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thekittysmeow · 1 day ago

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Our nephew seen what happened too? Cody come tf outside… we won’t jump you 🤬

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.

#witness #trippinsorrows #arisnotebook #Roman x Solana #roso

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thekittysmeow · 1 day ago

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Women often give up pieces of themselves in relationships. We give up aspects of our lives to fit in, make ourselves smaller and for him to want her as is! She said he made her feel like she’s choosing herself. Ughhh poetry to my ears ✨

Yessss I wouldn’t run at all! Turn me every which way BUT loose 😌 and yes I’d be minding they business with a passion.

Keep these stories coming 💖 I truly enjoy your masterpieces! I have to share your stories with my followers!! It would be wrong of me not to share. I’ll be loud and proud about you friend 😊

All I Want Is You | Roman Reigns

Mistakes With Your Last Name Series One Shot

“Then I’ll move slow enough for the both of us.” —Roman

🖤 Pairing: Roman Reigns x Asha Langston-Reigns (black oc)

📌 Summary: Asha wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him—not after everything that happened. But when the weight of it all becomes too much to carry alone, she asks the one question that could change everything. A love that doesn’t ask for perfection—only honesty.

🎧 Song Inspo: "ALL I WANT IS YOU" by The Kid LAROI

⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains emotionally heavy themes, including vulnerability, fear of abandonment, and complicated relationship dynamics. It also includes explicit sexual content intended for mature audiences. Please read with care, especially if you're in a sensitive headspace.

A/N: This was written from a softer, more vulnerable headspace. If it feels heavy, that’s because it came from somewhere real. Thank you for holding space for it and for me. It means more than you know. 🥹🤍

📝 Word Count: ~8.4k

Main Masterlist ৹ Join My Taglist

'Cause first time you looked at me, I knew you were already mine With me in every past life, destined to be by my side...

— The Kid LAROI, “All I Want Is You”

You keep telling yourself this is fine.

That being distant is safer than being raw. That if you can just ride the wave long enough—just smile, nod, keep washing dishes like your hands aren’t shaking—it’ll pass.

You don’t mean to pull away.

But every time someone asks, “What’s wrong?”, your chest caves in like it’s been wired to collapse on impact.

Because if you do answer, if you do unravel—

What if they don’t stay?

What if loving you only works when you’re easy to hold?

So you keep it in.

You shrink to fit the silence. You stretch a fake smile across your mouth and hope it holds. You try not to flinch when your voice cracks or when someone gets too close. You hope no one notices that your skin doesn’t feel like it fits right anymore.

Your shoulders ache from holding so much. Your jaw’s been clenched for three days. You don’t even notice anymore.

When did your body become a container for everything you never said out loud?

Roman’s not stupid.

He’s watching you.

And you can feel the questions in his eyes, even when he doesn’t ask.

Even when you beg him not to.

She learned young that love came with conditions.

That being easy to love meant being easy to manage.

Asha was seven the first time she realized her tears made people uncomfortable. She had scraped her knee outside—just a normal fall, the kind that startled more than hurt. But when she cried too long, when her chest heaved and her little hands shook, her mother sighed sharp and impatient like the sound offended her.

“You’re okay,” she’d snapped, flicking a glance from the sink. “Stop crying. It’s not that bad.”

It wasn’t the words that stuck—it was the look.

The tightness around her mother’s mouth. The way her eyes flickered not with concern, but with shame. Embarrassment.

Asha swallowed her sobs. Bit down on them. Nodded even though it still stung.

She didn’t ask for a Band-Aid.

She didn’t reach for comfort.

She learned.

Don’t cry too long. Don’t make things worse. Don’t need too much.

That’s how you stayed wanted.

That’s how you stayed kept.

Years later, she still caught herself saying “I’m fine” too quickly. Still measuring every reaction, every emotion, against whether it might inconvenience someone else.

And now—

Now she stood in her own kitchen, grown and exhausted, rinsing a clean mug under cold water while the man she loved stood just feet behind her. Watching. Waiting.

The silence between them was thick.

And still—she said nothing.

It started with the silence.

Not the comfortable kind—the one that draped itself over Sunday mornings and lazy kisses and slow-burn jazz humming in the background. No. This silence was different.

It pressed against the windows. It crawled up the walls. It coiled around Asha’s chest and sat there like something alive.

She stood at the sink with her back to him, rinsing the same mug in a slow, endless circle. The water had turned cold long ago, but her hands stayed there, submerged, as if the routine might save her.

The ridges of the ceramic dug into her palm.

It didn’t ground her.

Her thumb traced the rim again. Around, and around. A child’s muscle memory.

Stop crying. You’re fine. Don’t make it worse.

She could still see her mother’s face—tight-lipped, disappointed, tired of the noise.

Roman wasn’t her mother. She knew that.

But fear doesn’t care about facts.

Behind her, Roman stood at the threshold, his presence as steady and quiet as a coming storm. He didn’t say anything at first—he rarely did when she got like this. When her shoulders sank under invisible weight. When her laugh thinned out until it was all silence and swallowed sighs.

But it had been six days.

Six days of ghosted touches. Of distant eyes. Of her curling into herself like she was trying to disappear.

“Asha.”

His voice came low. Measured.

She blinked once. Her heart hiccuped.

“Yeah?”

“You good?”

She nodded, barely. “Yeah.”

Too fast. Too thin. Like tissue paper over a bruise.

Roman stepped forward, slow and deliberate. He didn’t touch her—he knew better than to crowd her when she was brittle. But his presence swelled behind her like gravity.

“You’ve been quiet all week.”

“I’ve been tired all week.”

“That ain’t the same thing.”

The mug slipped in her hand—just for a second.

