Aroha stands up in her seat, projecting loudly and defensively. “I’m not a brat!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

Lina rolls her eyes, looking at Tama, mumbling, “there they go.”

“Enough.” Roman’s voice travels across the table, catching and maintaining the attention of all. “Aroha, don’t talk about your brothers like that, or you’re going to get your tablet taken away. Koa, Kai, ya’ll gon stop calling her names, or it’s gon be me and ya’ll.”

Lowered heads and muttered apologies from his youngest followed by Solana directing everyone to start eating, a bit of an unnecessary command given the way everyone quickly digs into their food and would have, regardless of her direction.

A rare, extremely rare, silence settling over the table and lasting a good, solid 45 seconds before Aria gasps. “Does anyone want to hear the pitch for my latest one woman play?”

“No.”

“Maybe a little later, sweetie.”

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: lunch dates

authors note: you guys mentioned wanting to maybe see more shorts/oneshots showing roso before they fell in love, and i wanted to write something comforting, so this is what this is. timeline wise, it's set shortly before roman promises he won’t send solana back to her family.

warnings: fluff

words: 3.5k

The minute Solana notices they’re clearly not heading home, the car ride taking longer than usual, she turns to look at him, frown loading. “Where…where are we going?”

Roman looks up from the phone in his hand, eyes bouncing from her chest to her eyes, before he answers. “I’m taking you to lunch.”

An unexpected answer, the surprise showing on her face and spilling into her follow-up question. “Wh—why?” Solana can think of a hundred and one reasons why that isn’t a good idea, the top of that list including the fact that Roman is clearly a busy man. Leaving work in the middle of the day to escort her back to the house is one thing, but doing so and adding another stop that keeps him away from the office even longer is something entirely different. “I—I was going to cook.”

“You always cook, Solana,” is the counter as he returns his focus back to the phone in hand. “You can take the day off.”

“I don’t mind it though.” She turns in her seat, fighting back a frown. “Really. I—it’s the least I can do.” At that, he’s looking at her again, Solana biting down on her bottom lip, feeling the need to elaborate. “You’ve–you’ve already done a lot.”

Starting with saving her from the house of horrors she called “home” for almost thirty years. That, in and of itself, is more than enough. Keeping distance between herself and her abusers is just icing on a cake she never expected to be served. 

Roman says nothing, not at first, words of another language, low and clearly aimed towards no one but himself leaving his mouth. Her frown deepens. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

A lot of it. She doesn’t understand a lot of it. 

He shakes his head, once again refocusing on whatever he was doing on his phone. “It’s lunch, Solana. Not the Met Gala.” For some reason, she’s not really sure, but something about that makes her smile. Has her holding back some sort of giggle, poorly, because it catches his attention via what must be excellent peripheral vision. “What?”

She shakes her head. “N–nothing.”

“Tell me,” he presses. Not forceful or demanding. Just…intrigued of sorts.

She shrugs with one shoulder, playing with the strap of the seatbelt pressed into her chest. “It's just….you knowing what the Met Gala is is….it’s kinda funny.”

His eyes narrow with continued, growing intrigue. “Why?”

Another shrug as she leans further into the leather seat. “It—it doesn’t really seem like your type of thing.”

He chuckles. “It’s not.” Roman rolls his shoulders, Solana noticing a sort of tension and brief pang of discomfort flash across his face. It makes her smile dim. Is he alright? “But, there are many things that aren’t my thing that I still know about.”

She nods. Makes sense. A man like Roman seems like the type to know many and most things, even if not relevant or pertinent to him, but the knowledge of it something still worth knowing, nonetheless.

Conversation quiets down after that, the two of them arriving less than ten minutes later to their destination. A small Italian restaurant in downtown, often frequented by the upper echelon due to less than affordable prices and what she’s always believed to be a spoken, unspoken dress code. One that, with her skin tight, light green one piece and willowy cardigan, has Solana wondering if an egregious violation has already occurred.

The discomfort in her face is blatant and clear to Roman who looks down as the greeter goes to ensure their table is ready for them. “What’s wrong?”

She looks up, quickly wondering how to word it. “I–” Solana gestures down to her outfit. “I don’t think…I don’t think I’m dressed the part.”

Less a think and more a know. A sentiment clearly unshared by the man before her who could easily pass the attire handbook with his dark jeans and short sleeved, button down black shirt. Then again, Roman feels like the type of man who could be wearing joggers and simple undershirt, yet make it look just as good as the latest out of Men’s Fashion Week. He’s just that handsome.

“You look fine, Solana,” he reassures.

If only it penetrated. “I–I don’t know—”

Once more, the surprises continue to roll through as Solana gasps quietly at the feel of his finger under her chin, lifting her head, forcing her slightly widened gaze on him. “You look fine.” The flash of something unfamiliar, similar to what dances in the base of her belly. “Alright?” Briefly captivated by the depth of his eyes and attractiveness of his blessed features, it takes her a second to nod, only for him to remind. Gently, almost. “Words.”

She licks her lips, broken from her trance. “O–okay.”

Roman takes a step back, ending the minimal but powerful contact, only to take her hand in his as the greeter returns to lead them back to their table. 

They’re seated in a private outside area in the back of the restaurant, the other few tables around empty, allotting them complete privacy. His preference, it seems.

The umbrella over the table is appreciated, shielding them from the bulk of the sun and prompting Solana to allow her slightly oversized cardigan to hang lazily over her exposed shoulders, only a single button keeping it clasped over her abdomen area.

“Water, please,” she asks, as the waitress takes their orders for drinks, Roman opting for wine, something foreign and probably insanely expensive.

It’s only when the girl walks away to retrieve said drinks that he inquires, “you don’t drink?”

She shakes her head, pushing back some of her hair. “Not really.” One hand is more than enough to count the times she has, and none have been bad, per se, but the mere fact that alcohol impairs judgment and chips away coherency is more than enough for her. She prefers to be aware of her surroundings at all times.

Life has taught her that lesson better than any hangover ever could.

He makes a sound, sitting back in his seat, Solana suddenly asking, “do you?” Realizing the ridiculousness of said question given his order, she attempts damage control. “I mean, like, a lot?” Another fail that has her stammering once. “Not that I’m saying you do, I just—”

“Solana.” She’d feel even more mortified, face a terrible, red, blushing mess if not for the small smile on his face. Amused. He looks amused. “I understand what you’re asking.” Such a relieving response. “And no, not often. It’s best I’m aware at all times.”

A sentiment that has her voicing agreement. “Exactly.” The easing of her embarrassment wanes just enough for her to ask, “umm, how—how is your day so far?”

He shrugs, hand toying with the still wrapped set of silverware on his side of the table. “As most.” She’s not sure what that means, whether good or bad, but she hopes for the former rather than the latter. “Yours?”

“Good,” she answers, honestly. A smile appearing on her face, as she shares, “we had more kids sign up for the reading club, and we got some more children’s books in.” She bites on her bottom lip, sighing, “I think they’re gonna like them. Or, I–I hope they do. They typically—” She stops herself, shaking her head and looking down. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling—”

“No,” he interrupts, Solana looking up to see his expression, the perfect balance of neutral and tense. A comfortable space between the two. “You’re talking to me.” That same glimpse from earlier followed with a quiet, “I like it.”

Stunned and frozen, it’s a hard pill for her to swallow for a variety of reasons. When one spends so long being silenced and told the complete opposite of what was just stated, the counter is difficult to hear. Even more difficult to believe.

“Your cousins….” Jimmy and Jey, just the thought of his eccentric yet kind family members enough to chip away some of her anxiety. “They…they said you’re not…not really a people person.” Truth be told, they said more than just that. That Roman hates people, something she doesn’t entirely disagree with given his cold, brief interactions with others. Some of that frostiness displayed even with her, though she also can’t deny the fact that it’s been massively minimized since those few occurrences.

If not entirely gone.

“They’re not wrong,” he shrugs, sitting forward, elbows on the table. “But, you’re my wife now, Solana. That means you’re not in the same category with most people.”

A dangerous, quiet question sitting on the tip of her tongue that manages to escape the clutches of ardent anxiety. “What—what category am I in then?”

Though escaped, it remains unanswered due to the return of their waitress who places his glass of wine and her cup of water on the table in front of them. A continued distraction as she pulls out her notepad to take their orders.

Something that redirects Solana who only then realizes she hadn’t even looked at the menu. Partially thankful for the interruption, she uses that opportunity to peruse said menu and rid her mind of the silly question that should have never been asked in the first place.

Many of the listed items are in Italian, but most of which, despite the language barrier, she recognizes. Being a “cook” of sorts has introduced her to a variety of dishes over the years, some of which she’s tried to make, some she’s yet to try herself. One of which being the special of the day, which happens to be Ribollita.

Her eyes light up as she reads aloud, “Ribollita….”

The young girl smiles, hand over her forehead to conceal the sun beaming down. “It’s really good, too.” Solana doesn’t doubt it. Her mouth watering in anticipation. “The Bistecca alla fiorentina is also absolute gold.”

It doesn’t take long for Solana to spot that as well, that hunger jumping to a different level. Yet another meal she’s always wanted to try.

However, the excitement is quickly stomped on by the reminder of reality. Her reality. In what world does she need to be ordering both of those, let alone one? Red meat and a hefty soup? It feels gluttonous and greedy. She already has enough extra weight on her. Why is she putting herself in a space that’s just going to add on more?

Clearing her throat, she turns the page, back to the salad section. “I’ll just have the chicken caprese—”

“Give her the Ribollita and the Bistecca alla fiorentina,” Roman cuts in, her eyes lifting to his, her mouth slightly ajar. “No salad.”

Several thoughts race through her mind, the majority of which are all able to be reduced down to one word.

What?

The confusion lingers, even as the waitress verifies their orders, relieves them of the menus, and leave them alone yet again.

Except, this time, she doesn’t have to spend too long sitting in her many, overwhelming thoughts.

“It was your father who told you to not eat before our wedding, wasn’t it?” Less a question. More a statement. 

One she finds herself indirectly confirming, fingers moving against the table, gaze down. “He wanted me to look…to look nice.”

“By starving you?” She winces. His tone has quickly shifted from one of calm to something acrid, yet something tells her it’s not directed toward her but the man he speaks of. “Solana, you don’t need to do anything to look nice. You already do.”

She licks her lips, shrugging nervously, eyes down on the table. “I–I could lose a couple pounds.” More than a couple. A lot, probably. 

“Bullshit,” he curses. “And risk losing that ass?” The seriousness in his face and in his voice are a complete contrast to the small smile that appears on her at such an unexpected question and follow up. “Or, your tits.”

At that last one, she moves her hand over her mouth, hiding her smile but unsuccessfully concealing her blush. She’s uncomfortable, yes, sort of, but also…something else. Something beyond just the surprise she feels at his blunt words. “What?”

“Solana, if you weren’t so fucking timid, I’d tell you exactly what I thought and wanted to do when I saw you for the first time.” She stills. “Especially on our wedding day.”

She was already intrigued, along with other things, but that last part has her interest especially piqued. “R–really?” She’s thought about it a couple times, Roman’s non-reaction reaction to seeing her on their wedding day. Specifically, when he lifted the veil to see her. She’d thought, if anything, he was disappointed. But maybe…maybe that wasn’t the case.

“There should be no question when it comes to my physical attraction to you, and the comments from my dumbass cousins about you should only support that.”

At that, she frowns. “They…they say things about me? Things like...like that?”

Sure, they’ve definitely said some things to her, but nothing…nothing that would make her think there could be some sort of attraction, or even some admiration of her. Of her body.

“Too much,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. It makes her smile once more. “The point is, you’re fucking fine and beautiful as hell, and you don’t need to change anything about yourself.” He adds, “except maybe all the stuttering.”

A sentiment he’s shared before. Something she is working on, but a difficult task, nonetheless. Regardless, her focus is less on that and more on him. On the compliment. On his….kindness. He’s being kind to her. Solana isn’t used to that. Isn’t used to men being anything but cruel and hurtful. Roman has done nothing of the sort. He is nothing like that, and she finds herself appreciating it.

Appreciating it a lot.

“Thank you,” she finally murmurs. 

For all of it.

She's grateful the conversation easily transitions into the next topic, Roman asking her more questions about her job, her love of books and the overall written word. It leads to their meals being delivered to them. The table filled with various plates and bowls. Many of which are Roman’s. One thing she’s picked up on during their short marriage—so far—is that her husband can eat. His appetite seems like it rivals that of both her dad and brother’s. However, Roman is also significantly bigger than both men as well, so it tracks.

He asks if she likes it, the food, and it’s an easy answer.

“It’s delicious,” she murmurs, hand over her mouth to hide her chewing. The steak is divine. But, it’s as she starts mixing the Ribollita that she notices the strange look he’s giving her, or more her meals. “What’s wrong?”

The deepest depth of distaste. “Is that soup?”

It’s the scowl on his face and borderline disgust in his voice that has her giggling. “Yes, what’s wrong with soup?”

“There’s nothing to it.”

She laughs, and continues to stir the thick consistency. “It’s hearty.”

His stance remains unchanged. “It’s still soup.”

Solana has to think about it for a minute, recalling a specific instance before she comments. “I’ve made soup for you before.”

He shakes his head, cutting into his own steak. “That’s different.”

She pouts, head tilted. “How?”

“If you cook it, I’ll eat it.”

The return of the mystery feeling and sensation. “R–really?”

He nods, waiting until he’s done chewing before speaking. “You’re an amazing cook, and if you’re going to take time out to make it, least I can do is eat it.” Roman uses the napkin to wipe at his mouth as she works to settle the butterflies that flutter as a result of his words. “You know you don’t have to cook all the time though, right? I don’t expect that from you.”

What do you expect of me?

It’s what she wants to ask, but also not, because deep down, she already knows. It’s been clear since day one. 

“I love to cook.” It’s an easy answer, Solana also allowing herself to savor the delicious soup before elaborating. “It….it was my favorite thing to do with my mom. Makes me...makes me feel close to her.”

Some of the best, wholesome memories Solana has of her times spent with her mother largely revolve around the kitchen. Nina smiling and patiently explaining each step, the reason for the type and amount of seasoning to use. Her tips and tricks. All of it. Memories Solana holds onto with everything she has, because for a long time, it was all she had. 

Roman shrugs, drinking down some of his wine. “As long as you want to.”

She does.

She really does. 

She readies to ask him something else when she sees it again. That brief look of discomfort. It feels impossible for her not to probe. “Are you…are you okay?”

He looks up at her, shrugging it off. “Lil’ sore. Intense workout this morning.”

His answer makes sense, especially when she remembers he had a fight at the Warehouse just the night prior. Couple in what she’s certain must have been a rough workout session for him to basically say as such, him being in some level of pain just adds up.

“You should let me make you some hierbabuena tea. Peppermint,” she offers and explains. A look up over her eyelashes reveals a similar scowl to the one she received at his realization she’d ordered soup. Solana’s smile returns as she shakes her head. “Do you not like tea, either?”

“Not particularly.”

She rolls her eyes, voice uncharacteristically teasing. “What do you like then?” Solana grabs her fork to take a bite of her sliced steak when she casually darts her eyes back up to him to see he’s staring at her. Nothing uncomfortable or strange, just….telling.

His silence is telling.

That bashful, shy feeling returning all over again, she offers a small smile and stabs her fork into the meat similar to the way his kindness seems to pierce into her wall of protection. 

The one around her heart.

Lunch ends up being the kind of sweet, unexpected scene she’s read about in many of her books. The type that would always make her smile and sigh. Think about what it could be like to be the one experiencing firsthand instead of secondhand. Something that’s seemingly become a reality.

An hour later, they stand outside, her to-go plates—Roman has none—sitting in the backseat of the SUV, the door open, waiting for her to climb in. Same as Solo who sits in the front passenger seat of the same SUV. A different one than the vehicle that carried the couple to the restaurant. Roman will be leaving in that separate SUV, heading back to Bloodline Headquarters, while Solo and her security detail will escort her back to the house. 

It’s a purely instinctual thing that causes Solana to bury that small distance between herself and Roman who stands with her in front of the fleet of trucks. That has her arms around him, holding him, her face into his chest, eyes closing when he doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace. His hand placement remains respectful, on the small of her back, mindful of her boundaries. 

The same way he always seems to be mindful of her.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, heartfelt and appreciative. Solana lifts her head to look up at him, still holding on, his firm, hard body pressed against hers, much softer and smaller. “For taking me out. For…this.”

For all of it, because for the first time in a long time, Solana feels less like life is a thing separate of her, inaccessible, continuing on, passing her by without a second thought. It feels more like her role as a quiet observer has been swapped for a participant. Still on the quiet side but gradually getting there.

She’s gradually getting there.

Roman lowers his hand, cupping her cheek, his thumb ghosting over the bottom portion of her scar. A simple gesture that once evoked discomfort. Now, it’s the opposite. Comforting…it’s almost comforting. 

Her eyes flutter shut, her fingers grasping at his shirt as he lowers his lips to kiss her forehead. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs against her skin. The smallest smile playing on her face as he straightens back to his full height, assessing her once more. “I’ll see you when I get home tonight…alright?”

She nods, fingers gently dancing across his rock hard abs. “I’ll wait up for you.”

He sighs. “Solana…”

A mixture of happiness and playfulness, unfamiliar territory, but a space she’s finding herself enjoying. Enjoying a lot. “I’ve gotta make sure you drink your tea.”

The instant scowl on his face forces out her giggle, Solana turning to climb into the SUV only for Roman to tug on her, gently, but with enough force to bring her right back into his embrace. This time, his arms rest across the top of her back, Solana’s hands on his lower back. Her eyes close once more as he kisses the top of her head, that familiar feeling returning once more but without the unidentified label.

It’s no longer unknown, the realization dawning as he holds her. Holds her firm. Arms that don't restrict. Hands that don't hurt. A man who doesn't harm. Just cares. Protects.

Happy.

She feels happy. 

------

authors note: this idea randomly came to me, and idk, i thought it was cute. i have a brief idea for another date night between them, so if that's something you're interested in, let me know. if not, we can very much move on. :)

[trippinsorrows]

my all + part 2

authors note: well, you whores have done it again. finessed a part 2 out of something from me. and because i'm me, i took it too far, so expect a third and final part after this one.

i took a little too much inspo from batman lore as well as joker and harley quinn.

tldr: this shit is unhinged.

part one

disclaimer: i own none of the recognizable characters or universes.

words: 7.7k

*** gif belongs to @dejameflorecer ***

story song inspo: 'my all' by mariah carey /// chapter song inspo: gangsta by kehlani

warnings: smut and angst

Roman loves when she rides him.

It’s something Solana has noticed about most men. A favorite position of sorts. She’s not sure if it’s his number one favorite, but it’s pretty high up there. He especially loves when she rides him reverse cowgirl, loves seeing the bounce of her juicy ass up and down on his massive cock. 

She can’t lie and try to say it hasn’t become one of her favorite positions as well. Being on top is such an exhaustive thing. Knees hurting, thighs aching, cramps and galore. It’s a workout for sure, something she was never really crazy about with sexual partners in the past.

But, they weren’t Roman.

There’s no man like him.

No one who can fuck her and bring out such a dirty, kinky side of her like him.

That man can do just about anything to and with her in the bedroom, and she’ll be a sobbing, overstimulated mess every single time. 

Solana cries out when Roman’s hand comes down on her ass. That’s another thing he seems to love. Grabbing and slapping her ass, an almost mesmerized look in his eyes every time it jiggles and recoils from the movement.

And, there’s a lot of movement coming from said position.

“That’s a good girl,” he goads, his voice dripping with desire and lust. “Look at how good you ride daddy’s dick.”

She moans, eyes shut, hands playing with her nipples, head thrown back. “Does it feel good, daddy?”

“Feels fucking amazing,” he groans. Solana can only imagine the enchanted expression on his handsome face. His hair wild and free, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead from all the exertion. 

They’ve been at it for almost two hours now with only brief breaks in between rounds. 

“Such a good, submissive pretty girl for me,” he compliments, Solana moaning from the praise. She’s quickly and easily become a whore for such things, for his approval. To be not only his pretty girl but his good girl.

“God, your dick feels so good inside me,” she whimpers. Roman’s hand moves to the small of her slick back, applying just enough pressure to tell her exactly what he wants. Bending over, Solana grabs for Roman’s ankles, using them to stabilize herself as she bounces higher, hips and ass wiggling as she alternates between bouncing and grinding.

A lethal combination.

“Fuck, Sol, just like that. Ride this dick like you own it, baby.” 

“I do,” she responds, eyes still closed, caught up in the bliss and pleasure that comes from his thick dick in and out of her, touching and reaching her in all the best and right places. “This is my dick.”

A sense of possessiveness unlike her. But, to be fair, almost everything about her relationship with Roman is unlike her. 

She’s a loose version of herself.

Something she’s having a hard time even caring about the longer this shit goes on. 

Another slap to her ass. “Damn straight.” Solana is caught up in the sex filled haze when she’s suddenly moved, shifted entirely. Roman expertly adjusts them, never once leaving her slippery, wet ass pussy as he moves to his knees. Solana is propelled forward, half her body now hanging off the bed, her hands planted on the ground.

“Shit!”

Roman is now pounding into her from behind, her body jerking back and forth at the end of the bed, her hands sliding all over the place. 

“Best goddamn pussy I’ve ever fucking had,” he praises once more as tears burn Solana eyes from the depth and feel of him. “Ain’t nobody better than you, baby. Nobody.”

Solana is partially paying attention and mostly trying not to lose her goddamn mind from this new position. Roman stays splitting her open, pinning her down, turning her left, right, side to side and in any other way he can imagine. He be doing just anything, and she eats it up every single time. 

She’s addicted, to say the least.

Her body is his sex rag doll to do as he pleases, and it shames her to admit that it’s truly one of the greatest joys in life to serve the Tribal Chief as she does.

His pretty little slut, as he calls her. 

An honor, truly.

To the surprise of no one, Solana comes all over his dick, her cream coating his still fully erect member, all over her ass, lap, the bed. Everywhere. They always make such a mess during these visits.

But, Roman is a man who needs more than that. Always more. 

He moves her once more, propping her right on his dick, facing him this time. His big hands on her hips moving her up and down his length, fucking her right through her orgasm. The tears have spilled over. It all just feels too good, so good.

“Doesn’t daddy take good care of you?” He groans, still guiding her, recognizing she’s in no position—just yet—to take him on her own. She’s still trying to come down from her orgasm, something he can tell by the way her cunt keeps pulsing and clenching him. 

“Yes,” she gasps, hands over his, eyes fluttering open and close. “A–always.”

It takes a minute, and it’s not helped at all by the way he keeps thrusting in and out of her with an unhealthy need, but she eventually settles enough to take over. Solana moves Roman’s hands from her hips, holding them up on the side of his head. Body leaned over his as she rides him like her life depends on it, the eroticness of it all is increased as he takes her nipple into his mouth, sucking and moaning. 

Solana cries out, her pleasure just intensified by ten. Roman loves her big breast and never bypasses an opportunity to suck on her titties, just like she never wastes a chance to deepthroat him in the way she’s learned he loves. Fucking her throat while she plays with his balls.

Their freak knows no end when it comes to each other.

Roman is an equal opportunist, giving each breast the appropriate amount of attention, but he eventually tires and wants something else.

He detaches his mouth from her right breast with a loud pop, tugging Solana down so he can kiss her. A wet, sloppy thing that has both of them moaning into and on each other as she continues to grind down on his addictive, life changing dick.

“Tell me you love me.”

Filthy, naughty, nasty things are usually said in the bedroom or wherever else Roman decides to fuck her. Most of them come from him, some from her when he gets her in that raunchy space as only he can do.

And, it’s not always just the obscene confessions. There are times where it’s less kinky and a lot more romantic. Kind and caring. Roman always has such a range about him, always somehow knowing just what she needs and how she needs it.

But, this…..this is different.

Solana has never said anything like this.

Never demanded anything like this.

She’s thought about it. Thought about it so much to the extent that her head started to hurt.

She knows she loves Roman. Knows that she’s in love with Roman, but she’s never been able to settle on a final answer regarding if he, in fact, loves her.

So, such a thing escaping the cages of her deepest fears is an unfortunate thing indeed.

The body takes a second to respond, so there’s a delay that prevents Solana from freezing and settling into the panic that ceases all movement. But, it’s an unnecessary thing. 

It’s unnecessary, because Roman responds.

“I love you, baby.”

Now, that….that definitely takes the cake.

Because what?

Solana has no time to process that, either, because Roman is sitting up, pulling her chest flush against him. He stares at her, gradually dragging her against his length, never breaking eye contact. She just continues to stare back, mouth partially ajar, as he brings his hand to her face. A tenderness in the way he cups her cheek matched by the shift of wild, erratic fucking to an almost gentle type of lovemaking.

“I love you, Solana.” 

It’s the second reiteration that breaks the shock, that has Solana scoffing quietly in disbelief. Eyes shut, he kisses her lips, Solana holding onto and hugging him as he buries his face into her neck. Another utterance occurs, pressed into her skin, lodging into her soul, shattering what little defenses remain.

Clutching the back of his head, hugging him tighter as he fucks her deeper, she whimpers, “I love you, too….”

—------

She doesn’t say anything after that. 

Nothing regarding that mind-blowing, unexpected confession. Part of it is fear, part of it is disbelief. A lot of it is still being in a state of shock.

Skepticism, even. 

A lot of things get said during sex. Especially sex with Roman. What if it was something just said in the heat of the moment without much thought? After all, she was the one who kicked it off, who brought it up in the first place.

What if he just wanted to get his nut and didn’t want to risk upsetting her by telling her the truth? By rejecting her?

All valid questions, in her mind. None of which she wants the answers to.

A few hours later, Solana stands in the kitchen, having just finished washing up the dishes from the dinner she’d cooked for them. Nothing nearly as nice as she’d like, given limited supplies and resources but enough, enough for them.

She’s drying her hands and hanging the wash towel over the faucet when Roman comes up behind her. 

A small smile on her face as he holds her and kisses the side of her neck. Solana grasps onto his arms and readies to ask him to lay down with her. 

She’s exhausted.

For more reasons than he realizes.

“I’ll be out sometime next month.”

Solana’s eyes widen. It seems the day is just full of surprises.

She turns to look at him, whispering almost, “what?”

Roman makes a sound, lifting his hand to her face. His index finger traces the outline of her full lips. “That’s why they were here earlier. To give me the update.”

The they he speaks of refers to his two cousins, Jimmy and Jey, as well as his older brother, Matteo. On a couple of occasions, during their EFV visits, the men who are also apart of his inner circle, have come over. They never stay long, never over an hour. The four of them talking quietly amongst themselves as Solana sort of hides out in the bedroom, door closed. 

It’s not a thing of fear. Any and all interactions with the other men have been pleasant. Silly, almost, as the twins are certainly characters. Matteo is very much like his brother, more on the quiet side. But, he’s always been kind, always respectful. The three of them, in a weird sort of way, the kind of people she could see befriending. 

If not for the weird circumstances. 

“About fucking time….” Roman trails off, an undeniable sense of relief on his handsome face and in his voice. But, it doesn’t extend to Solana. Not in the way that it probably should.

It can’t. It can’t, because what she’s been avoiding for almost five months now can no longer be avoided. That terrifying question of what happens when Roman is released from prison. It’s a question she finally has to ask.

There’s no more room for avoidance.

“So…what happens now?” 

A heavy frown falls on his face as he eyes her, asking with understandable confusion. “What do you mean?”

Solana swallows. This is the last conversation she expected to be having today, even if it’s something she should have seen coming. She knew it would come at some point. Just not this point.

“What—what happens when you’re out?” Wording it is significantly more difficult than she could have imagined. Each question feels like a slow slice of the knife into her gentle, sensitive heart. “Will this….will this all be over?” Her eyes glaze over with unshed tears. “Is….is this the end?”

A terrifying, devastating question she’s not sure she wants or can even handle the answer to.

Solana doesn’t want this to end.

Ever.

“Sol….” Roman’s frown deepens as he turns her around completely, hands lifting to gently cup her face. “Baby, where is this coming from?”

There’s something about that question that irrationally upsets her. Annoys her for reasons she can’t identify. “You’re—you’re leaving, Roman. We won’t—we won’t see each other anymo—”

“Solana.” His voice lowers, shifting into something authoritative. “I’m leaving this shithole. Not you.” He looks around the trailer with disgust before landing his gaze back on her. Confused and sympathetic. “I could never leave you….I love you, Solana.”

Solana can only look at him, briefly returning to that state of shock at hearing him say something she’d stupidly tried to convince herself was a fluke.

“You….” A hushed, almost whispered thing, weighed down by continued apprehension. “You do?”

Roman’s expression of shock only deepens her shock. “Of course.” He sounds almost offended that she could even ask such a thing, like she should already know. “You have to fucking know that, Solana.”

No, she doesn’t. She didn’t. 

“Why do you think I do everything I do for you? Look out for you the way I do? Make sure you’re safe and taken care of?” Him listing off each question is the equivalent of that same knife previously digging into her heart, now gradually being pulled out. 

Solana swallows, suddenly feeling just a little stupid. Stupid for not putting all of the glaring pieces together. Still, he deserves an answer. Deserves the truth. “The sex….”

“I’ve fucked a lot of women in my life, Solana.” It’s not a boastful announcement. Nothing arrogant. Just the beginning of a profound point. “And never have I done any of the shit I do for you for them. You know why?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just dips his head to ghost his lips over hers. “Because I never loved them the way I love you.” His eyes flutter shut, his volume dropping. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

Stunned.

Solana is stunned.

The day she’s dreaded has just, in a matter of seconds, with a few, powerful, life-changing sentences, has become the day she’s vied for since the moment she laid eyes on Roman Reigns.

Roman loves her.

He actually fucking loves her.

It’s such a wonderful, overwhelming feeling, to say the least.

And since they’re in the space of confession, and she feels so loved in this moment, Roman kissing the top of her head, his other moving to the small of her back, she has to take advantage of it.

Has to share her own confession of sorts.

“Roman….” He looks down at her, and her heart, for lack of better term, skips a beat. Here goes nothing. “I—I’m pregnant.”

Something about telling Roman that she loved him was always terrifying, but there was something even more intimidating about sharing that piece of information with him. Info she’s been sitting on for almost a week, but something she’s known even longer.

As a woman and a nurse, Solana was certain she already knew what her test results would come back with. She knows herself, knows her body, and she definitely knew that the chances were high. A bad experience with the IUD left her sworn off birth control, along with Roman not once ever even mentioning a condom, conjoined with the fact that they fuck almost several times a week. It all made sense.

Of course, she would end up pregnant.

The very thing she wanted.

And, maybe, just maybe, he wanted as well. 

Because the small smile on his face doesn’t seem like something from a man who’s upset at such life altering news. “Yeah?” She watches him shift that hand from her back to her stomach, where he slides his hand under her shirt and over her belly. “Are you sure?”

Solana hesitates. It all still feels so unreal. “Yeah….” She licks her lips, something calm coming over her as he moves his hand in small circles. “I’m—I’m six weeks.”

Another unexpected response. “Good.”

Solana feels even more stupid just staring at him, but the response she’s receiving isn’t exactly what she was expecting. “You’re…you’re happy?” It’s less a question and more an assessment. Solana didn’t think that he’d be upset, per se, but she also wasn’t expecting such an….almost jovial response and disposition. 

“I told you I was going to put a baby in you,” he reminds. Even more, she’d asked him to give her a baby. Another important detail. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, Solana.” Her chest tightens. It’s the first time he’s referred to beyond this prison ordeal. His big hand stills, planted flatly and protectively on her belly. “Our child is just the beginning of that.” 

She scoffs in waning disbelief, as Roman lifts her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “I don’t want you working here anymore.”

Solana’s smile falters just a bit. “Wh–what?” Yet another unexpected thing to leave his mouth for the nineteenth time today. “W–why?”

His answer is simple and firm. “It’s not safe.” Solana goes to protest when he reminds her of the basic facts. “You being pregnant and working as a correctional nurse in a maximum security prison is a disaster waiting to happen, Sol.” 

He doesn't have to bring up her attack for her to know that's largely what he's indirectly referring to.

“It won’t happen again,” she points out, softly. Her hand is planted on his chest. “You—you made sure of that.”

Prisoners taken to her infirmary have barely even looked at her, let alone had the balls to get smart—or worse since Roman's act of vengeance. His grisly message was loud and clear.

She’s off limits. Something about her being pregnant doesn’t seem like it’d change anything, but Roman seems to think otherwise.

“I won’t risk it,” he announces. “I won’t risk anything happening to you.” He resumes his circular movements across the span of her belly. “Or our baby.”

There’s something almost soft and caring about the way he says it. About how he says our baby, because that’s exactly what and who this is. Their child. A child he’s clearly only looking out for. The same way he always looks out for her. 

And, Solana knows he’s right. Knows that her continuing to work at the prison probably isn’t the best. Not for a lot of reasons. 

The smart decision is for her to quit and find another job.

“Okay,” she agrees, looking up at him. “I’ll—I’ll put in my two weeks Monday.”

Relief flashes in his hazel eyes. “Good.” He leans down and kisses her. Soft, slow, and sensual. Just the way she likes. The ways she loves. He wraps his arms around her once more, Solana’s eyes shutting from the instant comfort and warmth he grants. “I’m gonna take care of you, Solana. I always will.” A beat. “I promise.”

—----

Solana waits to tell them.

Waits until she’s showing and therefore unable to keep it a secret any longer.

The table is filled with conversation amongst her siblings and parents. Her nieces and nephews playing out back, being watched by the older kids. Teenagers.

Solana’s been on the quiet side the entire evening. Not that it’s noticed by anyone or any different from most of their family gatherings. Rarely does anyone ever notice much about her, period.

But, they did notice the 2025 Range Rover parked out front in her parents driveway. A gift from Roman. One of many.

Just like the penthouse he gifted her. Separate from the one he lives in. The one they live in together.

“I’m pregnant.”

It goes largely unheard and unaddressed. Not that Solana is surprised. That’s usually the case. However, one hand on the bump concealed under her babydoll shirt, and she knows this is one of those times where she can’t let it go.

She has to say something. 

So, she does.

“I’m pregnant.” A repeating that’s louder and firmer, even though it only catches the attention of her older sister, Zuri.

Zuri looks at her, instantly scowling. Also unsurprising. Zuri, of all her siblings, is the most….difficult, to say the least. “What?” The smile on Isabella’s face dims when she notices her big sister scowling at Solana. “What did you just say?”

It’s only then that Solana has gathered the attention of almost everyone at the table. A stressful thing but something she wanted.

Here goes nothing.

“I said….” Solana takes a deep breath, continuing to rub her belly under the table. “I’m pregnant.”

She’s met with an array of expressions, some confused, some amused, and some floored. 

“You’re kidding, right?” DJ scoffs, wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin, looking around the table for some indicator of him being the only one not in on the joke. “You’re not serious?”

“Of course, she’s not,” Isabella laughs. It’s a nervous laugh. “Sola isn’t even seeing anyone right now, how could she be pregnant?”

Zuri remains scowling, wisely pointing out. “You don’t have to be dating anyone to get knocked up. Fucking is a commitment free thing.”

“Language,” Nina, Solana’s mother scolds her oldest daughter. She then looks over at Solana, nervous as all outdoors. “Sweetheart, what do you mean you’re pregnant?”

Having a set of speculative eyes on her does little to settle Solana’s nerves, but it doesn’t deter her from carrying through with her task. “I mean that I’m pregnant.” Realizing a more….visible display is required, Solana stands up and lifts her shirt up just enough to show her baby bump. A round of gasps and sounds of shock. Solana rubs her belly in a small circle, a small smile falling on her face. “I’m almost four months.”

But, while pride fills Solana thinking about her baby growing inside of her, terror and horror is struck amongst her family. 

“What the hell, Solana?” Harris, her second oldest brother, has an expression of ardent disapproval. “How the hell did you get yourself knocked up?”

Zuri scoffs. “I think we know the answer to that, H.” Solana sits down, suddenly uncomfortable with sharing her exposed stomach with such a judgmental crowd. “I think a better question is why.”

“I agree,” Darnell, Solana’s father, speaks for the first time. His gaze is stern and even. “Solana, you just started that job not even a year ago, and already you’re pregnant?”

It’s then Solana drops another bombshell, attention on the now cold plate of unfinished food. “I quit.”

Another round of gasps and sounds of disapproval.

“What do you mean you quit, Solana?” Nina questions, sitting forward at the table. She shakes her head. “That was a good job you had. A good paying, stable job, honey.”

Solana doesn’t necessarily disagree, but the point she’s about to make made the most sense given her situation. “The baby’s father and I agreed it wasn’t safe for me to be working there while pregnant.” 

“And just who is the father, huh?” DJ presses, though it feels more like a demand than anything. “And how long have ya’ll even been dating or screwing or whatever for you to let him get you pregnant in the first place?”

Solana knew she wasn’t going to be met with overall enjoyment. Almost all of her siblings had their children out of wedlock, and though her parents never outright said it, she’s always known their hope was she wouldn’t fall in line.

That she’d stick with that outdated, traditional timeline of dating, marriage, and a baby.

All things she’s achieved, just not in that order, per se.

However, their tumultuousness from just the first part of her news has her even more nervous about how they’re going to react to this next part. 

Regardless, it needs to be done.

She clears her throat. “His name is Roman.” Another deep breath. “Roman Reigns.”

Silence.

More silence. 

And then….then laughter.

Around her, Solana looks to see every member of her family with amused smiles on their face, oblivious laughter leaving their mouths.

“Lil' girl, you almost got us there.” Her dad chuckles. “Roman Reigns? That’s a good one.”

However, it’s her mom who detects that Solana remains with the same neutral, almost nervous expression that she’s had since first making her shocking announcement, and it’s that unchanging piece that allows the rest to come together.

“Oh my God….” She gasps, grabbing her husband’s hand, forcing him to look at her. “She’s serious.”

And, that statement from the matriarch transcends around the table, bringing on the clearly uncomfortable truth. 

And the judgmental, floored stares have returned with a newfound intensity. 

“Roman Reigns?” Comes from Zuri who’s no longer annoyed. She’s pissed. “What the fuck do you mean Roman Reigns is the father?”

“Solana, do you know who that man is?” DJ asks, like she’s stupid. Like she’s some illiterate child who needs to be educated. “He’s a fucking mafia kingpin.”

“He’s a murderer.”

“A monster.”

More hurtful, judgmental adjectives used to describe the man Solana loves more than anything in this word. 

“How did you even me—” Her father starts to ask, but Solana watches him. Watches as the horrifying reality sets into him. “Solana, tell me you didn’t.” She looks away, tears suddenly burning her eyes. “Tell me you weren’t sleeping with that man while he was in the prison where you worked.”

More gasps.

Silence from Solana. 

She can’t and won’t deny the truth.

“I love him,” is all the response she can muster. She hates how weak and soft her voice sounds. “And—and he loves me. We’re…we’re in love.” 

A loud bang on the table startles her. Solana looks up to see her father as the source as he stands from where he was previously sitting. “He’s not capable of love, Solana! He’s a fucking sociopath, and I can’t believe you could be so naive to fall for his bullshit!”

“Darnell, please.” Nina also stands up, placing her hand on his arm. A comforting act to hopefully help calm him down. “Sweetie—”

“Why haven’t you aborted it yet?” Zuri suddenly asks the question Solana should have expected but wasn’t necessarily anticipating. 

Her hand moves back to her stomach. “What?” 

“You can’t keep that thing,” she sneers. “It’ll probably end up being the next Ted Bundy or some shit.”

“Zuri,” Isabella says in a soft voice. Solana senses some level of sympathy from her family. She casts Solana an almost empathetic glance. 

“Zuri’s right,” Harris scoffs. “Why the hell would you want to have a fucking psychopath’s baby?”

“He’s not a psychopath,” Solana defends. For the first time in this whole shitshow of an announcement, she feels a new emotion. Defensiveness. 

She feels defensive over her lover. Over the father of her child. Over the man she loves. 

“You don’t know him,” she continues.

“No, you don’t know him,” Darnell snaps, pointing his finger at her. “Solana, I’ve spent my entire career putting scum like him behind bars. But, you know what I’ve had to do more of? Investigate and clean up all the murders he’s committed over the years.” She looks away, unable to withstand his disgusted expression. “Do you have any idea how many bodies—body parts—he’s left scattered around this city? He’s not even human, because no human being could do the things he’s done.”

This kind of response, specifically from her dad, was something she did sort of anticipate. It made sense. The police chief’s daughter falling in love with a mafia kingpin who’s been a thorn in his side for 20+ years?

It only made sense. 

“I wasn’t….” Solana speaks again, needing to somehow wrap this up. She’s not sure how much more she can take. “I wasn’t expecting any of you to understand or even agree with the decisions I’ve made, and that—that’s okay.” Her voice cracks at the end, giving away the fact that it’s most definitely not okay. From feeling forgotten by her family her whole life, to now being shunned and judged so harshly, it’s a borderline traumatic experience. “I just—I just wanted to let you all know, because we’re going out of town for a little while, so—”

“You’re what?” Darnell interrupts. “The hell you are. You’re not anywhere with that damn man!”

At that, Solana’s defensiveness returns just a bit. “I’m not a child anymore. You can’t—”

“Maybe not, but you are fucking stupid.” DJ scoffs, also now standing, his arms crossed, largely reflecting their father, the man he was named after. “It’s bad enough you let that man impregnate you, but now you're talking about going away with him? To where?”

She swallows. “He owns a private island—”

“Great, so he can kill you and scatter what remains in the ocean in the middle of fucking nowhere.” Zuri smiles, rubbing her temples, shooting Solana a wink. “Great fucking idea, lil’ sis.”

“Roman would never hurt me or our baby—”

“Solana….” Nina speaks, her voice surprisingly soft. “Did he…did he force himself on you?” A heartbreaking, almost horrified question that has Solana’s eyes widening. 

“No! He’s not like that!”

“That’s exactly what he’s like!” 

“It’s like he’s….brainwashed you or something.” Nina whispers, eyes glossing over. “Oh, mija, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“You’re terminating that pregnancy first thing tomorrow, Solana.”

“No, I’m not.” She shakes her head, both hands planted on her stomach. “This is my baby. It’s our baby, and I’m not getting rid of it! We—we were trying to get pregnant. We—wanted to have him. We want—”

“Him?” 

Solana closes her eyes. 

Shit.

She hadn’t meant to disclose that part.

“It’s a boy?” Isabella whispers, looking over at Zuri.

“You definitely have to get rid of it, then!”  

“Of course, she is.”

“No, I’m not,” Solana reiterates, sitting forward in her chair, starting to push back in her chair. “This is my body. My choice. My pregnancy, and my baby that I am keeping.”

“Solana, you’ve already been stupid enough to ruin your whole life and reputation by breaking not only rules but laws by getting caught up with that man,” Darnell dismisses her wishes. Completely washes over her sounds of protest. “Don’t further that stupid by tying yourself down to that thug for the next 18 years.” Another level of disgust and disdain mars his aged face. “Having a baby for a man ten years your senior is one thing, but having a baby for that man is something entirely different.” He shakes his head. “You’re not keeping it.”

It’s probably the culmination of the conversation as a whole that pushes Solana over the edge. Has her slamming her hand down on the table, forcing the surprise and focus of her family around her. “I’m keeping my baby, and that’s that!” Completely done with being attacked and slammed beyond a hurtful response, Solana stands up from the table. “I’m leaving.”

“Sweetie, please, don’t leave,” Nina implores, starting to round the table, stopping about halfway. As if feeling uncomfortable being too close to her. It stings. For sure. “We need to figure this out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Zuri cuts through, taking the side of her dad and siblings. “Either she gets rid of it or—”

“Or what?” Solana presses. “I said I’m keeping my baby.” Not only is that something Solana could never personally see herself doing, though she supports any and all women who make that choice, she knows that she’s too far along in her pregnancy to go about it, at least in their state, even if she wanted to. Knows as someone who’s in the medical field. The same field her mom and sister are in, so them not saying anything to express disagreement with such a thing being suggested is….hurtful, to say the least. 

“Solana Esmeralda Miller.” Her father’s use of her full name stalls Solana as she reaches for her purse, back towards her family who continue to throw insult after insult at her, ruining what should be a beautiful time in her life all because they don’t understand. They don’t want to understand. “As long as you are with that man, you aren’t welcome in this house.”

Solana doesn’t have to be facing the group to know it’s her mom that gasps. “Darnell, please, she’s still our daughter—”

“My daughter would never get herself caught up in some foolishness like this!”

“She needs our support right now!”

“She needs to stop being so damn dumb!”

“So let’s help her, not persecute her!”

Solana’s eyes shut. Too much. It’s all too much. 

“Would you all just shut up!” Solana turns around and snaps, unable to keep the reins on her emotions any longer. “Stop acting like you all care!” Because they don’t. Their entire disposition and response thus far have concerned just as much. “For years, years, I’ve felt invisible in this family. It never mattered how good I did, how unproblematic I was, I always came last.”

Nina’s shoulders drop. “Honey….”

Solana shakes her head. “Roman loves me. He makes me feel special and wanted, and…I need that. I’ve needed that for so long, and now I finally have it, and I’m not going to let any of you take that away from me.” She sniffles. “I’m not going to let anyone take him away from me.”

But while there’s a sort of relief that comes from speaking her mind, sharing with them trauma she’s sat on for so long, the relief is quickly snatched away through her father’s emotionless response. 

“So that’s what it was? That’s how easy you were for him?” He sneers. “He shows you a little bit of attention, and you go opening up your legs?”

“Daddy, stop,” Isabella murmurs, continuing to look empathetic but not really doing anything to speak up for her sister. To defend her.

“I’m done here,” Solana angrily jerks her body away as her mother tries to reach for her. “None of you will ever have a relationship with my child.” And with a heartbreaking realization, she shares the part she feared the most. “And I may not, either.”

—------------

6.

That’s how many people Roman kills. 

All fuckers who’d betrayed him or played a role in the plot that got him locked up for all those months. Slowly, methodically, and with great detail and precision. He ensures to prolong their suffering for as long as humanly possible.

And, even that, even being practically bathed in their blood, in human flesh, pieced of severed organs and other grisly remnants of his butchering, does little to settle him. To settle that uncontrollable rage that influenced the gruesome murders.

Because, the people he really wants to hurt are the people he can’t touch. Solana’s family. 

Her mother. 

Her two sisters and two brothers.

Her fucking father.

Chief Miller has always been a fucking pain in the ass, but this incident has crossed a fucking line. Roman coming home to find his wife sitting on the floor. At the edge of the bed. Crying her eyes out because of how awful they all responded to her pregnancy announcement, about her relationship with him. The only thing he could do after comforting her and soothing her to sleep, was commit murder. But, he couldn't have the victims he really wanted.

Because his wife is kind and good, the things he is not. She doesn’t want them dead. He might, but she doesn’t. And, she doesn’t even have to specify as such, because that’s just not Solana.

She’d rather take it all on the chin and eventually work and move past it.

Not Roman.

Fuck that. 

In his eyes, they all deserve to fucking burn.

But, as much as they hurt Solana, Roman knows she still loves them. She loves her family, and that’s why their reaction hurt her so much. Because while he knows a part of her knew they wouldn’t respond well, he also knows that she was hoping maybe, just maybe, they would be a little understanding.

He knew better though.

He knew they wouldn’t react well, but for the fucking Hallmark type people they tried to portray themselves to be, he didn’t anticipate they’d be so cruel to Solana.

His pretty girl. 

It’s why he partially wishes he’d gone with her.

The same way he wants to go with her now.

“Solana, are you sure this is a good idea?” 

She turns around from where she just placed another bathing suit in their suitcase. He’s not sure why she’s packing clothes at all. He doesn’t plan for them to do anything but fuck, relax, and enjoy each other for the next two weeks.

She sighs, walking over, Roman unable to resist a chance to glance at her stomach. The fabric of her dress falls perfectly against the swell of her bump.

Their baby.

His son.

Solana moves in front of him, hands on his chest as he holds her, kissing her temple. “I have to try.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t agree. After the shit they pulled last week, her piece of shit family deserves nothing from her, let alone another chance. 

But, he loves her and respects her, so he has to respect her decision. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Largely due to him wanting to be the much needed buffer if anything goes left. Also because he wants to be there to support her. 

However, she shakes her head, pulling back to look up at him. “I—I think it might make it worse.”

He’s quiet, once again, because she’s probably not wrong. As much as Roman loves the woman in front of him, he’s not sure he’d be able to control his temper if her dad and/or brothers were to say some shit. Doesn’t know if he’d be able to end the night without dropping at least one of them. 

He nods, hand moving up and down her back. “Fine, but at least take your security detail, Sol.”

That’s the thing that he really still isn’t okay with. He understands why she didn’t want them with her before, because she wasn’t ready to tell her family about them, but now that they know? He’s highly uncomfortable with her going over there completely alone. 

“Roman….”

“Solana, it’s for your protection.” Not even just her. Their unborn child as well. 

“My family is being mean and unsupportive, but they would never hurt me, Roman.” He can see the way she catches herself, forcing a correction. “Not physically, anyway.”

Roman wants to believe her. He truly does, but something feels off. He can’t put his hand on it. “Solana, I—”

“Trust me,” she interrupts in a small voice, her eyes pleading. “Please?” He does. Probably more than what defies logic. “I won’t be long, and it’s just my parents who want to meet and talk. Not my siblings. Not yet, at least.” That helps him feel a little better. Only a little. “Roman, I—I won’t be able to enjoy this trip without at least hearing them out.”

Roman takes a deep, loud breath, rolling his neck and stroking his beard. Going against his better judgment seems like the wrong move, but there’s something that bothers him more about depriving her of this. 

“Alright,” he finally caves, adding a stipulation. “An hour. You have an hour, and after that, I’m coming to get you.”

She nods. “Okay.” Solana leans up and kisses his cheek. “Thank you.”

Roman says nothing, just watches as she continues to pack, wanting to have it all done tonight, as they’re set to board the jet and fly out tomorrow. 

All the while, he still can’t manage to shake the feeling that something is wrong.

—--------

True to their word, it’s only Solana’s parents when she arrives at their house.

And, it’s not that she believed they were lying, per se. She just didn’t know if they thought she wouldn’t agree to come over if she knew it would be an intervention of sorts involving her siblings. 

They wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

Solana settles on her parents sofa, shifting to get comfortable as her father sits in his seat across from her. He’s yet to say anything. 

Nina wears a warm smile as she walks in from the kitchen with a tea kettle. “I made you some raspberry leaf tea.” She pours some in the mug sitting and waiting on the coffee table. “Your abuela used to make it for me when I was pregnant with you all.”

The mention of Solana’s late grandmother is enough in and of itself to evoke a set of fresh tears. 

Paloma would be turning over in her grave to know what’s happening within the family. She never liked or approved of dissension. Especially among family. 

Solana says nothing, just takes the cup and brings it to her mouth. The flavor feels a bit off than how she remembers it tasting, but her taste buds altogether have been off this pregnancy, so she doesn’t think much of it.

“Solana, we want to apologize to  you.”

Nina kicking off the conversation with that as she takes a seat next to her daughter is most definitely not how Solana predicted this whole thing kicking off. Naturally, she’s skeptical.

“What?”

Darnell’s deep voice takes over. “We feel….we feel we may have been too hard on you.” Solana continues to sip on her tea, eager, wanting, and maybe needing a reason to not respond. She’s not entirely sure what she expected from this conversation, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Oh,” she finally mumurs, nervously tapping her short acrylic nails against the glass mug.

“I’m sorry about how I spoke to you, Solana,” he apologizes. Solana places the mug down, wanting and needing to be fully present for whatever else he’s about to say. “I—I was out of line, and I was upset, but that gives me no excuse. It’s just….” He trails off, looking away, fist gently hitting his lap. “Of all our children, with all the issues your siblings have had over the years, we never would have suspected you.”

And, that is where Solana gets lost. 

Suspected what?

She voices as such. 

“I—I don’t understand.” She honestly, truly doesn’t. “What—what are you talking about?”

Darnell looks at her. Voice even and calm as all the outdoors. “We never would have suspected you also struggle with mental health issues.”

Solana’s eyes widen. 

What?

Barely able to process what’s just been implied, she finds herself scoffing. “I—” Solana looks between them, between her parents who have turned what she hoped would be a calm conversation into something entirely different. “You—you think I’m crazy?” The silence is all the answer needed. Solana shakes her head. “I’m not crazy. I’m in love. Why can’t you guys understand that?”

“Sweetie….” Nina leans over, placing her hands over Solana’s. “We—we realize now that we should have been paying closer attention to you over the years.” Solana blinks twice, suddenly struggling to focus on the conversation at hand. “That….that Zuri wasn’t the only one who needed help.”

It’s only when that is said, and Solana looks over at her father who only raises his chin, she realizes that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

A horrified look between the two people who swore to love and protect her. “What—what have you done?”

Solana goes to stand up, only to be hit with another unexpected wave that has her almost stumbling to the ground. 

“You’re not well, Solana. You need help.” Her father’s voice sounds much too distant for a man who’s only steps away from her. “And, we’re going to make sure you get it.”

Blinking increased, Solana again attempts to walk away, only to fall to her knees, her hand planted down on the rug to prevent her from landing on her stomach. A glance back at the table where the mug sits, mostly entirely consumed.

Terror fills her. 

“What—” Solana moves her other hand to her belly. Speech is now another thing that feels impaired. “What did you do to me? What—what did you put—” Eyes clenching shut, breathing has been added to the list, though she’d suspect it’s from her anxiety versus whatever was placed in the tea. “My baby….”

Because, that’s the only thing she can think about in this moment.

About whatever she’s just ingested could be doing to her baby.

She has to get out of here.

But, the second Solana attempts to move up to her feet, she falls to the floor, on her side, hand never leaving her belly.

Distant sounds around her followed by several sets of feet. Three new people. All men. Two dressed in all white apparel. Familiar. But not as familiar as the third man with them. Even with her waning vision, Solana can make out the man dressed in a fine suit, expensive glasses on his face, dark brown hair carefully styled, that empty, void, deranged expression in his eyes as he looks down at her with only cruel, unholy thoughts.

Crane.

Dr. Jonathan Crane.

A local doctor who bounced around from clinic to clinic for years, unable to find anyone willing to support his inhumane research. That was until a few years ago when he landed his current position. The lead psychiatrist at the local insane asylum.   

Rumors have ran rampant for years about his sick, twisted, unsanctioned treatment methods for the unwell at the asylum.

A place that should be burned to the ground, if you ask Solana.

With him in it, because the devil doesn’t always come clothed in red horns and a matching cape. He sometimes wears designer shoes and parades himself as a medical provider eager to “cure” the sick.

A sociopath.

He’s the real sociopath.

And, her parents are handing her right over to him.

Tears fill her eyes. “No…..”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Miller.” Another distant declaration from the devil himself followed by him kneeling before her, his smile just a show for all of his wicked, twisted perversions. “I know exactly what you need.”

Solana opens her mouth to protest, any and all sensation and autonomy in her body all but gone. 

A final act of protest, but it’s a failed effort.

It all goes dark. 

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: yacht it up

authors note: this is essentially a part 2 to the tiktok live oneshot, except way longer with some other stuff sprinkled in that is lore and backstory.

also, if that scene feels a lil' off and different for them, they been together damn near 17 years atp. that part of their life has definitely evolved. lmao.

warnings: fluff and smut

words: 10k

It’s the slow, steady, and quiet rise and fall of Aroha’s chest that lets Roman know she’s fallen asleep. He looks down, soaking in the peaceful expression of her little face as she clutches one of her stuffed animals, soft breaths leaving her partially open mouth, turned into Roman’s body where she was only minutes prior engaged in the book he was reading her. 

He waits a good minute or two, wanting to ensure she’s entered that deep REM of sleep before carefully separating her, adjusting the blankets over her body. Roman lays the book on the nightstand and leans down to kiss her forehead, a gentle caress of her temple, his parting gesture before he quietly exits the cabin. 

A careful closing of the door as Roman walks over to the other side of the hall, lightly knocking on the door before opening. He’s met with the unsurprising sight of his twin boys sitting on either side of the king size bed, headsets on as they focus on the TV before them. 

“Ya’ll good?” A simple question. The most that’s required for the inarguably easiest of The Tribal Chief’s seven children. 

Koa is the one to answer, never taking his focus off the television. “Yup.”

Roman chuckles, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Ya’ll sure you don’t want to come up?”

“Is it time to eat?”

Roman rolls his eyes. “You already know the answer to that.” They just had lunch approximately an hour ago.

“We’ll come up when it’s time for dinner,” Koa takes over, quietly cursing at some obvious mishap with the game they’re playing. “Our social batteries need to be recharged.”

If there was ever a statement that Roman related to with his entirety, it’s that one. Granted, he often finds himself not struggling with socialization when it comes to his family, his kids, but he also understands Koa and Kai have a different, sometimes shorter fuse.

He also vividly recalls the argument they got into with Aroha earlier over who the fuck knows earlier, and arguments between the Littles often take a lot out of all three. Partially why Aroha went down so easily for her nap.

“Alright,” Roman kicks off the door, hand on the knob. “No hacking shit, either.” Grumbling requires him to double down. “You heard what I said.” 

“Fine,” Simultaneous expressions of forced, reluctant agreement. Roman shuts the door. 

That’s good enough for him.

Last, but certainly not least, he moves to the door of the last cabin in this section of the yacht. Three light knocks to the door, followed up with a quiet, “baby, you good?” 

The only response given is the somewhat loud sound of snoring from the other side. A small smile falls on his face. If there’s one thing he can always count on, it’s not only his middle daughter being able to fall asleep with the most ease but also staying asleep for what’s probably an abnormal amount of time. 

Rain, sleet, snow, hurricane, tornado, even being on a whole ass yacht, Samaria Reigns will always make time for her naps. 

Expected, as well, given they left relatively early, and she’d complained for almost fifteen minutes straight on the ride to the dock about him and Solana “rudely” interrupting her “mandatory beauty sleep.”

Whatever the fuck that meant. 

Satisfied with the younger of his kids being set and settled, Roman makes his way through the interior to the custom designed Hermes staircase that provides entrance to five separate decks, the fifth being the one where he’ll find the remainder of his family. 

And, he does.

Roman's' greeted by the sound of Spanish music blaring and the intense sunshine beaming down against his body, prompting him to lower his sunglasses from the top of his head, sitting them on the bridge of his nose. 

The sound of laughter is mixed in with the music, the small smile on Roman’s face growing ever so slightly at seeing his eldest children, Lina and Leya dancing along playfully with Solana. All wear broad, happy smiles, their laughter the chorus of his favorite song. 

The sound of whooping and a semi deep voice drags Roman’s focus to his firstborn son, Tama, who holds up a phone, recording himself, arm lifted and extended, clearly intending and succeeding in getting his sisters and mother in frame of said video.

Roman rolls his eyes, seeing the way Tama smirks and flexes for the camera. Let no one ever say that boy isn’t confident, borderline arrogant, but with many things he sees in his son, he can’t complain. 

Tama is every bit of him, in most ways, when he was fifteen. 

Like father, like son. 

The only difference being Roman has always been more subtle and somewhat quiet with his arrogance. Tama has never, and probably will never, be afraid to outwardly show and tell everyone exactly why he's exactly who he says he is.

Roman respects that in some ways. A lot of ways, maybe.

Recognizing that while his son is capturing the moment, his footage is more likely to have him as the star versus a shared showing of his siblings and mom, hence Roman walking over to the bar area where his camera sits. 

He grabs it, quickly adjusting the settings and swapping out the lens, opting for something better suited for the setting. And, the first snapped photo shows Solana laughing as she dances what he’s pretty sure is called bachata with Leya, Lina also now with her phone to record as well. Similar to her brother, she’s the star of her own film. 

Roman continues to snap photo after photo, stealing and cementing these moments of happiness, of bliss, with his family. It’s one of the reasons he enjoys taking them all out on the $200 million dollar superyacht he and Solana designed years prior. Nine cabins, multiple pools, fireplaces, a spa, a gym, and entertainment areas like an outdoor cinema and a dance floor. All designed solely for this purpose. To have these wholesome moments with their family. Just them, and the required crew, out on the beautiful waters, away from all the hustle and bustle of the land.

Peaceful.

It’s peaceful. 

And, in the life Roman Reigns lives, he’ll savor any and all semblance of peace.

Eventually, he’s spotted, first by his sweet Leya, her cheeks tinged with pink as she nervously laughs, hiding her face. “Daddy.”

It causes three sets of eyes to land on him, Tama smiling and the first to say, “make sure you get my good side, old man.”

“Get a good side, and then I’ll capture it.”

Lina whoops, making a sound, laughing, “Dad-1. Tama-0. Damn, bro, how you letting our old man clown you like that?”

Tama scoffs, lowering his arm, looking down at his phone. Probably to stop the recording. “Cause I respect my ancient elders.”

“Stop it,” Solana playfully scolds, slapping him on his arm. She shakes her head, lifting her hand to her forehead, a makeshift shield of sorts to obscure some of the sun’s rays. 

Lowering his camera, it’s only then Roman finds himself truly distracted by his fine ass wife as she walks in his direction. Her striped bikini leaves little to the imagination in a lot of ways. Appropriate to wear around the kids, but that naturally voluptuous body still manages to push the material to its max while leaving little to the imagination. 

Big, full breasts bouncing with each step, thick thighs rubbing together, hips swaying as he recalls the jiggle of her ass when she was dancing with their teenagers only minutes prior. Solana has always been absolutely stunning to him, but seven children later, her curves continue to tempt him in the best and worst ways.

Hence why they have seven children.

Approaching, she grabs a hold of his forearm. “Are they good?”

Roman nods, using the viewfinder to peruse some of the photos, including the ones Solana took of him and the kids earlier in the day. “She went down almost immediately. The boys are gaming, and Aria—”

“Out like a light?” Solana finishes and giggles. “At least we know she gets her proper amount of sleep.”

“Baby, she gets too much sleep. That shit can’t be normal.” Even without looking up from the camera, Roman knows his son well, prematurely interrupting what’s bound to be a smartass comment. “Say nothing.”

The sound of snickering from his twin girls confirms his suspicions. Another giggle from his wife, who he moves his arm around, pulling her against his solid body. “Look.”

She does so, smile broadening as he scrolls through the captured pictures. Solana gasps in awe, moving her arms around his waist. “You’re so good.” An appreciated compliment, but he’s more focused on the subjects versus the photo quality. “Sometimes, I wish….”

Her trailing off prompts him to look down. “What?”

Something flashes in her eyes as her smile shifts into something a little more subtle. “Nothing.” He’s visibly ready to push back, prompting her to lift her hand to his face. She says something in Spanish, leaning up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Come on.” 

Solana takes his hand and leads him over to the seating area where the kids are already sitting, sharing phone screens with one another. 

Roman feels Solana grab his hand, squeezing gently when he moves quickly to lower her onto his lap as he sits down on one of the chairs. Solana squeals when he places the camera down next to them in exchange for his hand moving down the small of her back to grasp at her ass.

“Damn,” he murmurs. This boat trip today might have to be cut short, or he’ll have to take advantage of the younger kids being occupied and his oldest able to keep themselves busy.

As if reading his thoughts, Solana glares playfully. “Stop it.”

“Yeah, not in front of us, please.” Lina scowls, shaking her head. She then looks at Solana while gesturing to Leya. “Hey, mommy. Sissy and I need to go shopping sometime in the next two weeks.” Lina’s scowl deepens, as does her voice that’s now filled with irritation. “I think we need to go up a cup size again.”

At that, Roman finds himself frowning and confused. “Ain’t we got enough cups at the damn house?” A bit of an unnecessary question, as he already knows the answer. With such a big family, they have two separate pantries. One for snacks, and one specifically for dishes and pots, also due to his wife’s passion for cooking and impressive collection of only the finest cookware.

“Yeah, a lot of them big ones, too,” Tama agrees, clearly just as innocently lost as his dad. Solana shakes her head, as Leya’s blush deepens, Lina being the one to answer in only a way Lina would answer. 

“We’re talking about boob cup sizes.” And if that wasn’t a horrific enough clarification, Lina just has to take it to the next level, grabbing her chest and gently shaking her breast. “Ya know, titties.”

“Jesus Christ, Lina” Roman is convinced these damn kids are trying to kill him. He just hasn’t been able to prove it yet. “I fucking get it, okay? Why you gotta talk about this shit now anyway?”

“Seriously,” Tama is now scowling, hand over his mouth like he’s about to throw up. Roman can relate. “I don’t wanna hear about that with my sisters.”

Leya is the one to giggle, partially amused by the whole thing as she shifts on the seat, tucking her legs under her bottom. “Why? It’s just human anatomy.”

“Just change the subject, please.” Roman is readying to rub his temples when Solana instead soothes him with a kiss to the bridge of his nose and finishing up said conversation.

“Of course, we’ll go next weekend. Samaria was asking the same, so she can come with us.”

“Mama!”

“Solana.”

Shared disgust and borderline contempt from father and son, neither of them wanting to think about the second youngest Reigns girl in that capacity. Especially Roman. He hates thinking about any of his kids growing up, especially his daughters. Truth be told, it still hasn’t really set in that they’re already sixteen years-old.

Sixteen.

Roman still feels like it was only yesterday he and Solana took them home from the hospital for the first time. And now, in just two years, they’ll be leaving for college. 

Fuck. 

“Fine.” Solana sucks her teeth, moving her arms around his neck as she successfully changes the subject. “Do you guys wanna do it now?”

Roman’s attention snaps to his wife. “Do what?”

“Oh yeah,” Leya agrees, her dad looking over at her now with transferred confusion. “We can? Since Roro and Aria are asleep.”

“And, we know the boys won’t interrupt,” Lina snorts.

“Do what?” Roman asks once more. It’s always irritated him to no end to be kept out of the loop of things. 

Tama smiles that shit eating grin, very similar to Roman’s smile, a rarity, but something that makes appearances every so often. “Part 2 of the Q and A for our TikTok page.”

And, right away, Roman is wishing he hadn’t even asked. “Shit, you still wanna do that?”

Lina nods, smiling with excitement, fidgeting on her seat while laying out the stats. “Daddy, that video with you and mommy is our most watched one on our whole channel. Over 5 million views, like 20 thousand comments. Add in sissy, and you won’t even have to pay for our college.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tama scoffs, muttering something about wanting his “full inheritance.”

Roman doesn’t even have time to address his son. That’s a later problem. “Ya’ll really wanna do that now?” He scowls, just now really taking in and realizing his fine ass wife isn’t the only one dressed in a barely there bikini. Both his daughters, his minor daughters are wearing bikinis, which is fine, because it’s only them. But, going Live or whatever on their TikTok shit will mean they’re exposed to thousands, maybe more, seeing them so…indecent. 

And, that’s the shit he really dislikes. 

“You should change first.”

Lina, not to his surprise whatsoever, is the one to push back. She motions around. “Why? We’re outside on a yacht, wearing bathing suits, what’s the issue?” And, because she’s every bit his daughter, she can’t not point out, “just because you’re dressed like it’s winter doesn’t mean we have to be, too.”

Roman rolls his eyes. Never mind the fact Solana herself made a comment about his black long sleeved shirt earlier. Fact of the matter is he’ll take his shirt off if and when he wants to, and he doesn’t want to, so they can deal. 

Back to Lina’s initial question, he answers without much thought and all honesty, “cause I don’t want the internet people seeing ya’ll half dressed.” 

Tama snorts. “Internet people.” The fifteen year-old shakes his head, texting on his phone. “Dad is low key the funniest person ever.”

Lina, however, remains committed to her stance. “Daddy, have you not seen my Instagram?”

Roman frowns. “I thought you deleted it.” 

Lina’s attitude is dampened by the realization she’s talked too much, evident when Leya subtly elbows her and Tama shoots her a ‘shut up’ look. All of which is not missed upon The Tribal Chief.

“Why can’t I find your account anymore, Catalina?” Roman asks, all three of his teens looking away. “So, none of ya’ll know how to speak?” Still, silence. “I asked ya’ll a question.” Because while he addressed it to his oldest, anyone able to provide him with an answer is eligible to answer, and it's plain as day each holds the capability of doing just that.

“Honey, you were….” Solana moves her hand to the back of his head, stroking the hair on the nape of his neck, an act often done when she’s trying to comfort or calm him down. “You were threatening people in their comments.”

Roman scowls, practically offended. Not really. Only slightly. “Only the people who deserved it.”

Leya’s eyes widen. “Our classmates, daddy?”

God forbid, Roman takes some accountability for earning, what he’s sure now, is a block from all three of his kids that are on social media, as it also dawns on him he hasn't seen Leya or Tama's posts in some time, either. “Those fuckers looked too damn old to be in high school. How do I even know they go to ya’ll school? Especially that ugly ass lil' boy who needs Proactive.”

Tama and Leya share a look of confusion over a reference far beyond their time as their sister and father go back and forth with each other like a tennis match between Serena and Venus Williams. “Jared is my lab partner, daddy," she answers, throwing her hands up. “And, he’s gay.” 

“Allegedly.”

“Oh my goodness,” Solana groans, grabbing him by his beard, stroking his grayed out hair. “Roman, it’s fine. I still monitor their pages—”

“Wait,” he frowns. “They didn’t block you, too?”

“We could never block, mama,” Tama refutes, as if Roman even suggesting as such was an insult.

A look of unabashed incredulity. “But, you can block me?”

“Well, yes,” Lina answers as if it’s the most simplest thing in the world. “You were doing too much.”

“Damn kids get on my fucking nerves,” he grumbles, his pride more insulted than anything. How come Solana gets to see their pages but he can’t? Fucking unfair, biased ass children.

He makes a mental note to ask Koa and Kai help him regain access. He'll just buy them more computer equipment or some shit in exchange.

“We love you, too, daddy,” Leya smiles, making a heart with her hands. He won’t outwardly show it, but it helps. None of his kids have the level of hold that Leya does over him. Not even Aroha, in some instances. It’s always been something about her that can make him feel even just slightly better on the worst of days.

A gift she inherited from her mother, clearly. 

As with most things, Roman groans and complains but still ends up agreeing to do this part 2 his kids have been hounding him about since the last Live apparently “blew up.” Though, he makes it clear this is his last, something that doesn’t seem to be believed by, well, any of them.

Not even his wife.

Traitor. 

Less than twenty minutes later, some repositioning of where everyone was sitting so Solana is next to her husband, with Lina and Ley also still sitting together but the gap closed so they’ll be in frame of the backup phone Tama is using to go live.

“Alright, we are live from—well, a yacht,” is his introduction as he stands with his arms spread, smile still just as wide, the wind whipping against the loose strands of his long black hair that escaped the bun he usually keeps it in, similar to his dad. “You know, that rich boy shit.”

“Tama.” A name drop from his parents, both for different reasons. Solana, for his language. For Roman, a reason he explains in no unclear terms.

“I’m rich. You’re poor. Don't get it twisted.”

Snickering from his sisters, Tama’s scowl faltering as he easily redirects focus. “As ya’ll can see, we got the biggest hater alive and first long-term nursing home escapee with us today.” He sucks his teeth, feigning annoyance only to smile happily. “But, also our beautiful mama, and…” He trails off, allowing Lina to do the honors.

“My sissy,” she squeals, holding and hugging Leya who offers a small wave adjoined with her usual shy smile. “Hi,” Leya greets, laughing nervously, shifting on the seat. 

OMG MY SHOW IS ON!

Waitttt, not an unexpected Q and A!

Awww, that’s so sweet ya’ll do family stuff like that. 🥰

I’ve literally never seen an entire family be so damn fine. Lawd. 

Stop, I’ve been waitinggg for this like you don’t even knowwww.

“Okay.” Tama claps, gesturing around and offering explanation. “So, we’re having a family boat day, and since our little siblings are off doing them, we figure why not do the part 2 ya’ll been hounding us for since the first video.”

“And since we didn’t get to some of the frequently asked questions, we’ll try to answer those as well as some of the other questions specifically for Leya,” Lina offers, looking at her parents and twin for some type of confirmation that they’re ready.

“Let’s just get this shit over with.”

“Daddy,” Leya and Lina scold in synch, the younger of the twins serving as a mini Solana as she warns him, “be nice.” 

Stop. Cause Roman is so damn funny! 😂

Now why ya’ll keep making this man do this shit? 🥲

Solana is soooo pretty. Geesh.

This might sound stupid, but I never realized just how different Lina and Leya look. Like, they’re twins, but they look different? Does that make any sense?

Lina, reading some of the comments, catches one and uses it as a starting point. “That’s actually something I get asked a lot. If sissy and I are identical or fraternal twins, and we are….” She looks over at Leya, letting her answer.

“Identical,” Leya smiles and giggles, nervously pushing a ringlet behind her ear. “But, I think because we are so different, that makes it seem like we’re fraternal.”

A statement that no one disagrees with. One look at the girls, and it’s obvious they’re twins, but a few minutes into conversation, one can see the stark differences. Even with assessing their apparel, Leya dressing in more traditional “girly” outfits. Lots of pink and dresses. Lina, if wearing a dress, bound to show an amount of skin that has her dad reaching for his medication.

“And, I guess since we’re on it, one of the things ya’ll ask a lot about, too, is what it’s like being a twin,” Lina recites the question she’s seen pop up at least a hundred times, offering the initial answer. “I won’t speak for my sissy, but I can say for me, Leya is my absolute best friend. Like, familial soulmate. I could never do life without her. I know you guys are so used to seeing me with Tama all the time, and that’s my partner in crime for life, but sissy?” She shakes her head. “My other half.”

Solana and Leya are both pouting, clearly choked up from Lina’s rare display of vulnerability. “Catalina.” Leya whines, hugging her sister from the side. “I love you.” 

“Love you too, sissy,” Lina blows her sister a kiss, looking over at her brother, signaling him to take over once more.

“Alright, sappy stuff out the way, let’s get into more of these questions.” Tama has his phone out now, the list of questions in front of him. “Oooh, this one’s good.” He looks over at his parents. “How many tattoos do ya’ll have?”

Solana makes a face at the same time Roman scoffs. She’s the first to answer, frowning almost. “I don’t even know, to be honest.” She lifts her arms just enough, turning them inward to expose her inner forearms, providing an unobscured view of her inked skin. “I have butterfly tattoos for all my kids, my husband, and our late dog.” She gestures to her side. “I have a matching tattoo with some of my best girlfriends who are like sisters.” Her hand hovers over her clavicle. “Another tattoo for my husband.” Solana gestures to the space below the back of her neck. “Another one back there.” She stops, having to think. “One that my sister-in-law and I got together. Another shared one with girlfriends.” Solana looks over at Roman, somewhat asking, “I think that’s it.”

He nods, agreeing, offering a much simpler explanation. “Full sleeve on both arms. Chest. Back. And all of my tattoos are almost entirely tribal along with my family’s names included in various parts.” Nothing beyond that, which is expected. Roman is a man of few words when more is not required, and participating in a Q an A for his teenagers’ social media platform isn’t an exception for that.

Solana laughs quietly, apologizing, “sorry, that wasn’t a number, but we have a lot, I suppose.”

“Close enough, mama,” Tama shrugs, asking the latter portion. “And, the other part was if you would be okay with us getting tattoos someday?”

Roman tackles that one. “As long as you let us know, so you can use our tattooist and not some random incompetent person, we don’t care.”

Solana nods, offering while speaking more to the viewers. “Yeah, I mean, it would feel a bit hypocritical if we wouldn’t approve of them having tattoos when we ourselves have them, you know?”

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is how you do good parenting. 👆🏽

I genuinely love and appreciate how fair your parents are. 

I love how their tattoos all have meaning. 🥺

Wish more parents could be like ya’ll’s tbh. 

“We’ve all talked about it actually,” Leya partially surprises the group by speaking up, nervously fiddling with the strap of her bikini top. “The three of us getting a matching tattoo once we’re all 18.”

“What are ya’ll gonna get?” Roman asks, clearly intrigued, Solana beside him emoting the same interest. 

“Haven’t decided yet,” Lina answers. “But, we’ll run it by you before we do so.”

“I want lips on my neck,” Tama smirks, earning an eye roll from his father and a scowl from his mom.

“Don’t come up in my house with that shit,” Roman warns, making his son laugh.

Tama’s grin is shit-eating. “Come on, OTC, you not gon’ support me?”

“Not when you’re doing stupid shit like that.” 

“Honey, please,” Solana scolds lightly, moving her hand to Roman’s knee. “Be nice.”

“Naw, mommy, he’s right. We can’t have Tama out here embarrassing our family like that,” Lina backs up her dad, shaking her head. “It’s bad enough he’s the family hoe.”

“You really wanna—never mind,” Tama stops himself. As much as they all like to joke around each other, he recognizes not everything needs to be put online. And even hinting at something like his sister liking to date around could invite all kinds of hateful comments. He doesn’t want to put her through that and won’t. “Anyway, moving on.”

Lmaooo this whole family is so funny, I swear. 😂😂😂

This deadass is better than cable. 😭

Getting a tattoo of lips on your neck is so tacky, I’m sorry. 🙄

It’s always so cute how Solana is trying to reign in that mean ass husband of hers. 

“Leya, what sports, if any, do you play?” Tama reads off the question, looking over at his sister who is once again visibly nervous at having the attention on herself. 

“I’m on the dance team at school, but that’s it,” she answers, smiling shyly while gesturing to her nearby siblings. “Sissy and Tama have always been the sporty ones.”

“Our younger brothers also play sports, but Leya, our middle sister, and our baby sister aren't really into sports like that.”

Roman chuckles. “Especially the middle one.”

“We tried.” The faintest hint of an amused smile on Solana’s face as she looks up at her husband. “Our youngest and middle just don’t like sports.” 

That one sentence evokes laughter from the teens, Tama being the one to share bits and pieces of what they’re all thinking of.

“Dad tried to get our middle sister to give at least one sport a chance last year, so she picked soccer, and it was the funniest thing ever,” Tama runs his hand over his face, vividly recalling that iconic and hilarious day.

“At the one and only game she played in, she was literally just standing there posing for the photographer, ran in the opposite direction when the ball was coming towards her, was picking daisies.” Lina wipes at her eyes, tears forming from the comedy of it all. “It was honestly the best day ever.”

Leya giggles. “Didn’t she ask when the next game was?”

“Never,” Roman answers, shaking his head. “I told her never. Had us all up there early to watch her literally do nothing.”

“Not true, daddy, she was serving in them photos,” Lina counters with a snort. If there’s one thing her little sister will have, it’s sass. She sees a lot of herself in Aria sometimes, especially as she gets older.

LMAO not the baby picking flowers during a whole ass game! 😂

Oooh, I know Roman was irritated as hell. 😫

It’s giving ya’ll should have just left lil ma’am alone.’ 

Ya’ll need to start recording shit or something. This is comedy GOLD. 🤣

Where are ya’ll? 👀

“On our family's yacht,” Tama answers, gesturing around with his arms. “On top of the world.”

Perusing the comments, he's met with mostly playful comments of jealousy and questions about his parents openness towards adoption. But, as always with the internet, there’s the few sour patches that seek to only spew negativity and hatred.

I heard that their mom was an escort who got pregnant to trap the dad, and he just got stuck with her.

@/user???? What the hell? Where did you even hear that?

Saw it on a gossip website. 

@/user I believe it. The mom looks the type. Shame the daughters will probably go down the same route. Look at how they’re all dressed. Like sluts.

Lina is too preoccupied, going through her list of questions, sharing it with Leya to see what she wants to answer next, that she doesn’t see the hateful, libelous, judgmental conversation. But, he does, and that’s more than enough.

The complete shift in Tama’s voice and expression draws the attention of his family. If there was any doubt about how much he's like his father, it's squashed as anger overtakes his features. Straight up Roman. “Hey, look, ya’ll can miss me with that disrespectful shit. Say what you want about me, but keep my sisters’ and mama’s name out ya’ fucking mouths.” 

The profanity isn’t something that earns a warning comment from Solana, as she knows her son well enough to know Tama only really curses in front of her when something’s really irked him or he’s extremely upset, the latter of which seems to be the case.

And, Lina, true to Lina nature, doesn’t even need to know the context to back her brother up. “Cause the tea is ya’ll would never say it to our faces. Period.”

Never. That’s what helps both the hotheaded teens maintain their composure when it comes to the online bullshit that comes with having their platform sometimes. People only say the shit they do, because they can hide behind keyboards and burner accounts. Never would they be bold enough to spew such vitriol in front of them.

Not without getting they ass beat, of course. 

and that is how you shut shit down. 👆🏽

I love how Tama doesn’t play about his mom and sisters. You can tell Roman taught him right.

Idk wtf that other user is talking about. Just looking for attention.🥴 I live in the same city as them, and it’s a known fact their parents' marriage was a business arrangement, and they ended up falling in love. 

@/user Oooh anything else you can share?

@/user What you see on here is pretty much what you get. Roman doesn’t play about his family, and everyone around town knows Lina and Tama are just mini him’s. Messing with them has never turned out well for anyone…

“What did they say?” Come’s Roman’s deep voice. Similar to his son, all business. 

Solana moves her hand to his biceps, subtly moving it up and down to comfort him, murmuring something indecipherable for the viewers.

“It’s not worth it,” Leya’s comment is aimed towards both her siblings and her dad, a small nod shared between herself and her mom, the calmer of the five. “Let’s just keep going.” 

A heavy sigh from both the men, followed by a quiet ‘okay’ from Tama. Nothing from Roman. He’ll most likely follow up when the Live ends or when they get home in the evening. 

He’s never been the best with letting things lie.

Not when it comes to his kids. 

“What about this one,” Lina starts, reading off the question aimed towards her parents. “What’s it like having so many kids with such different ages?”

Solana looks at Roman, partially wondering if he wants to tackle a chunk of this one while also speaking aloud. “I don’t know if I agree that you all have such different ages.”

“Yeah, the gaps aren't excessively wide,” Roman nods, somewhat surprising his wife and kids at his willingness to answer. "And, it’s always a lot in some way, but we make it work.” 

“I think what also helps is how the kids naturally group up,” Solana adds, gesturing to her eldest set. “These three have always been close, but also, even with that, there's still our baby child who’s so much younger than the rest of the kids, so it can be a little difficult with her sometimes.”

Solana shifts on the seat, speaking more directly to the viewers, her discomfort waning by the minute. 

“I have to remind my older kids sometimes, even Roman if he’s not very happy about her having more than one playdate a week, Lina, Leya, and Tama all have each other. Our twin boys are two peas in a pod, best friends. Our middle daughter bounces back and forth between them and the OG’s. But, our baby child doesn’t have that.” She shakes her head, continuing to clarify. “She doesn’t really have a sibling that she has that best friend type bond with because she’s so much younger than everyone else, so yes, there are definitely times I’m sure they’d love for her to leave them alone, but we can’t have her friends at our house all the time, so there are occasions where somebody has to play with her.” The smallest smile and little shrug. “My husband and I do what we can, but it’s not uncommon for her to want to play with her brothers and sisters.”

“Us. Not our little brothers,” Tama points out, earning a small groan from Lina.

“No, life is so much easier when our parents don’t try to force them to interact.”

Leya pouts, lightly protesting. “Mommy and daddy don’t force them.”

Wait, what’s the story there? 🥲

Random, but Solana calling ya’ll little sister the baby child is so cute. 🥹

How old is the youngest?

@/user 6, I think.  

God forgive me, but I been focused this whole Live on how damn fine ya’ll mama and daddy is. LAWD. 😪

I know it’s big, too. I just know it.

YA’LL PLEASE. 😭😭😭

Lol is there a story there?

Tama chuckles, catching the last comment. “The Littles—that’s what we call our youngest three siblings—have never gotten along. They’re always going at it.”

Solana nods, unable to disagree. 

“We talk about this a lot, actually.” She motions to Roman who shakes his head, clearly recalling one of several shouting matches between his youngest set of kids. “We don’t know what happened, because these three have always been so close. Always.” She sighs. “Our youngest three, though? I feel like they’ve been at odds since they were old enough to talk.”

“Because they were,” Roman grunts, running a hand over his face. “I think it’s their different personalities as well as the age difference.”

Leya frowns, offering agreement. “The Littles go at it a lot, sadly.”

“Definitely what dad said. Our baby sister is rainbows and sunshine, but our little brothers are just like our dad. Mean as hell.”

“Tamasa.”

“Sorry, mama.”

“But, they can be mean sometimes, mommy,” Lina moans, shrugging. “So can daddy, and we still love him.” She sucks her teeth, glancing at the time in the corner of her phone, knowing it’s only a matter of time before Samaria or Aroha wake up. “Okay, let’s do a few more.”

And, they do, a mixture of questions for Roman and Solana, Leya, the family as a whole, even requests for videos down the road. 

Roman wasn’t with that last part.

“How do you guys manage such good parenting?” Tama reads the question, no trace of humor in voice, as he honestly and vulnerably shares, “I’d say best instead of good.”

Solana smiles warmly. “Thank you, baby.” She takes a breath, looking once again at Roman. “I can take this one?” He nods, hand on the small of her back, rubbing small circles. “Umm…we just really do our best to keep an open door, non-judgmental policy with all of our kids. We’ve always strived to make sure they know there’s nothing they can’t talk to us about. Nothing at all.” Something felt and shared by every Reigns' kid, from the youngest to the oldest. “But, mostly, Roman and I agreed, back when I was still pregnant with Lina and Leya, that we weren’t going to be like our parents.” She motions to herself with one hand and her husband with the other. “I won’t speak for him, but I had a very.…traumatic childhood, with a lot of abuse, so I essentially worked to give them everything that I didn’t get, and I’d like to think it’s worked so far.”

“It has, mommy,” Leya murmurs, offering a warm smile. “It really has.”

“You guys really are the best.” A sentiment shared by Tama as well who nods in agreement. 

“Thanks, ya’ll,” Roman’s deep voice sounds. Appreciative. Content. Moved. 

Awwww. You can see how much the kids love their parents. 

It’s obvious RoSo have the best parenting style, cause look how great and close they all are.

Noooo, who was hurting on our mom, guys? 😭

More parents should utilize similar approaches. Listening to your kids is so important.

Wish they were my parents…. 

Tama clears his throat. “Alright, enough of all the sentiment stuff.” Roman chuckles, as the women shake their heads. “Now for the final and most important question.” A dramatic pause that makes sense for the dramatic teen. “Who are your favorites of all the kids?”

A shared eye roll between mother and father, Roman announcing, “yeah, we’re done with this shit.”

“We gotta give the people what they want!”

“I don’t give a fuck about the people.”

“Daddy,” Leya lightly scolds, Lina with a small, knowing smile on her face. 

The eldest looks towards the viewers. “And, this is why we don’t do this sort of thing more often.” 

That man really don’t be giving a fuck lmaooo

Ya’ll omg Roman really is a real life Squidward. 🥴

He’s such a damn mood.

Nooo, we gotta do it again soon. These Lives are always so much fun!

“Your sisters will probably be up soon anyway, guys,” Solana reminds, and she’s not wrong. It’s about time not only for the boys to be pulled from their self-imposed isolation, their sisters to arise from their slumber, but Solana to get started on dinner as well. And, she’ll most likely need some sort of help, even if she won’t ask for it. 

It’s only when she stands up and stretches, readying to leave, Roman standing with her, his hands moving down to grasp and squeeze her ass, Solana giggling and playfully slapping his chest that the comments take yet another turn. 

Goddamn! Ya’ll mama got some ass on her!!!! 👀👀👀👀

@/user some? She got ALL the ass. 🤯

To say she’s had seven kids, that body is TEA.

Someone said it on the last Live, but it must be jam, cause jelly don’t shake like that. 😩

Alexa, play “Thick” by 2 Chainz. 🍑

Not to be that person, but does anyone know how she got those scars? We obviously see the one on her face, but I had no idea they were all over her body as well….

@/user to my knowledge, they’ve never commented on it, but given she just mentioned abuse during her childhood, my guess would be from that 🥺

Roman and Solana engage in brief, quiet conversation, the Tribal Chief nodding as he lowers his sunglasses and nods, stepping aside so Solana can walk past him. She looks back once more, waving and offering a cheerful, “bye” to the viewers only to be cut off by her husband slapping her ass. “Roman!”

He says nothing, nor does he offer any sort of parting term, instead walking behind his wife as they head towards the staircase, clearly aiming to go check on the other kids.

Stopppp. That lil interaction between them. 🥹

He might be a dick, but it’s plain as day that man love the hell out of his wife. 🤷🏽‍♀️

That height difference omggg. Either she’s super little, or he’s big asf.

@/user both. Been in the same room as both. She’s short asf, and he’s even bigger in person.

Wait, cause he even walks like it’s heavy. 😶

@/user that’s cause it is. 

But, checking on the kids only provides the same situation Roman left them in, Aria and Roro still knocked out and the boys gaming. Nothing new to see. However, instead of rejoining the teens, or even leading her to the kitchen to get started on dinner, Roman takes her hand, guiding her to their cabin.

A small smile sets on her face. 

Solana knows as soon as he shuts, and locks, the door exactly what he wants. 

The smallest smile on her face, taking in his big frame as he moves towards her. “The kids—”

“Littles are occupied,” is his easy counter. Standing in front of her, his hand lifts, finger trailing down the exposed skin of her shoulder. “So are the big ones.”

She makes a sound. “You sure?”

He, too, makes a sound, accompanied by him stepping closer, vanishing that distance between them. Roman’s hands move behind her, landing on her ass. “Very.”

Her palms rest on his chest, fingers crumpling the material of his black shirt. “So, what should we do?”

A deep chuckle as he squeezes her ass, Solana hissing in response. He smirks. “I think you know exactly what we should do.”

Her smile widens, and she wastes no time sliding her hands up and behind his neck, pulling down, smashing her lips onto his. Hungry, needy, desperate almost, kissing is always an art, a song and dance of sorts. Lips moving with equal fervor, hands grasping and exploring, groping. A moan into his mouth makes Roman’s dick jerk in his shorts. 

Backing and guiding her against the bed, he only allows a brief respite in their passionate makeup for Solana to push his shirt up his body, forcing him to rid himself of it entirely. Hazy, lustful eyes take in his shirtless frame, Solana’s short nails raking across his six pack. 

Roman’s jaw clenches as his wife starts to trail her lips down his chest, starting with his throat, moving downward. His eyes shut, head lolled back, only to stop when her fingers move to his waistband. He looks down, their eyes locking, his own lip darting out to wet his bottom lip.

Roman gently shakes his head, instead guiding her back up, his gaze darkening. “Need to taste you…”

Receiving is never an unpleasant time, but giving…giving is more for him than anything, and two days without any sort of sexual contact has Roman craving and borderline yearning. 

He needs her.

Solana steps back, mouth parted, eyes never leaving his. An undisturbed moment of locked eye contact, or it would be, but not for the fact that she reaches behind her back with both hands, his dick twitching once more watching the thin straps of her bikini top tumbling down, eventually falling to the floor. 

Salivation is the result of her breast, heavy, big, perfect, exposed to him. No time is wasted in Roman quickly pronouncing onto her, mouth latching onto her chocolate nipples. 

“Ro….” Solana’s moan is accompanied by her hand at the back of his neck, fingers undoing the hair tie, freeing his silky mane as he sucks on her breast. Her hand rakes through his hair, massaging his scalp the same way his free hand massages and kneads her other breast.

Roman has always been an attentive and appreciative lover, but her breasts have always seemed to sit high at the top of his adoration list. Feeling that building throbbing between her legs, she tugs his head back, her lips back on his as he hikes her up on his waist and leads them to the king size bed.

He lowers them both down at the same time, never once breaking their kiss even as his hands maneuver down her body, thick fingers peeling back the top of her bikini bottoms and dipping into that sacred space.

“Shit, baby,” he curses, fingers toying and playing with her slick. “Barely touched you…”

“It doesn’t take much,” is her sheepish reply, kissing the bridge of his nose as he teases a knuckle near her gushy, sensitive opening. “Ro…”

His gaze and voice deepen, fingers continuing to collect her arousal. Arousal that practically drips from that same finger he pulls from inside her and dips into his mouth. Her throat dries at the same time he asks, almost pained, “you gon’ let me eat it?”

Her answer is pushing his head down and inching up the bed to remove her bottoms. Roman’s smirk is hidden as he steals another opportunity to leave a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses down her warm body, hands squeezing the pudge of her stomach, path detoured only slightly as he kisses across the horizontal line of her C-Section scar. 

Solana licks her lips, reaching for the pillow behind her, her body lifted by those same strong hands as he tugs her bottoms off, ridding him of the only thing keeping him from his destination. 

And, finally, arrival. 

Solana learned a long time ago that Roman’s consistent, constant, overt willingness to go down on her is always about her pleasure, yes, but also, his as well. Countless sexual encounters marked by her literally having, or trying at least, to push him away as he continues to suck on her clit even as her body practically shakes from the intensity of her orgasm serving as all the data to support the undeniable truth. 

He’s a pleaser through and through, and even after so many years together, that hasn't changed.

“Baby…” Her head is thrusted back into the pillow, her fingers raking through his scalp, his hand placed on her stomach keeping her steady as he sucks, laps, and feasts on her like a man starved. 

And, in many ways, he most certainly is.

Solana struggles to keep her volume down, just the thought of any of her children knowing what’s happening between their parents a thing of parental nightmares. But, it’s difficult with how good he’s making her feel. How he always makes her feel.

“Roman, please—” She groans, body writhing and snaking, that same feeling bubbling and escalating. Overwhelming, tears pooling in her eyes as pulling him toward her shifts into her trying to inch away from him. A fruitless act. He only tugs her closer, the space between his mouth and her pussy nonexistent. If he’s drowning, it’s self-induced. 

Self harm. Or, self love.

Solana has to reach for one of the pillows behind her, using it as a barrier and holding space for the groan—and moan—that escapes her mouth as he evokes a soul snatching orgasm from her. The black and stars and kaleidoscope of colors is her only visible sight as she keeps that pillow over her face until she trusts herself enough to remove it. Until she’s certain her sounds of unadulterated pleasure remain within the safe confines of their probably-should-be-soundproofed-at-some-point bedroom.  

“Could never get tired of that.” Clearly. Solana lifts the pillow from her face just in time to feel his wet lips reversing his previous trail, another detour taken as he presses her big breast together, eyes lighting up like one of their children on Christmas morning. “So damn fine…”

Solana silences him by kissing him once more, moaning at the taste of herself on his full, swollen lips. She tugs his body against hers, fingers scrambling down to his waistband.

She gasps, his mouth moving from her mouth to that delicious, sensitive spot on her neck, sucking, leaving his mark, a reminder to all just who she belongs to.

Who she’ll always belong to.

His boxers are the next to go, Solana unsurprised at how he springs free with equal need. She palms him, pussy clenching at the feeling of him hot, heavy, and rock hard in her hand.

She strokes him, thumb ghosting over the tip of his thick dickhead, collecting the pre-cum already spilling over. He jerks in her palm as gentle caressing transitions into her jerking him. “Fuck, baby….”

“Exactly,” she breathes. Solana lifts her hand from him, feeling him against her inner thigh, to cup his face. Eyes locked, determined, unwavering, a simple request. “Fuck me, papi.”

It’s such a stark difference that she too struggles with processing. Just how once upon a time, so long ago, sex was a thing they constantly had to navigate together. Starting with working up to him touching her body to the constant requests for consent as they made love to doing so without the need for Solana to provide approval every step along the way. 

Over the years, their sex life has continued to evolve, grown stronger, somehow even better despite them not being as young as they used to be. And, that’s included the different type of sexual interactions. For the most part, Solana enjoys making love with her husband, missionary a position she could never tire of, that intimate, consistent eye contact as they become one. 

But, sometimes….sometimes, she doesn’t want that. Doesn’t necessarily need that. Sometimes….sometimes, she just wants to be fucked.

And, right now, that’s exactly what she wants. 

It’s something her husband doesn’t need to be told twice.

One minute he’s on top of her, the next, she’s on her hands and knees, Roman working to position her. 

His deep groan sounds from behind as he slaps her ass, Solana moaning and head lolling once more. “Look at all this ass.” Yet another moan from the feel of him jiggling her ass cheeks and dragging his massive dick up and down her slick opening. “How wet you are for me.” She gasps, the tip of him teasing her tight hole. “This all for me, pretty girl?”

“Always,” she whimpers, wiggling her ass against him. “Ro, please—”

Solana groans, fingers digging into the crumpled, wet, messy sheets underneath her as he gradually inches inside of her. “You want papi to fuck you?” 

“Yes, papi, please.” She’s not beyond begging, never will be when it comes to this. It’s too good. She spent too long being deprived of a happy, healthy sex life and to now have one with her better half means she’ll never be above anything that will keep and sustain that.

“Whatever makes my pretty girl happy.” Roman’s deep voice is tinged with desire and a hint of humor as he continues to work his big dick inside of her. “Shit,” he curses. “All these years, and you’re still so tight for me, sweetheart.”

Her response is to continue to push her ass back against him, wanting, needing all of him. It’s a stretch that will probably never go away but one she typically tends to crave when they go too long without this. Without being with him in this way. A sort of intimacy she once thought never attainable and now something that’s a regular.

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, fully sheathed inside her. “So fucking beautiful…”

Praise and affirmation. A constant. Roman is many things with her, but it's especially in the bedroom where he always prioritizes her. Makes her feel special, cherished, wanted, and loved in a way that she can’t explain. Just knows it feels amazing. 

Just like the way he’s fucking into her.

“Just like that, Roman,” she moans, face into the pillow, a loud groan falling out her mouth. “Oh my God.”

His big hands remain planted on her hips as he drives into her. “Too much, baby?” A question that doesn’t require an answer, Roman intentionally slowing his thrusts. “Naw….I know exactly what my pretty girl can take, don’t I?”

She nods, already knowing almost immediately what’s gonna come. Roman jerks her up, her back against his chest, his dick digging deeper in her, prompting her jaw to slack, her pleasure extrapolating. 

Solana looks over her shoulder, holding onto his forearms, as her husband presses kisses alongside the side of her face. “You gotta talk to me, baby. Let me hear that sweet voice while I fuck this sweet pussy.” 

“I love it,” she moans, eyes fluttering, breathing against him. “I love you.” 

Because, she does. Because her life is exactly what it is now because of him. It’s all because of him, and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for him, no depth of love that hasn’t been scaled or explored. It’s all there, every inch of it venturedand claimed. She loves him in every possible sense of the word, and nothing could ever change that. 

Ever.

A shared sentiment as he kisses her, sloppy, wet, perfect. “I love you, too, Sol. Always.”

They’d go longer if they could. One round was something that seemed inconceivable to her husband who’s always had the highest sex drive a person could have, but with several children, many of which still needing a lot of their attention, both Roman and Solana know it unwise to risk it.

They’ve already scarred their oldest children being exposed to adult time and would rather not add to the victim tally. It’s why afterwards, Solana is in her favorite non-sexually intimate position, her naked body sprawled across her husband’s, his hand moving up and down her back, soothing and comforting. 

His fingers occasionally brush atop the bottom of her lotus tattoo inked at the top of her back.. She still remembers the day she got it, the emotions that accompanied, before, after, and during. She also remembers the ambivalence experienced by her husband. Such a specific and impactful thing. His difficulty in fucking her from behind, a position they worked so hard to achieve, and seeing that tattoo. For her, a reminder of her perseverance. For him, a reminder of her violation.

It took time, but like most of the challenges they’ve encountered over many years of being together, it was something they worked through.

At this point in her life, Solana isn’t sure there’s not much they can’t work through. 

“You okay?” His deep voice breaks her from her thoughts. Solana lifts her head, continuing to trace the outlines of his tattooed chest. 

“Yeah,” she answers, kissing his pectoral muscle. “I’m good.” 

Better than that. Life has continued, for the most part, to be on the upward path for her, and it all started with the man underneath her. Her marriage to him ended up being the best thing ever for the both of them, opening the door and carving the path to the life they have and the beautiful family they’ve created. 

Family…

Solana would never tell him. She knows her dramatic ass husband would go onto a whole long rant, pacing across the floor, hand on his hip, demanding her to take a test to relieve him of his nerves. 

But, sometimes, especially near the end of the act, when he’s finishing inside her, as he always does, she thinks about it. Wonders. Imagines what it would be like if maybe, just maybe, they had another baby.

If Aroha had a sibling “closer” in age to her, a thought that’s almost immediately shot down by a variety of strong, logical reasons. The main being that that would only create yet another situation of their baby child having an age gap with the other siblings. Another baby would mean at least a seven year age difference between Aroha and her younger sibling. The smallest distance in ages compared to the other children.

Not to mention the selfishness that comes with that thought. Solana and Roman aren’t as young as they used to be. Far from it. Welcoming another baby in their forties and fifties just feels selfish, especially considering Roman’s borderline midlife crisis and that situation last year. It would be wrong to do that to him. 

Then there’s lunacy that is having another another child when they already have seven.

Seven.

But ultimately, the fact that almost seven years have passed without a pregnancy, Solana spending almost her entire thirties being pregnant and having the bulk of her children is confirmation enough that even if she did want to actually try for one last baby, her biological clock won’t allow it.

That time has come and passed.

Hence why it just remains a thought, a fleeting, maybe even silly little thought.

“Baby….” Pulled from her thoughts once more, she frowns seeing his partial scowl, the crinkle near his eyes, all telltales for when he’s deep in thought. “What were you going to say earl—”

“Move out my way big back!”

“Better than having them big ass ears like daddy!”

And just like that, the mood is entirely shifted with the sound of Aria and Lina from outside the safe confines of their bedroom. A small, amused smile on Solana’s face as Roman throws his head back against the pillow and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Every single time.”

Leya’s shocked, disapproving gasp. “Sissy!”

Tama trying to play peacemaker, de-escalating what is a rarity. For the most part, Samaria gets along fine with her sisters, but when issues do arise, they’re typically between herself and Catalina. Mostly over Aria wanting to borrow Lina’s, well, anything. Solana would bet any money that’s what started the bickering. Aria asked to use something, and Lina said no. “Aye, ya’ll stop talking to each other like that, alright?”

Aroha’s sweet voice, partially muffled, most likely because she’s being held by Leya, face buried in her shoulder as she holds onto her big sister, still partially sleepy. “You’re gonna wake up mommy and daddy.”

Kai scoffs. “Like they’re sleep.”

“What else would they be doing?” Aria’s innocent question is met with silence followed by a set of mortified sounds.

Koa scoffs, audibly disgusted. “That’s so gross!”

Kai expresses agreement, her baby boy probably scowling, looking just like his daddy. “Aren’t there enough of us already?”

It’s almost comical to Solana how she can so clearly visualize the entire humorous scene without even seeing it unfold. Also, ironic words coming from her theatrical daughter. “You guys are so dramatic. Mommy and daddy are too old to have any more children.”

“But, not too old to fuck apparently—”

“Tamasa!” The sound of grunting, most likely from Lina punching him on his arm. 

And, then the worst thing ever, sweet Aroha asking with unalloyed innocence. “What does ‘fuck’ mean?”

At that, Roman snaps, breaking his silence, loud voice projecting past the barrier of the locked door. “Didn’t I tell ya’ll to stop cussing in front of your damn sister?” Solana presses her face into his chest, hiding her smile. An ironic statement.

A grumbled apology followed by snickering from her other kids.

“We’ll be out in a couple minutes, okay?” Solana also breaks her silence, offering what she knows is what has brought all of their children to their room. “And, yes, I’ll get started on dinner.”

Grumbling instantly shifts into sounds of relief and excitement, making her giggle.

Her kids are a hoot. 

But, she wouldn't have it any other way. She wouldn't have any of it any other way.

As the children start to disperse, the sound of Tama murmuring, most likely to Lina and Leya. “I thought sex drives were typically low in old people.”

"Tama!"

[trippinsorrows]

visits

authors note: this is just a flashback short that provides some more insight into this whole messy dynamic. specifically, roman's "history" of involvement with the twins.

limited, random tags, cause i'm lazy, but also it feels too short for the whole taglist. if you're meant to see this, it'll come across your dash, i'm sure.

the space between us // stuck // truth //

words: 1.3k

warnings: fluff and angst

Shaking the bottle in hand, my light humming serves as a soundtrack as I make my way out of the kitchen and down the short hall that leads to the living room. The minute my bare feet connect with carpet instead of wooden floor, my sight is replaced with something different. No longer the family photos that line the wall and the dresser in the hallway, my humming dimming into something non-audible. My lips curving upward into a small smile.

I’m not sure if he hears me. He might. He might not. He’s always been so perceptive and aware, alarmingly so, but I’ve noticed since them, when he’s with them, the world seems so much smaller. Like, he doesn’t have to be on alert at all times. Like he can just be him. Him with them.

Kaiden sits on the floor beside him, eyes focused on the TV that plays some kids program. I’m not sure of the name. I just know it has my baby boy’s full attention, that small smile on his face as he bounces on his bottom, little arms raised, tight grip on the toy in his hand.

His babbling is matched only by the equal, if not same, sound coming from his sister who couldn’t care less about what plays on the TV. She’s too focused, too entertained, on/by the man currently holding her up high, above his head, that small smile on his face so similar to the little boy who sits only a few inches away. Not too far. Never too far when he’s over.

Moving onto the floor next to my son, my own smile widens when he lays his eyes on me. His eyes. Incoherent sounds that mimic the closest thing to a word an eight-month old is capable of as he reaches for the bottle in my hand.

I move it in front of him, giggling as he starts to crawl speedily in my direction. Kaiden’s hands easily wrap around said bottle as I pull him into my lap at the same time his little lips move to the nipple, cheeks hollowing as he starts to down the milk.

My hand moves to the top of his full head of hair, pressing a kiss to the crown before my gaze flits over to where Kaydence is now standing in between Roman’s legs, her little hands tugging on his shirt as she also babbles incoherently.

There’s something about the way he focuses on her, gives her his undivided attention, like every sound that leaves her mouth is a collection of words that makes all the sense in the world. Like she’s actually having a conversation with him. And, in some ways, she is.

She’s trying to communicate with him.

It’s a bittersweet realization. One that has my smile slowly disappearing, the realization of what that means, something I always knew would come but never expected to feel like this. Didn’t expect it to….to hurt like this.

“They’re getting older….”

It’s the first time he allows his gaze to leave her. Or him. A quick glance. “Yeah, they are.”

And, then he’s looking back at her, Kaydence giggling happily as she falls into his chest, little arms reaching, as if trying to hug him. My heart swells. Roman doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace, his eyes shutting as his big hand seems to swallow the back of Kaydence head.

It’s a precious, rare moment of vulnerability. Of emotion. Of one emotion in particular.

If only I could bring myself to voice as such.

Kaiden making a sound is an appreciated distraction, my attention for the next few minutes keeping a close eye on him as he continues to drink his milk, making sure everything goes down the right way, that he stays sitting up and against me. But, it’s when the milk is almost depleted, the bottle nearly empty that I know I need to do it.

Need to say it.

“They’re gonna start talking soon…”

I’m threading the needle, playing in the safe space of in-between the lines, but Roman is an intelligent man. The smartest person I know. He knows exactly what I’m saying without me needing to say it.

And, it’s not like we didn’t discuss it. Like we didn’t already go over how all of this would work. The “role” he could play and have until it no longer became an available role. He agreed to all of it, voiced understanding, just a desire to have some sort of interaction/relationship with them.

And, I allowed it. It felt like the right thing. The only right thing I could do in such a wrong situation, because the fact of the matter is he’s been involved since the very beginning. Even beyond our friendship that transitioned into more, but, specifically, this pregnancy. Every check up appointment, he asked about. Requested sonogram photos. Purchased clothes and toys for them under the alias of that random, nameless relative in Mexico that Cody, thankfully, has never really bothered to ask about.

Was the first man to hold them. To do skin to skin with them. Not Cody.

A small part of me feels awful for that. I feel awful for a lot of things, but all of the “firsts” Cody believes he’s had with “his” children were already snatched and occupied by another man.

The children’s actual father.

Kaydence little mouth opens into a yawn as she snuggles into Roman’s arms in the new position where her face is turned into his chest. He looks down at her while acknowledging me. “They’re not talking yet.”

I swallow, the action suddenly much more difficult than what makes sense. At the same time, Kaiden finishes his bottle, prompting me to take it from him, reaching and placing it on the coffee table. Naturally, he reaches for me as I pull him into my arms, his head on my shoulder. My hand goes to his back, gentle pats accompanying my soft reply, “I can’t risk it, Roman.”

His jaw clenches, his focus still on a now sleeping Kaydence. “There’s nothing to risk right now, Solana.”

A quiet sigh. “But, there could be.” I alternate between pats and circular rubs, working to maintain a focus between the man across from me and the baby in my arms.

Our baby.

“It can happen at any time. They’re at the age where they’re going to, and I can’t…I need to make sure—”

It’s only then he looks at me, gaze pointed and intense. “Make sure what?”

I hate this. This conversation. This dynamic. This situation. All of it. But, in this moment, I hate nothing more than the fact he has me backed into a corner. That he knows exactly what I’m trying to say, but this time, he wants me to say it. Wants me to feel it the same way he does.

Hate.

Another swallow, this time, my throat much drier than I remember. “That they know I’m mama.” I can hear the crack before it even occurs. The shatter. “And that Cody….is daddy.”

There’s that flare of his nose, the shifting of his jaw as he looks away from me, like his gaze on me is something that only causes discomfort. Causes anger. Causes hurt.

My eyes shut, as I hear shifting across from me. Reopening revealing that he’s now standing, Kaydence knocked out in his arms. “Roman—”

“Not now.” A cold, icy dismissal as he walks off, away from me, our daughter still secured in his arms.

One of two children I’ve more or less just told him today could be his last day seeing.

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: little do you know

authors note: this is part three of the ’can you stand the rain’ mini series within dreamland. make sure you’ve read ’the rough patch’ and 'faded' before reading this one.

warnings: angst (including discussion and mention of disease)

words: 13k

song inspo/rec listening: little do you know by alex and sierra

Lina isn’t having a good day.

Not really. 

It’s not horrible, but it’s not great, either.

Almost burning herself with her flat iron, completely forgetting about that quiz in Geometry that she’s certain she probably flunked, on top of a shitty soccer practice, she’s just ready for the day to be over so that she can try again tomorrow. 

Never mind the fact that she’s had more….not so great days than she’d like to admit. 

Some really bad days, even.

But, fresh out of the shower, ready and eager to call it a day by getting in bed and sleeping her problems—not really—away, seems like the best plan. Unfortunately, it’s a plan that won’t come to fruition. It doesn’t come to fruition because the minute Lina opens the door to her bedroom, not only is the light already on, but her space is occupied.

Her siblings. All of them sans Aroha who was put to bed by their mom almost an hour ago. 

Leya sits on her twin sister's bed, legs crossed, chewing down on her bottom lip. A clear indication of anxiety. Aria is right next to her in the same position, looking even more worried than her big sister. Koa sits at the chair at her desk, Kai on her fluffy bean bag. Normally, she’d tell him to get off, but the bothered expression on his face, Koa’s as well, has her biting back her comment.

Tama stands, leaning against the wall near the doors of her balcony, arms crossed, gaze mostly downward, eyes lifting up to hers only for a minute. Lina frowns. Of all her brothers and sisters, Tama is the only one who doesn’t look nervous or anxious or even frightened.

He looks pissed off.

Lina waits to close, and lock, the door behind her before stepping into the room, gaze suspicious. “What’s going on?”

Tama is the first to answer. “We need to talk.”

Lina scoffs. “Clearly.” She also crosses her arms, expression softening as she looks at her twin. “What’s going on, sissy?

Except, it’s not her womb mate who answers. It’s instead a clearly shaken Samaria. “Mom and dad aren’t sleeping in the same room anymore.” 

“Wh–what?” Lina has to break a small smile. It has to be the craziest thing she’s heard all day, and she’s not afraid to express as such. “That’s ridiculous.”

Aria shakes her head. “I saw it.” Shifting on the bed, she starts to explain. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” Just that portion makes Lina’s smile drop. She’s never known her little sister to not be able to sleep, but something tells Lina she knows exactly why. Not that she’ll admit it. Not aloud, at least. “So, I got up around 1 to get some Melatonin out of the kitchen, and when I was coming up the steps, I saw daddy go in one of the guest bedrooms.”

Lina stills. “What?”

Leya’s frown deepens. “I know.”

Again, another unimaginable thing, prompting Lina to shake her head. “He was probably getting something.”

“I waited, Lina,” comes Samaria’s small voice, her shoulders dropping. “I waited for 15 minutes on the stairs to see if he would come out.” Her voice goes quiet, frown deepening like her sister beside her. “He didn’t.”

Lina has never really been the child with nothing to say. In fact, most would argue that she has too much to say. No sign of a filter anywhere. Her father’s daughter in every sense and way. But, in that moment, she’s truly speechless. Koa is the one to voice exactly what she’s thinking.

“That’s never happened before.” He looks around the room. “This has never happened before.”

“It’s getting worse,” Kai adds, making eye contact with Lina. “First it was the ignoring each other, then the fighting, and now they’re not even sleeping in the same room?” He shakes his head, jaw clenching. “Something’s going on with them.”

“I think we know what’s going on.” Tama breaks his silence, voice just as tight as the expression on his face. “Dad did something.”

At that, Lina breaks her silence. “What?” 

Tama kicks his foot off the wall, arms still crossed. “It’s obvious, Lina, and you know it.” His eyes flash with something before hardening once more. “I think he che—”

“Don’t you say that,” Leya’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and threatening almost. It draws all sets of eyes on her. “Dad would never cheat on mom.”

“Then, why is all this happening?” He demands, anger clearly masking the same fear and confusion the rest of them are experiencing. “And, if he’s not the one who did something, then why isn’t he in their bedroom and mom the one in the guest room? She put him out.” 

“That’s not even like dad,” Koa speaks up, looking at his twin. “He loves mom.”

“He loves all of us,” Lina corrects, demanding the attention and floor once more. “And, he would never hurt her or us like that.” Lina’s second statement is directed to her younger brother, her best friend in a lot of ways, different from her connection with Leya but still deep. However, in that moment, they couldn’t be on two different pages. She sees it though. Sees that the anger is just a cover-up for what he’s really feeling. They’re similar like that. Emotions sometimes being harder for them to open up about, but right now, in this moment, she doesn’t have the luxury of letting those feelings flow.

Her siblings need her.

It’s time to be the big sister. 

“Look guys, Tama is right that something is definitely going on, but it’s not that. It’s….something they’re not telling us, and it’s probably because it’s none of our business.” Which, Lina can wholly understand, she may only be almost 15, but she’s smart enough to know there are some things husbands and wives keep between themselves, and this has to be one of them. “But, what we do know is how busy they’ve been these past few months. Ripping and running, taking care of us.” She frowns a bit. “They barely have time for themselves.” Or each other. “We’ve gotta….we’ve gotta help them.” She has the focus of all her siblings, something sustains as she sets her plan in motion. “We are going to help them.”

Samaria is the one to ask, voice still low, concern still abundant. “But, how?”

Kai voices agreement, shrugging and reminding, “we’re just kids.” 

“That doesn’t mean we’re helpless,” is her calm counter, Lina’s brain calculating and planning in real time as she shares her plans. “We can help them, and we will by easing their stress. Not making things hard for him.” She starts with Koa and Kai. “No more hacking.” Then Aria, “I know you like to talk about and do your plays for them, but for right now, if you have something to share, share it with one of us. And no asking daddy for anything. Mommy, neither.” Then, Leya, her gaze softening. “Sissy, if your anxiety gets bad, talk to me. If it happens at school, text me. I’ll help you.” Finally, Tama. Lina takes a deep breath. “You and I can’t crash out like we do. If someone pisses us off, we just have to brush shit off or something. Work it out in the gym.” A look around the room, a general statement. “We can’t make things harder for them, you guys. They can’t…they can’t handle it right now.”

Lina won’t admit it, but a part of her is scared what will happen if they don’t make these changes.

What it could mean for the family as a whole. 

Koa speaks up, suggesting, “we could maybe pick up some chores, too.”

Leya nods, clearly agreeing. “Take over laundry.”

“We can also alternate cleaning the kitchen, maybe even cooking,” Samaria adds, the rest of them clearly in agreement.

“Exactly. We do as much as we can so they can do as little as possible.” It feels like a good, solid plan, one that clearly has the cosign of them all, Tama included, who offers a small nod of agreement.

Lina is ready to also suggest they try to handle dinner more days than not when a small knock on her door is followed by it opening. Her expression softens. 

“Roro, what are you doing up?”

Aroha answers in the softest voice, rubbing at her eyes. “I had a bad dream.” A frown followed up with an almost emotional, “and, mommy and daddy didn’t answer the door when I knocked.”

Lina stills. Was it because mom didn’t want Aroha seeing that daddy wasn’t sleeping in the room with her? Is she in the bathroom, maybe? Slept through the knocking? Lina has no idea, she just watches as Leya opens her arm for Roro who shuffles over to the bed, climbing into Leya’s lap as she holds her and kisses the top of her head.

Sighing, Lina closes the door and waits for Leya to calm down their little sister before sitting on the edge of her bed. “Aroha…” Roro’s eyes fall on her, waiting and expecting. “I know…I know you like to wear your costumes to school, but you gotta wear your uniform every day for a little while.” Remembering something else, she adds, “and you gotta make sure to put all your toys away when you’re done playing, okay?”

Before Aroha can ask an understandable question of why, Leya is already five steps ahead. “We’re all trying to help mommy and daddy a little more, and make things easier for them, so they don’t get so stressed.” She cranes her head to look at her while asking. “Does that make sense?” 

Somewhat to Lina’s surprise, Aroha nods slowly, following up with a question of her own. Quiet. Soft. Hopeful. “And then they’ll be happy again?”

It’s such an innocent but valid question. One Leya, nor Lina, or any of the Reigns’ children, have the answer to, because they all have similar, scarier questions. 

Can their parents be happy again?

As her siblings spill out, all in agreement with the plan, Leya holding Aroha who will sleep with her tonight, Lina extends her arm to stop Tama as he’s the last to leave.

She looks at him. “Hey.” Lina moves to close the door, standing and leaning against it. “Don’t do that.”

Tama gives it away without even saying a word, eyes diverted to the corner of her room, the bookshelf that houses countless trophies. Similar to the ones in his room. “Do what?”

“That thing we do,” she sighs. “Where we have a shit ton of feelings and hold it all in.” A pause. “Or, take it out on people.”

He cracks the smallest smile, and in that moment, he reminds her a lot of the man he’s holding that anger towards. 

“What you’re thinking, Tamasa….” Her little brother returns his gaze to her, smile wiped and replaced with that same expression. “He didn’t do it. Daddy would never cheat on mom.” Words already said but also words that need to be repeated. “You’ve seen how he is with her. He’s not like that with anyone except her. He loves her.”

A heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I know. I know. It’s just…” He shakes his head, running his hands through his long hair. “I just don't know what else to think. Whatever it is has to be bad for her to put him out the room, Lina.”

“I agree.” Because, she does. Catalina can’t and won’t deny that. “But, it’s not that, and it will never be that, because I know daddy, and so do you. He’s not that kinda guy.” Lina sighs, pulling from historical receipts. “The way you treat mommy. How protective you are of her and how much you love her. Where do you think you got that from?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. Doesn’t need one. “Daddy. You got it from daddy. Since you were little, he’s always shown and talked with you about how women should be treated. So, why would he do the opposite?”

She’s met with silence, expected and appreciated, because she knows, like herself, when Tama is quiet, it’s because he’s thinking. Reflecting. Processing.

Just like daddy.

“You’re right.” A sigh of defeat, the anger from earlier almost entirely melted away. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Lina sighs. “Exactly.” She reaches out her hand, lightly squeezing his shoulder. “We’re gonna get through this….alright?”

A small nod, their gazes locked, the smallest wry smile falling on his face. “Thanks, Lina.” She smiles back. “Who knew you had a heart somewhere in there?”

“Shut up, dumbass.” She rolls her eyes, the two sharing laughter as she offers, “hey, you wanna join me for my workout tomorrow after school?”

His eyes light up, the answer and obvious one. “Hell yeah.” The older Tama gets, the more she’s found they bask and revel in their shared love of sports and fitness, the reunification of the “terror non-twins” as their Uncle Dwayne used to call them.

They share a fist bump before he leaves, allowing Lina the silence to process it all. The conversation. The reassurance and hope she hopes she successfully fed her siblings. Hope that she can only pray doesn’t turn out to be fruitless. 

—-----

It’s a sickening sense of deja vu. A level of dread Solana never in a million years thought she’d have to experience. A type of hurt and pain that feels more physical than anything yet weighs down her mental unlike anything else. It’s knives to the chest, slashing and stabbing, slowly, gradually, carving out deeper and deeper, finding new layers to mar. To scar. 

To burn. 

To say Solana has been doing well would be a lie. A bold faced lie. She was already struggling, more than she realized, but this….this….this has been something entirely different. Something that's had her reaching for her PRN pills she hasn’t taken in God knows how long. A necessity given the two panic attacks she’s had since that.

It’s just too much. All of it. Solana has always done her best to remain as “strong” as possible, largely for her children, her entire world. But, she’s only human, and a woman, a woman who finds herself facing a type of betrayal she would have bet her life could and would never happen.

She was wrong.

So so wrong.

The first few days are the hardest though. Even harder than trying to pretend like everything was okay for the sake of her children. A facade. 

He’s tried to speak with her. Several times. And, not just the forced conversation they manage in front of the kids but attempts to pull her to the side in those rare moments of privacy between the two. She shuns him every time. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk to him, because she does. Some part of her, at least. It’s that she can’t. She can’t, because Solana knows all she’ll do is just breakdown and cry. Not that she hasn’t done that already. It feels like all she’s done since then.

A brave face during the day only to sob profusely on the floor of their once shared bathroom, sitting against the locked door, legs pulled up to her chest as she cries into her thighs.

A privacy allotted due to her kicking Roman out of their bedroom. Their separation might not be able to come right away, but that doesn’t mean she can’t do what she can to keep as much distance between them as she can for the time being.

Because despite his protests, a separation is what’s desperately needed since that.

A horrible, awful suspicion confirmed that’s wrecked her entire world.

She tried her best to push the thoughts away. He would never do that to me. A hill she would have died on at one point, but a hill that she started to gradually descend at his changing behavior over the past few weeks to months. She figured it was work stuff, as that’s usually what causes Roman to shut down more or lean more on the irritated side. Not that he ever showed that side of her. He didn’t. He’d instead slip into a space of quiet, allowing her to comfort him. Rubbing his scalp as he laid on top of her. Shirtless, laying on the bed, as she sat on his back, giving him a massage. Sometimes just laying and sitting with him in silence. 

But, none of that happened. It hadn’t happened, because instead of welcoming her, he’d pushed her away. A distance between them she felt, saw widening but tried to make excuses for. The touch was less. The sex was non-existent. 

Tears burn her eyes as she recalls the few times she tried to initiate the latter, only for him to reject her, albeit kindly. 

“Not tonight, baby. I’m tired.” 

An understandable excuse, usually. But, not for her husband. Roman never turned down any opportunity to be intimate with her. Ever. 

But, he had, and now….now, she’s certain she knows why.

Solana sniffles and wipes at her eyes, continuing to overthink and drown in her thoughts.

Revisiting and analyzing every interaction with him over the past few weeks, from the most minute of details that seemed irrelevant at times to the more overt ones, not even involving him. 

The way she’d casually spoke to Matteo during one of his trips to the house to see the kids and bring over his own. How she’d mentioned Roman seemed more tense than usual. Insinuating concern. The way his brother simply dismissed those concerns, kindly and in a Matteo sort of manner, hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m sure he’s fine.” His eyes held a kindness and something else she now wonders was something else. “You know how Roman is.”

No. No, she doesn’t. Because Roman, her Roman, would never do something like this.

Would never do this to her. 

And, then the overthinking continued. Did Matteo know? Was he simply covering for his little brother? She’d always heard that when men cheat, it’s not uncommon for their closest male friends to know, and who was closer to Roman than this brother?

Dwayne, as well, but she has no evidence to support that.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop the spiraling from continuing. 

Worsening as Solana resulted to looking her up on Instagram. A public profile that boasted a variety of pictures, many of her smiling and posing, showing off an impressive body that anyone would envy. Including a mother of seven whose shape has changed over the years from age and multiple childbirths.

Celeste’s face is stunning, her waist tiny, hips and ass thick.

Just his type.

That only dug up another layer of anxiety. Tapped into long buried—or, so she thought—insecurities that once marred the very early days of her marriage. 

Solana comparing herself to other women. The type of women Roman once entertained. Maybe the type of women he still wants to entertain. Because, while Solana has definitely put on a little weight over the years from age and children, it seems her husband only gets better with age. At 54, he’s in arguably the best shape of his life. Any woman would want him. They’ve always fawned at his feet, and he’s always paid them no mind.

But, Celeste….something made her different. 

A sickening thought crossed Solana’s mind as she recalled another age-old saying.

“If he’s not getting it from you, he’s getting it from somewhere.”

Celeste

He’s been getting it from Celeste.

It brings her to the toilet, emptying the little food she’d had that day. Her appetite was all but gone the past few days, another indication of a pending depressive episode. 

The only thing that keeps her going is her kids, though it pains her to have to put on such an act in front of them. A necessity though, as Solana knows the pending separation between herself and Roman will be hard enough on them. And, she hates that. Hates that they’re even in this situation. Hating that that’s what most likely will happen once they figure….whatever out.

She hates it all.

Every single bit of it. 

—-------

It’s hard to say who notices it first. 

Roman or Solana. Maybe both, to some extent. Regardless as to who took notice first is less important as to the thing itself.

Neither parent would ever describe any of their children as bad. Far from it. They can just be….a lot, at times. All the time. But, that’s a given with most things, because at the end of the day, they’re just kids.

Because, one promise they’d made to each other, even before Lina and Leya were born was that they’d do anything and everything they could to make sure the kids had a childhood. That they got to be kids. That they got the experience Roman and Solana never truly had.

And for the most part, they’d like to think they’ve been successful with that. There’s not much the parents wouldn’t do for their babies, bending over backwards sometimes to ensure that happy and stress free, as much as possible, childhood. 

That’s why they took notice to the changes. Some subtle. Some more overt. Solana found herself not having to remind the kids of certain things like chores and homework. Roman didn’t have to repeat himself. Not once.

School mornings a thing of ease. Aroha coming down the steps already in her uniform, her hair also done, courtesy of Leya. Solana finding several of her kids in the kitchen sometimes before she could get there to start preparing dinner, either there to help her or already on the brink of finishing said dinner. 

Evenings were also a thing of ease. Roman didn’t have to spend two hours getting them all in their rooms and down for bed. It now took under an hour. 

The Littles even in the midst of some type of peace treaty, no arguing occurring between them. 

No protest. No pushback. It felt like the Twilight zone. It felt off, because something was off.

Very much so. 

Walking down the steps from her shower, Solana was fully prepared to clean the kitchen. Only to find it all done, all of her seven children boasting proud smiles, but none more than the youngest.

Aroha rushed over with all the excitement. “Look, mommy and daddy!” She points back to the kitchen. "We leaned it for you."

It's the acknowledgment of her husband that makes Solana realize Roman was nearby, clearly having just come from his office. A brief glance. Nothing more. She doesn’t maintain their eye contact. Not at all. 

Clearing her throat, Solana braves a smile, walking deeper into the kitchen. “It looks so nice.” It really does. She can tell it was a collaborative effort, as it’s been for the past few days since the start of her kids off behavior. “But, you guys don’t have to keep cleaning the kitchen for me. I want you to focus on your homework—”

“I don’t get homework,” Aroha announces, still with the biggest smile on her face. “So, I can do lots of cleaning!”

His deep voice sounds from behind. A chuckle. “You’re a kid, baby girl. You don’t need to be doing lots of cleaning.” A pause. “None of you do.”

Solana catches it, and she’s certain Roman does, too, the flick of something that appears in almost all of the kids’ expressions. Subtle but visible, with the exception of one, the youngest and most open with her often big feelings. 

Aroha’s eyes light up with excitement, as she asks with a big smile on her face. “Does that mean you guys are happy now?”

Leya gasps, the first to try to do damage control. “Roro.”

Solana frowns, too focused on her youngest, recognizing there’s clearly something behind that. Walking over and crouching down, Solana asks, “what do you mean, baby?”

Tama steps forward, nervousness visible. "It's nothing, mama."

Solana says nothing, knowing that the answer she's looking for won't come from him. Or the rest of them.

It'll come from Aroha.

And with the truest innocence of a young child, she shares with all of the excitement. “We’ve been really good so you and daddy can be happy again.” 

Solana has to hold back her tears. 

Them.

The kids have been doing all of this, bending over backwards, just to try to make them happy.

Damn.

Thankfully, Roman takes over, gently ordering the rest of them, on the same page as his wife, even without verbal communication. “Kids, come sit down.” 

Solana takes Aroha’s hand, guiding her to sit right next to her on the sofa, as the rest of the kids find various seats in their spacious living room. Roman sits in the love chair. 

Solana would be lying if she said the lack of him next to her, where he always sits when they need to discuss something with their children, isn’t felt. Necessary. But, still….difficult. 

Swallowing, being mindful of her tone and volume, she takes the lead, “you guys…your dad and I….” She stops herself, refusing to let herself cry. Not in front of her babies who have clearly been more impacted by all of this than she initially realized. “We’re going through something right now.”

“And, it has nothing to do with any of you,” Roman adds before anyone can say anything, warm eyes surveying the room. “It’s…it’s between us.”

“We know,” Lina says in a quiet voice, looking between Leya and Tama. “That’s why…we’ve been trying to help out more.” 

Leya nods. “We can do whatever you guys need. You just…you have to tell us.”

"And you only have to tell us once," Samaria interjects. "We promise."

The sweetest, kindest, most heartbreaking thing that Solana has heard in some time. A sentiment clearly shared by her husband, given the brief, shared glance between them.

Roman handles the next portion, voice equally firm as it is caring. “The only thing we need you all to do is be kids.”

That’s all they’ve ever wanted. Was for their children to be children, and to know that hasn’t been happening, maybe even longer than the past few days, is a tough pill to swallow. 

But, the clarification seems to only whip the premature smile off Aroha’s face. “So…so we didn’t make you happy again?”

“Oh baby,” Solana pulls her youngest into her arms, holding her and kissing the top of her head. “As long as mommy has you all, I’ll always be happy.” 

Even if happiness seems like a hard emotion to acquire these past few days, it’s still felt every time she looks at her children. Though in this moment, she’s filled with regret. Regret that her issues with her husband have bled over into her children, filling them with obvious worry that no child should have to experience. 

She hates it.

Hates it all. 

“Your dad…” Solana allows her gaze to fall on Roman, once more the two of them engaging in unspoken conversation. He gives a subtle nod, encouraging her to continue. “Your dad and I are gonna go away for a couple days. Probably a week.”

As expected, a bombardment of questions. 

“Why?” 

“When will you be back?”

“Can we come with you?”

“Is it because of us?”

It’s that last comment that has Roman beating Solana in the metaphorical race to immediately shoot that down. The last thing they want is any of the kids thinking what’s happening is somehow their fault. 

“Not at all. None of you have done anything wrong.” His voice is firm and final, as he makes eye contact with each and every one of them. “Mom and I just need some time to talk and figure out things, and we need to do it away from you all, so you don’t continue to worry and stress.”

Words similar to what she’d texted him not even an hour ago, recognizing that they couldn't go on the way that they were. 

Solana: i know we need to talk, but that’s not going to happen with the kids around. i talked with bayley and rhea, they’re gonna come stay with them for a week while we go away and try to figure all this out.

Roman: Where do you want to go?

Solana: fetu’s place…

Roman: Okay.

Naturally, both Bayley and Rhea were filled with questions, some she answered, most she didn’t. Truth be told, Solana hasn’t really talked much with anyone regarding what’s been going on within her marriage. She hasn’t wanted to. For a variety of reasons, most of which being the only person she really wanted to speak with was shutting her out.

And, now it seems the roles have reversed.

But, like she said in her text to him, this can’t continue, and it’s not going to get addressed so long as they have the kids to worry about and be mindful of. They both need to get away. 

Figure out how this separation is going to work, because Solana doesn’t know a lot of things, but what she does know is that some time apart is clearly what they need. 

Whether he wants it or not, and she knows he doesn’t, but perhaps seeing the impact their marital problems have been having on the kids will hopefully help him see her side of things. 

Even if just seeing just that impact on said kids just from their issues has her wondering if the separation will do more harm than it will good. 

—-------

The drive up to Fetu’s place is eerily similar to the first time she was taken to meet Roman’s late aunt, following an even more eerily similar incident. A misunderstanding, that time. 

This time…not so much.

Solana keeps her earbuds plugged in, body angled away from where he sits in the drivers seat. Eyes closed almost the entire time, sleep calls her name, but the discomfort of not being awake and conscious while in such close proximity to him is too much. Theres’s an unease that accompanies this closeted space, like being around him is too much. And, it is. Several times she has to fight back tears from spilling over.

It all hurts so much, and the first few days at the cabin are rough.

He tries to get her to talk, to open up, to actually discuss things. 

“Solana…we came here to talk.”

“Please just talk to me. Please.”

“Yell, scream, something, Sol. I need something.”

It goes in one ear and out the other. Pleads met with continued silence. He’s not wrong. She knows he’s not. If not for them, then for the kids, they have to make use of this rare alone time.

She won’t let it go to waste. She can’t. But, it’s utterly difficult to bring herself to it. She can’t even think of it without crying, and she knows he sees it. The way she quickly wipes at her eyes whenever he enters the room she’s in. The same way she sees that flash of hurt that appears in his eyes every time he witnesses the brunt of his betrayal.

The hurt he’s caused. 

After multiple failed attempts to initiate conversation, he doesn’t say much to her, and she doesn’t say anything to him. There’s continued attempts, similar to how it was back at the manor, but they’re not home, and she doesn’t have to fake shit for the sake of her babies. 

She ignores him. Ignores him the same way he’s ignored her the past few weeks, bordering on months. It’s petty, she knows this, but on top of the mountain of hurt he’s caused her to experience is anger. Anger at him. Anger at herself. Anger at her. Just a tremendous amount, and while she’s never considered herself to be a vindictive person, there’s a small part of Solana that finds joy in knowing she’s not the only one suffering. 

Roman’s distress is palpable. She can see and even feel his hurt, but it’s difficult for her to care, even with her selfless ways, when it’s a situation he put himself in.

Put them in. 

And, she’s not stupid, she knows that not only did she initiate this sort of “getaway,” but that they only have a number of remaining days to sit down and discuss things. That her children are expecting their parents to return back home the way they’re used to seeing them.

If only she was convinced that’ll be the case.

But, she’s not. Truth is that Solana isn’t sure just how she and Roman get back to where they were.

Or, if they even still can. 

She’s sitting out back on the patio, drawing, on the bench where she first sat so many years ago, enjoying the sounds of nature. Embracing the solitude. 

While it exists. 

Solana doesn’t bother to spare Roman a glance when she hears the backdoor open, nor does she care to lift or redirect her focus from the sketch at hand. 

Not that it makes a difference.

“I know you don’t want to speak with me right now,” he starts, and she’d be lying if it didn’t do something to her. Something strange. Something that has her heart feeling heavy all over again. “And, I'll respect that, Solana. But, I just….I need you to look at something for me.”

The pressure applied to the paper intensifies just a bit more at that last part. She doesn’t want to do anything for him.

A far cry from the woman who’s told him countless times over the years just the opposite. 

How things can change. 

Solana remains focused on her drawing—not really—as he places something beside her, something that has enough weight for her to feel the shift from the padding underneath her. Sparing a glance to the side, not to him, she sees it’s his laptop. A laptop bearing a variety of stickers, most courtesy of their children over the years always wanting to make it look “cool.”

Decorations he never saw to it to remove or even correct them on, because he just enjoyed their wanting to always be involved with him. In any sort of capacity.

It chips away just a bit at some of anger, because she cannot and will not deny what an amazing father he’s always been. The best. She’s always been so in awe of how he is with the kids. The same way she was in awe with how good he’s always been with and to her.

Again, what a switch.

Solana stares at it for a moment, as he clears his throat, voice strained. “Please.”

Another chip. Roman has never been a man to wear his heart on his sleeve or to be openly emotive. Except for with her and the kids, but it started with her. She’s always been the one he’s most open with, so it’s impossible for her to ignore the fact that he’s clearly just as much a mess as she is. Holding it together. Barely.

It…it tugs at her. She’s upset with him, but she doesn’t hate him.

She could never hate him. 

Still unable, or maybe unwilling to look at him, Solana simply offers a small nod. Okay. 

She doesn’t need to be looking at him to know that has to mean a lot to him. The smallest but more important of wins. 

“Thank you.”

Still no acknowledgement. She’s not there yet. 

It’s not until he walks back into the house, and Solana hears the sound of the door shutting that she sets aside her pen and sketchbook. Trades it in for the MacBook Pro, settling it in her lap and opening it, partially surprised to see it's no longer password protected.

But, it’s something she can’t think too much about because of what’s on the screen. It’s a video that’s paused, ready to be played. CTV footage. Footage of her.

Of Celeste. 

Solana is just about ready to pitch the laptop off the porch, suddenly filled with anger. What the hell is Roman trying to do? It feels like salt on an open would. It feels cruel, and while she knows good and well that Roman is more than capable of that, it’s never been directed towards her. 

She closes her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath. While Roman’s behavior and conduct has been….awful, to say the least, he has to have a purpose for wanting her to see this. A purpose that can’t be to make things worse. It has to be for a reason that’s intended to help. How, she’s not sure, but she also knows that at this point, what does she stand to lose?

She hits play. 

The footage begins, showing Celeste sitting at her desk, admiring her nails only to abruptly shift in her seat at the entrance of a man.

Roman.

He’s just stepped out of his office, expression hardened, walking past the desk right as Celeste stands up. “Mr. Reigns.” She clears her throat, adjusting that short ass dress of hers. “Can I—”

“Leave me alone.”

Abrupt. Curt. Mean.

Solana would be lying if she tried to deny a flurry of humor flutters within at the way Celeste’s smile quickly collapses into a frown. Embarrassed. She looks embarrassed. 

The clip transitions to the same setting. Celeste at her desk, alternating between typing and scrolling on her phone when instead of seeing Roman exit his office, he's instead seen arriving. Flanked by Dwayne and Matteo.

She stands up, flashing that flirty smile. “Gentlemen.”

Dwayne, unsurprisingly, returns the charm, removing the sunglasses from the top of his head. “I like that dress, sweet thing.” Solana rolls her eyes. Even at his big age, Dwayne continues to be the biggest flirt. But, it’s the reaction of her husband that Solana is focused on. 

Because there is no reaction. 

Roman actually rolls his eyes, Matteo chuckling as once again Celeste tries and fails to capture the attention of the Tribal Chief.

“Mr. Reigns, your meeting got pushed back—”

“I know.” Another clipped response as he doesn’t even look her way, and the three men head into his office space, the sound of Roman mumbling something that sounds a lot like “...annoying” before the door is shut, once again leaving Celeste standing there looking stupid.

And, that’s exactly how the rest of the footage goes. Celeste clearly trying to capture Roman’s attention, and him straight up ignoring, dismissing, or being straight up rude to her in the process. 

Solana watches the montage once, and then twice, searching for any and all cues of anything she could have missed. The only thing being the way Celeste transitioned about halfway through from calling Roman “Mr. Reigns” to just calling him Roman.

On the third watch is when she stops it not even halfway through. She slowly closes the laptop, mind racing, running, and and everywhere. 

She understands it now. Understands why he wanted her to watch. Beyond that. He wanted her to see for herself the dynamic, the “relationship” that existed between him and Celeste. A “relationship” that, based upon what she’s seen, was simply Celeste trying for her life to snag his attention but failing every time.

It’s…confusing. 

Solana is confused, because she knows what she just saw in the videos. But, she also knows what she saw that day. It doesn’t make any sense. How did it go from Roman barely acknowledging that girl’s existence to her being in his lap, straddling him?

Something different stirs within Solana. Something that has her no longer feeling like putting as much distance between herself and her husband. That desire is still there, but it doesn’t outweigh the other thing.

That sudden desire for answers and clarification. 

She’s ready to talk. 

—-----

“I watched the video.” It’s the first thing she says to him when she walks in the living room. He’s on the sofa, glasses on, iPad in hand. She stands before him, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, gaze even, voice steady. “All of it.”

He says nothing, his eyes never leaving hers as she walks over to sit on the sofa next to him. Not next to him. No, that feels….it feels too soon.

“Every minute,” she whispers, tightening the blanket as he hit the sleep button on the tablet, setting it on the coffee table. Solana shifts her focus to the rug that she can still recall Lina and Leya crawling all over the first time they took them here. The apple juice Tama spilled and waste, as he was too excited for the show he was watching on TV. 

Memories.

So many memories.

“Okay.” He sounds unsure, and that’s almost unnerving for her. Solana has never known her husband to be unsure of anything in his life. “What do you—”

“How did you not see it, Roman?” A whispered question. One she’s had since watching the footage. “How…how could you not tell what she was doing? What she wanted?” She shakes her head, emotion rising. “I told you to be careful. I warned you about her, and you didn’t listen.”

Because in the half hour that passed between Solana sitting on the bench and finally deciding to speak with her husband, more thoughts crossed her mind. Like what happened during those times where Celeste entered his office, a place where there were no cameras? Did something happen? It had to have, based on what Solana saw that day. 

Then, there’s the fact that she told him. Warned him to be careful. Expressed her discomfort with that girl, and he’d done nothing. A far cry from the man who's always moved heaven and earth for her and their kids. That Roman would have fired Celeste the minute Solana expressed her concerns, which looking back, deep down, Solana realizes that’s what she wanted him to do. 

But, he didn’t.

And, she can’t figure out why. 

Roman keeps his voice low.  “I know.” The quietest acknowledgement. No denial. No justification. Just validation. “Solana, I didn’t…my goal wasn’t to ignore you.”

At that, she scoffs. “That’s all you’ve done, Roman, is ignore me.” She shakes her head, finding her voice after days of overthinking and repressing. “I told you that I didn’t trust her, and you ignored me. I’ve tried to talk with you and—” She stops herself, emotions flooding along with countless previously silenced thoughts. “I’ve felt so lonely lately, Roman.” Beyond lately. For almost two months, Solana has felt this, felt this void in the wake of his distance. “Even when you’re here, you’re somewhere else. Physically present. Mentally elsewhere.” Her voice cracks, anger diminishing with each word that leaves her mouth. “You’ve shut me out.”

He looks at her, voice soft. “Baby—”

She closes her eyes. “I’ve always felt so close to you, but these past two months, I just….” She shakes her head, looking down, playing with her hands, finally voicing what she’s been too scared to say aloud. Afraid it would make it the truth. “I’ve felt like I’ve lost you.” A heartbreaking thing to admit to the man she once thought she couldn’t live without. Still does, in some ways. Solana lifts her head, eyes still closed, as she takes a deep breath. “So, when I opened that door and saw you with her—”

“Solana, nothing happened—”

“I started to blame myself.”

He pauses. “What?”

She opens her eyes, taking him in, taking in this man who’s held her heart for the better part of her life. Who she’s always considered her better half. Who saved her life so many years ago.

The man she loves. 

“I—” It’s such a difficult thing to share, to disclose, all of the many anxieties and concerns and thoughts she’s had since and about this whole thing. But, she knows it needs to come out, and if not now, then when? “I started—I started comparing myself to her.”

“Baby—”

“She’s young, and–and she’s beautiful, skinnier than me, and—” Solana blows out a shaky breath. “And, then I started thinking about what kind of wife I’ve been. If I was attentive enough, if I—I forced all this on you.” She gestures around them, shrugging helplessly. “If…having all these children is something I–I pressured you into, and I unintentionally pushed you in her arms–”

“Solana.” 

She gasps, eyes shooting open at the feel of his hands on her face. He’s no longer sitting on the sofa but instead on his knees in front of her, cradling her face, eyes burning into her with all the sincerity and honesty. “Solana, I love you. There’s no woman on this fucking earth I could ever want besides you, and don’t you ever fucking say that you pressured me into anything.” He swallows, clearly also feeling all the emotions that flow through her entire body. “I love our kids. The family we have, the family you’ve given me, means more to me than you could ever know.”

Looking at him, really looking at him, for the first time in days, since it all happened…Solana believes him. Believes he’s telling the truth. Similar sentiments he’s expressed to her over the years at various points, but something she needed to hear once more from him. 

Needed that reassurance. 

But, as helpful as it is, as much as it means to her, it still doesn’t answer one important ass question that she manages to ask him.

“So, how did we get here, Roman?”

Here. At Fetu’s place. At this place in their marriage. At this place in life.

But, instead of continuing to display a necessary vulnerability with her, Solana sees it. Sees the way he’s starting to shut down. “I don’t…” That’s all he can get out, because just like that, the brief spark of hope fades, stomped out by reemerging isolation. He’s separating himself again, and she can’t take it anymore. Solana stands up to leave, unable and unwilling to put up with any more rejection. Because that’s what he’s made her feel lately.

Rejected.

Roman is fast though, standing with her, his body practically pressed against hers, hands on her hips, holding her, keeping her from leaving. Her eyes momentarily flutter. Having him this close to her, the woodsy scent of his cologne invading her senses the same way he invades her private space.

It’s so hard. She’s missed him so much. 

Solana manages to lift her eyes to meet his, his gaze pleading an unspoken request. 

Please.

Torn and so lost, she ignores the screaming in her head to walk away and leave him be. Doesn’t allow it to dictate her behavior as she instead sits back down on the same sofa. He does the same, next to her. 

But, Solana scoots to the other end, placing some distance between them. Something that makes him wince almost but doesn’t prevent him from talking. Something that’s confusing to her as well. How can she both want and not want him at the same time? A cruel, wicked  dichotomy indeed. 

Roman clears his throat, voice still low. “I don’t want to make this about me.”

An easy thing to respond to. Probably the easiest thing in any of this. “But, it is about you, Roman.” Is her calm counter as she shifts, angling her body toward him, one leg up on the sofa, the other on the ground. “It’s about you. It’s about me. It’s about us. It all ties in together.”

He nods, clearly sitting on her words. His elbows are on his thighs, hands clasped together between slightly spread legs. He’s focused on the same rug that she’d previously used to reflect on the life they’ve worked so hard to build for themselves.

“Do you remember when I took Aroha to that birthday party back in January?” He suddenly asks, forcing her to think back hard. Their kids do so many things, it’s hard to keep up at times. “You couldn’t take her because—”

“I had to work,” Solana finishes for him. She remembers now. “Yes, what…what about it?”

Solana sees the way his jaw flexes, indicating he’s struggling to express himself. 

“I was the oldest person at that damn fucking party, and it…it got me thinking…” He trails off, clearly deep and heavy in thought. “I’m 54 years-old, Solana. I’ll be 55 in less than three months.”

She continues to study his side profile, struggling to follow just where he’s going. “Okay…” This is nothing new, nothing that comes as a surprise to her, and he knows this, so why they’re even discussing it is truly confusing her.

“Aroha is five. Five years old.” Solana shifts on the sofa once more, moving to her knees, frown deepening with every pained statement that leaves his mouth. Now…now, she’s starting to understand. “By the time she’s 18 and just graduating high school, I’ll be almost fucking 70 years old.”

Her chest tightens. “Roman…”

He continues, visibly deep in the throes of his distressing concerns regarding the fragility of life. “All I’ve been able to fucking think about is time, all I can think about is time. Time I have left. Time I might not get with her, with them—”

She shakes her head. “Don’t say that—”

“With you.”

Solana grows quiet. She knew something was going on with Roman, just knew it, but she could have never guessed it was this. Nor could she have anticipated how deeply it’s been bothering him. Tormenting him, it almost feels like. 

He sits back against the sofa, still not looking at her but continuing to pour out months worth of worries in a matter of minutes. “I spent years being stupid, wasting my time with women who meant nothing to me, whose names I didn’t even know half the damn time, and now that I have you, I have the kids, I have to deal with the consequences of that. The fact that I might not be able to experience so many things because I was too busy being a fucking whore....” He swallows. "I fucking hate it."

She winces at the bitterness that seeps through his deep voice. Bitterness and blame directed inward. A sort of anger that feels almost unfair. It’s all unfair, but the fact that he feels so deeply about this, feels as if he’s to blame for the timeline of their story being the way it is feels wrong to her.

Has her sympathizing for him. Such a stark contrast for everything she’s felt the past few days, longer even, but what she feels, nonetheless. There’s no thought that goes into when she moves closer to him on the sofa, what has her gently cupping his face when he finally looks at her, or has her asking with all the love, “Roman….why….why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Years. For years, they’ve been each other’s biggest support system. Biggest confidants. Safe spaces. So, to know he’s been suffering in silence with what almost sounds like some sort of midlife crisis hurts her. It hurts her a lot. She might have been (is still?) upset with him, hurt especially, but she’d never wish this kind of pain on him.

Walking around everyday wondering and worrying about mortality and time he won’t get to have with their children.

With her. 

He closes his eyes, carefully choosing his words. 

“Because, you don’t get it, Sol. you’re 10 years younger than me. That makes a difference. It makes a big difference.” He stops, opening his eyes, tone shifting into something softer than the almost edge that took over with his initial answer to her question. “You don’t…you don’t have to worry about these things like I do, and I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

“Roman….” Her voice dips, filled with all of the emotions. “All I’ve done is worry about you.”

About him. About them. His silence may have seemed like protection, but it was really just ammunition. Fuel that drove and sustained the separation between them, maintained the distance and disconnection. 

“Solana…” He trails off, and a shaky breath tumbles out of her mouth when he moves his hands to her waist, holding her. “The reason…the only reason I haven’t touched you is because I keep thinking about what if you get pregnant again? Is that just going to be another child of mine that I don't get to experience as much with because of my age?” An unexpected admission but one that answers another of her insecurities with this whole situation. She’d been so scared he hadn’t made love to her because he didn’t want to. Because his attraction to her was no longer there. 

She couldn't have been more wrong.

“Roman…” It’s a bit of a difficult task. She doesn’t want to invalidate his feelings, but she also doesn’t want him to continue to torment himself over something that he can’t control. “We can’t control time. The same way you couldn’t control when we met. But, I believe we met exactly when we were supposed. Our children have been born exactly when they were supposed to.” She does. With everything in her. “The same way I believe and know that we’re both going to see them all grow up and be happy and have families of their own someday. All the way from Lina to Aroha.” The faintest hint of a smile, the first she’s had in days, appears on her face. “Well…my money would be on Leya starting that family first, since we both know how Lina is.”

His small chuckle means a lot to her. Same with the way his grip on her waist tightens ever so slightly. “You’re not gonna miss any of it, Ro…” She lifts a hand to gently stroke his beard. “I promise….”

Because Solana cannot and will not accept a future where this all doesn't end exactly as she predicted. They will only close their eyes after seeing the family they created build and create their own future. 

“Thank you.” Comes his strained voice. She manages a small smile.  He tugs her even closer, their foreheads pressed together.

Solana’s chest is fluttering, a different, both foreign and familiar emotion simmering within, hastening to a boiling point. “Roman…”

An unspoken but known continuation of addressing her insecurities. “It’s not and never will be because I don’t want you,” he vows. I’ve always wanted you, and I always will. I only want you, Solana.”

His mouth hovers over hers, Solana moving her hands to his shoulders. “Ro…”

One locked gaze, and seconds later, his lips are on hers. It’s all feeling and sensation. No thoughts. Just feeling. She doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to worry, doesn’t want any of the things that have been weighing her down. Weighing them both down. 

It’s not perfect. It’s not fixed. It’s not even necessarily alright, but right now, she doesn’t care about any of that. This isn’t about that. This is about connection. It’s about togetherness. It’s about being one. 

Clothes are shed and bodies repositioned, their mouths only separated in moments of necessity, desire a powerful, blinding emotion consuming both of them. 

Synchronized moans at the entrance of him inside of her, Solana’s hands clutching and clawing at his back at the familiar stretch and initial burn. She whines, legs tightening around his hips, craving him. All of him. Every single inch. His body melting and molding into hers. She can’t get close enough, feel close enough. It’s just not enough.

Tears blur her vision, a vulnerable, breathy, “I’ve missed you,” escaping her mouth. 

He looks at her, one hand cupping her face, “I know, baby.” Solana whines into his mouth, his hips pressing into hers, driving his dick deeper inside of her, feeding and correcting her every neglected need. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes shut, as he moves his full lips over her eyelids, kissing her tears away. “I’m sorry.”

Solana gasps once more, her head craned back, as he angles his hips upward, finding her spot almost instantly. Her nails dig into his back as his mouth continues to travel her face, placing the softest of kisses that accompany the dutiful thrusts, the melding of their bodies. The becoming of one.

“I’m sorry,” a prayer on his mouth that he can’t seem to cease, remittance and remittance it feels he believes there is no cutoff point for. A level of contrition that penetrates her soul. 

Solana clutches him, body to body, chest to chest. One and one. He drives into her with all the dedication and repentance coursing through his big body. And, she takes it all, every bit of it. She’s never been been able to get enough of him, of this, and after so long of going without, she just wants to be and not think.

Just wants to enjoy and savor in this moment. 

In the love. 

It’s not like most of the time when they make love. He doesn’t turn her over or initiate different positions. Doesn’t prolong it for the rest of the night. They stay like that, face to face, gazes locked almost the entire time, a level of intimacy reserved only for that of the deepest of lovers. Of two who decided long ago that there was no them without one another. A perfect union.

And, when they’re done, when both reach their shared climax, they don’t move. There’s a shift to allow Solana to lay on top of him, her ear to his chest, as he uses her blanket to partially cover them. But, outside of minimal adjustments, no movement. Just gentle caresses of Roman’s finger down the small of her back, Solana’s hands moving across Roman’s chest and abs. Light, loving touches between two lovers. 

She’s not sure how long they stay like that. Hours, most likely. Long enough for her to fall asleep and wake up to find him still stroking her back. Solana opens her eyes but doesn’t look up at him, just focuses on the faint outline of the sofa on the other side of the room. 

“What happened before I got there, Roman?”

A question entered into the silence, posed to him, an answer she both needs and doesn’t want. 

Knowing what she now knows, Solana leans more on the side of nothing horrible happening between them, but Celeste ending up in Roman’s lap is still a story that needs to be told.

Whether she wants to hear it or not. 

She feels him sigh loudly before moving into the explanation she’s been dreading since that fateful, awful day. 

“They found something when I went in for my mammogram.”

Words that play on repeat in his head. Loud. Quiet. Fast. Slow. Countless variations with a sole impact. Devastation. For a lot of reasons. For the fact that she hadn’t even told him until that point. For the fact that she’s clearly been sitting on this alone until that point. For the fact that this could mean something completely fine or completely life changing. There’s no in between. No wiggle room. 

And, he fucking hates it.

Weeks, months, he’s been so in his head, so focused on his own mortality, playing out different hypothetical outcomes. Thinking about life when it’s no longer a thing. When his is no longer a thing.

Not once did it ever cross his mind that she could be dealing or struggling with the same thing.

Roman knows he’s fucked up. He’s not stupid. He recognizes now, at least, how his refusing to open up about his fear of death, growing old, and not being able to see his children grow up and pursue whatever routes they choose in life. He realizes holding in all of this has inadvertently caused problems within his marriage. 

That him being too stubborn to be honest with Solana, instead avoiding her and distancing himself from the very person he should have been leaning on, has hurt her.

While she’s already been hurting and dealing with a terrible possibility. 

Roman leans back in his chair, focusing on nothing but that damn statement. It’s a complete 180. He couldn’t give two shits about himself at this point. All he can think about is Solana, think about how he should have pushed harder for them to actually talk last night. He understands her being upset with him, she has every right to be. He’d done this. Was 100% to blame. But, that situation is different.

This is her health.

Her life, and nothing means more to him than that.

It’s why he’s had that nagging, burdensome, weight sitting on his chest. For years, his biggest fear has been something happening to his family, to his children, to his wife. Hence why he’s always been so protective of all of them. Worked tirelessly to keep them from any and all danger.

But….this….this is a fight he doesn’t know he would even handle. Doesn’t want to think about having to handle it, because even after all these years, years of hard work in therapy, the thought of something happening to Solana still scares him shitless.

Especially something he can’t protect her from.

“Roman?” There’s a knock at the door. Celine, or whatever her name is. He still hasn’t bothered to learn it. And won’t. He doesn’t even bother to look her way, knowing she most likely has the stock report he’d asked her to get him when he came in this morning. “I have—”

“Leave it on my desk.” A simple command. Not as rude. No, Roman doesn’t really have it in him right now to be that asshole that could drive even a nun to swear. Too much on his plate.

His heart is too heavy for that. 

The faint sound of footsteps, her saying something he couldn’t give two shits about. Again, in one ear and out the other. He can’t stop thinking about Solana. About everything that’s happened the past couple months. How they’d gotten to this strange, almost foreign place.

He’s never felt so distant from her, and it’s the worst feeling in the world.

Was. Because one minute, Roman is sitting in his chair, legs spread, forearms rested on the arms of the smooth leather, gaze focused on the intricate design of the carpet in his office, and the next, a complete invasion.

Cecilia is on his lap, legs spread, the scent of her cheap ass perfume borderline nauseating. But, the feeling of nausea is minimal compared to the rage that instantly fills him, that has Roman seconds away from doing something out of character.

Because his first immediate instinct is to snap her neck. To kill her for this shit. And, that’s not like him, a sick and borderline sadistic creature when he has to be, he’s always drawn a line in the sand when it comes to women.

Even more so after being with Solana and learning/seeing the impact of her abuse and trauma. After having daughters himself. He’s never seen himself as a man capable of hurting a woman, not physically, at least.

But, this bitch is trying it.

It takes everything in him to not snap, his hands squeezing the arms of the chair so hard that his knuckles are practically white. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The bitch has the nerve to smile, to fucking smile, batting her eyelashes like it’s supposed to do something for him. “You seem….upset.” Her eyes dip to his mouth, Roman completely and utterly revolted as she licks her bottom lip. “Let me help you with that, daddy...” 

And the minute she lifts her hand, clearly aiming to touch his crotch is the second he loses all sense of self-control. 

Roman doesn’t give two shits if she hits her head and dies on the spot, using all his strength to shove her off and away from him. His face is completely distorted into the deepest scowl, and he’s burning with desire to grab his gun and just off her right then and there. 

But, something else. 

Something else captures his focus, steals the focus of both of them.

Solana.

“I wasn’t even fucking paying attention to her. I was in my fucking head, and I should have…” Roman trails off, finishing his recalling of what she now is starting to realize, eerily similar to the last time, was an honest to God misunderstanding. “I should have noticed the minute she got that close to me.”

Solana doesn’t necessarily disagree. 

“I believe you,” she whispers, feeling him look down at her. Feeling both his relief and surprise at her acknowledgement. “But…” Solana sits up, using the blanket to cover her chest as she looks down at him. “Roman, that only happened because you didn’t listen to me.”

Two truths can exist in the same universe. Roman has been dealing with a lot, which has clouded his judgment, among other things. But, that doesn’t necessarily excuse the fact that his lack of honesty with her carved out a path that led Celeste do what she did. He didn’t set that boundary soon enough, and she wasted no time in exploiting and crossing that. 

Solana can both be upset and empathize with her husband. Maybe more than she’d like to admit. 

“You’re right,” he agrees, unsurprising to her. Roman lifts his hand to cup her face, repeating for what has to be the hundredth time in the past few hours. “I’m sorry.”

She knows he is. 

But, she also knows sometimes….sometimes that’s just not enough. 

“Roman…” Solana licks her lips, that feeling of dread filling her all over again. A reluctance that has her just wanting to lay back down against him and succumb to the escape of sleep. But, that solves nothing, and they have no shortage of things that need just that—solving. “I–I think….” A deep breath. “I knew he was attracted to me.” Even in the dark of the room lit only by a small lamp on the side table near the other sofa, she can see it. See his surprise. “I think….I think I liked the attention.”

A stunning, horrible admission but her truth, nonetheless. Because if this situation has caused her to do anything, it’s reflect. Not only on what happened with Roman and Celeste. But, what happened between her and Robert. 

The brief conversations. The smiles. The compliments. The flirting. She never reciprocated, never did anything to make him think she felt the same. But, she also never did anything to shut it down, either. 

“I think, on some level, I liked….I liked how it made me feel,” she continues, hating the pitting at the bottom of her stomach. “Good. Wanted. All….all things I wasn’t feeling from you.” She swallows, shaking her head. “And, it’s not because I like him. I don’t. I don’t want him. I don’t like him. I love you.” Full, unabridged honesty. “But, the fact that it even got that far, in both of our situations, is a problem.” She gestures between them. “We have a problem.”

Because in all of the years they’ve been together, Solana has never once had that happen with another man. Never enjoyed any time of non-innocent interest from anyone not her husband, and she doesn’t want that to happen again. 

It can’t. 

“You’re right.” Solana can hear the faintest hint of anger and irritation in his voice, and instantly, she knows why. Knows that it’s directed not at herself, but the doctor she works for. Or, used to work for, because she also has no doubt in mind after he recovers from his injuries sustained in a “random mugging,” he’ll mysteriously be transferred to another hospital out of state. 

Way out of state.

“What do you want us to do?” A gentler tone, an honest inquiry. “Just tell me, and I’ll do it.” Roman sits up, moving his hand to her back, pulling her against him. “I’ll do anything to make this right.”

Desperate. He sounds desperate.

Solana thinks about it, palm resting over his chest. “I think we should go to marriage counseling.” An expected suggestion and what feels like the best move at this point. “Just…just to continue to work things out.”

Because as helpful, and maybe even healing, these conversations have been, Solana recognizes they still need more. Recognizes there’s still something within her she needs to work through. 

Forgiveness. She needs to find a way to fully forgive him, something that she’ll tackle with Gail, but also something they need to tackle together, as a couple. 

“Okay.” He agrees, rubbing small circles at the base of her back. “Let’s do it.” Truth be told, Solana didn’t have much doubt in her that he would agree to it. They’ve both done individual therapy for years now, and she knows he sees the benefit. She also knows he means it when he says he’ll do anything to make their marriage work.

She believes him.

“Solana…” A shift, a change even in his facial expression. “We need to talk about—”

And just like that, she’s shaking her head. She knows exactly what he’s about to say. “Not…not right now.”

His frown deepens. “Sweetheart—”

“I know we do, and we will.” Because avoiding things is how they got into this situation, but the fact that just the thought of talking about that right now has her chest tightening, skin warming, tells Solana that she just can’t handle it right now. “Just…not right now…please?”

His disagreement is visible, but he nods quietly, offering no protest as she goes to lay them back down, inching closer to him, holding onto him and closing her eyes. 

They still have things to work through. A lot to figure out. 

The potential C word conversation to have and handle right now, but in this moment, she doesn’t want to think about any of that. 

Right now, she just wants to enjoy her husband. 

—--------

The adjustment to being back home goes smoother than Solana anticipated. She’s not sure what exactly she was expecting, but what she received is not something she will complain about. Overt enjoyment from her children at their parents being home, the big, warm hug from her youngest who commented with the biggest smile on her face, looking at both herself and Roman. 

“You’re happy again.”

Right there, in that moment, Aroha couldn’t have been more right.

Solana can’t say that she feels all the way better in the days following their return home. She definitely feels better than she was feeling before they left. Felt even more relieved when she and Roman sat the kids down and reassured him that they were working things out and were not planning to separate or divorce.

A sense of relief that helps her as well.

It’s a strange thing, how she went from seriously contemplating asking Roman to leave the house for a while to looking up marriage counselors for them, welcoming him back in their bedroom, him sleeping next to her. Him attending the follow up testing with her.

That….that has been at the forefront of her mind. Test being done two days prior, Solana knows she’s in the window for a callback and her results to be uploaded to MyChart.

She does her best to keep herself busy, mostly with the foundation, as going back to work at the hospital feels….too soon. She just needs some time away from that. 

But, in the meantime, catching up on things around the house, handling foundation business, gradually re-entering herself back into her friend and family group have been the focus. The best things for her to focus on.

She's in the middle of gathering the laundry from her kids bedrooms, chuckling when she finds Coco lounging on the bed in Aroha’s room.

“Hey, girl,” she greets, petting the dog’s head when music fills the room. Familiar. Her ringtone.

Solana is quick to grab her phone out of her back pocket but slow when she sees the familiar number light up her screen.

The number of her doctor’s office. 

A nervous glance at Coco who remains oblivious to what this could mean. Solana’s eyes shut.

Here goes nothing.

Sitting on the edge of her baby daughter’s bed, Solana sends a quiet prayer to the man upstairs and hits the green button. 

“Hello?”

—--------

Roman was in the middle of a meeting when he noticed his phone light up. A phone that had always sat on the table, screen up, regardless of what he was doing.

It was something he’d drifted away from over the past two months due to his internal struggles but something he has no intentions on changing ever again.

But, it’s when he sees it, that the meeting comes to a premature ending. For him, at least. He leaves Dwayne and Matteo to handle the rest of it, because he has something more important to tend to.

Much more important. 

The drive from Bloodline Headquarters to the Reigns Manor feels like it takes longer than it ever has before. The driver too slow, too many cars on the road, too much interference keeping him from his destination.

From her.

The minute they pull up, Roman is out of the SUV, jogging into the house, calling her name, searching, looking for her in all of her most frequented locations. The kitchen. The laundry room. Her art room. But, where he finds her is unexpected.

Roman stands outside of Solana’s walk-in closet, paused by the sight before him. She’s sitting on the floor, surrounded by the clear containers containing years worth of family photos, many of them spread across the carpet, almost entirely obstructing a clear path for him to her.

Her, his wife, who's in the middle of it all, smiling at whatever polaroid she has in hand.

“Solana…”

She looks up, and her smile deepens just a bit, but he sees it. Sees something in her eyes. Something unsettling and boiling over. Something building by the second. 

“Do you remember this day?” She flips the photo, revealing a smiling photo of their oldest three kids when they were younger. “It was from one of their first Disney trips.” Solana chuckles, flipping it back over to continue admiring. “They were so happy…”

Though sensing something unsettling, Roman won’t invalidate her. He’s done more than enough of that to last a lifetime lately. “Lina and Tama kept wanting to talk to everyone…”

She giggles, shaking her head. “Meanwhile, Leya was too shy, which was why we kept having to initiate talking to the characters for her.”

A quick chuckle kept within. That’s one of those memories that will always stay with him. They all will. 

Solana grabs another photo. “Oh my gosh, this was the boys’ first birthday party.” Again, she shares the photo with Roman who’s managed to make his way through the sea of memories, kneeling near her. “They were so irritated with us.” She hands him the photo of Koa and Kai, sure enough, scowling while being held by their parents, surrounded by people. 

Another internal chuckle. His twin boys have always been just like him with their antisocial ways, even from a young age. 

Clearly. 

But, that’s not the focus at hand. 

Something else is.

Something that had her text him while he was at work. Three simple words.

i need you.

“Look at Aria,” Solana awes, looking at a photo of Samaria at what Roman would guess was after one of her recitals. “She was so proud of herself that night…”

Attention on the polaroid is brief, as Roman’s frown deepens, sensing the slightest shift in Solana’s voice. “Baby…what’s going—”

“Roro….” He’s cut off by Solana grabbing another photo, this time of their youngest. A glance reveals it’s from only a few months ago. Christmas morning. Her smiling bright while holding up one of her gifts, a stuffed monkey dressed in a pink tutu. “She’s five…”

Roman looks back at his wife, seeing her smile gradually dimming with each stroke of her finger across Aroha’s face. “She’s…she’s only five.”

He swallows. “Solana—”

“You know I….I spent so many years not wanting to be alive.” Such a dark, sudden switch that has Roman taken back. Something that doesn’t happen often. If ever. “Tried to kill myself, even. Twice.” A bitter, humorless laugh, as she sniffles. “And then, it all changed.” She lifts her eyes to him. “I met you, and everything changed.” Emotion builds, her bottom lip trembling, the stammering returning. “We—we built this life together. This—this family. Our—our kids. My—my babies. Aroha is only—she’s only five, Roman.”

He sees it, sees the way her breathing is shifting, infrequent, difficult. A panic attack. She’s about to have a panic attack. “Baby, look at me. I need you to breathe,” he guides, placing his hands on her face, forcing her to look at him. “Breathe for me.” 

The distant sound of the washing machine going off somehow snags her attention, Solana’s eyes widening, her mouth trembling. “That’s—that’s the laundry. I have—I have—to get it done.”

A gentle reassurance. “Don’t worry about that right now, baby.” 

“No,” she objects, shaking her head, breaking away from him. “I have—I have to do it.”

He stands with her, blocking her, recognizing what’s happening and knowing the last thing she needs right now is to be concerned with that. “Sol, that’s—”

“I have to!” She shouts, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I have to get the laundry done before the kids get home from school, because I have to help Tama with his English homework, and—and Lina likes to recap her day with me.”

His chest tightens. “Sol—”

“And, and I like to ask Leya how her day was and make sure she’s not struggling with her OCD—”

“And, Koa and Kai love when I bake cookies when they get home. And, Roro—” Her voice cracks, the facade crumbling. “She loves to hug me and tell me she missed me as soon as she gets in the door.”

“Solana…”

“I—I have things to do, Roman. I have—I have so many things to still do. I don’t—” A crushing realization, cumbersome and devastating, overpowering whatever hold she had on her emotions. “I’m not ready to go yet.” 

Words he’d never thought or wanted to hear from her. Not…not in this context. Never in this context.

A sound. A broken gasp. A strangled cry. Roman catches her the minute he sees her body about to collapse to the floor, is down on his knees, holding her as she wails into his chest. 

“I don’t want to die.” A repeated plea for mercy and strength as her fingers grasp his shirt, her face buried into his chest, body almost trembling from the strength of her sobs. “I don’t want to die.”

Roman says nothing, just continues to hold and comfort her, wanting more than anything to have the right words to make her feel better, to take away her pain, but nonverbal comfort is the only thing he has to offer her in this moment. It’s the only thing he has to offer, because he finds himself also struggling. Struggling to keep his own composure, a necessity given how she’s breaking down before him.

Struggling to grasp what’s happened, because despite her not saying it, he knows exactly what’s happened. 

There’s only one thing that could evoke this type of visceral, emotional response from his wife.

Her test results came back positive.

Solana has cancer.