She caught it, barely. Set it down with too much care, like overcompensating. Her hands were shaking. She curled them into fists before he could notice.

“I’m fine,” she said again. But it came out hoarse.

Roman didn’t answer.

He didn’t believe her.

And that made her want to scream.

She slowly turned, towel clutched in her hands. Her posture was straight, too straight, like a house built after the storm but still rattling in the wind.

“I’m not trying to fight with you,” she said, voice low and brittle. “I just want to sit. I want to be alone. Is that okay?”

His gaze didn’t waver. But his hands curled into his sleeves, like he was holding back something sharp.

“You want to be alone,” he said, “or you want me to leave you alone?”

She blinked. “Same thing.”

“No. It’s not.”

And that did it.

The words fell in the air like the snap of a rubber band stretched too far. Asha felt it burst in her chest—the tight coil of silence, of pretending, of stuffing everything down until it leaked out anyway.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“The truth,” Roman said, quiet now. “Whatever it is.”

Her throat closed. She stared down at the towel in her hands, twisting it tighter, tighter, tighter until it bit into her skin.

“I’m not okay,” she said, voice so small it barely passed her lips. “But I don’t know how to talk about it without sounding ungrateful. Without sounding like I’m ruining something good.”

Roman said nothing.

And that silence—

That silence shattered her.

“I spent so long being the strong one,” she whispered, shaking now. “The funny one. The low-maintenance one. The one who doesn’t ask for anything. And now? Now I don’t know how to not be that girl. I don’t know how to let you see me like this without thinking you’ll leave.”

Roman didn’t speak.

He didn’t know how to tell her that none of that scared him.

That this—watching her slip behind her eyes—was the only thing that did.

“I’m not leaving,” he finally said. Gentle. Grounded.

“But you’ll see me different,” she snapped. “You’ll see the parts that don’t smile through it. The parts that cry too much. The ones that shut down and flinch at kindness because they don’t know what to do with it.”

She laughed—but it was a sound made of static and splinters.

“You don’t get it, Ro. You fell in love with the version of me who keeps everything light. Who doesn’t take up too much space. And now I’m this—and I don’t even like me right now. So why would you?”

Roman stepped forward again.

One step.

Then another.

He raised a hand.

She backed up.

Not because she didn’t want him. Because she did—and wanting him while feeling unworthy was the cruelest thing in the world.

“I don’t tell you what I’m going through,” she said, voice trembling, “because I’ve been told I’m too emotional since I was a kid. Because people leave when I cry. Because people stop loving you when it gets heavy.”

Roman’s breath hitched. His hand stayed frozen in the air, still reaching.

“I’m trying,” she said, tears welling now, “to stay soft. To not bleed all over the things we built. But I feel like I’m drowning. And I’m scared if I say it out loud, I’ll ruin everything.”

He moved to hold her.

She stepped back again.

“I just— I need air,” she choked. “I need out.”

“Don’t go,” he said quietly.

She turned toward the door.

His voice followed her.

“Don’t run from me, Asha. Not when you know I’d stay.”

She hesitated.

Just for a second.

Her hand hovered on the knob.

She didn’t turn.

Didn’t look at him.

But her shoulders curled inward like she wanted to.

Like the little girl in her almost believed someone might follow.

She turned the knob.

Roman didn’t chase her.

He watched her walk out into the dark.

The door clicked shut behind her. A soft sound.

But it echoed like a scream.

Roman stared at the space she left behind.

His mouth opened.

“Asha—”

But the words caught on grief.

Then—

Crash.

He sent the glass from the island spinning, shattering into a thousand jagged truths on the floor. Shards sprayed across the tile like something vital had been ripped out of him.

“FUCK.”

The word tore from him, ragged and deep.

He pressed a hand hard over his face. Fingers dug into his beard. His shoulders curved inward like he was folding in on himself, trying to keep everything from spilling out.

The kitchen felt colder now.

Lonelier.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t clean it up.

Didn’t wipe the tear that slipped down his cheek.

Just stood there, in the wreckage of everything she couldn’t say—and everything he didn’t know how to heal.

The kind of silence that taught her love was conditional.

And the kind of silence that made him wonder if staying would ever be enough.

The beach was empty this late. No tourists. No locals. Just moonlight trying to reach the water and failing, and the sound of the ocean refusing to stop for anybody.

Asha parked without thinking. No charger. No bag. No plan. Just her keys, a hoodie she couldn’t remember grabbing, and the weight she hadn’t been able to shake since Vegas.

She kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot into the sand. The grains clung to her ankles like reminders: of mistakes, of memory, of softness she didn’t know how to keep.

The ocean stretched out in front of her like a wound that never closed.

She dropped into the sand, knees drawn up, and let the silence swallow her whole. Not the water—just the hush. The kind that pooled around her, cool and indifferent, like grief that didn’t need a name.

She pulled her sleeves over her hands. Tried to match her breath to the waves. Slow. Gentle. Controlled.

It didn’t work.

Her chest stuttered. Her pulse skittered like it didn’t know where to land. Her fists tightened in her hoodie as if she could hold herself together from the outside in.

She stared at the horizon like it owed her answers.

But the truth was... there was no fixing this.

Not what she’d done.

Not how it had started.

Not how it had begun with a bad decision and somehow turned into the only place her heart felt safe.

She was supposed to be married by now.

To someone else.

A man who made sense on paper. Who didn’t make her heart race or her walls tremble. Who didn’t make her feel like she had to shrink to be held, but didn’t see her either.

She hadn’t even loved him—not really. But she’d trusted the routine. The predictability. The quiet safety of it all.

But that didn’t erase what she left behind.

She could still hear his voice from that last voicemail—tight, clipped, humiliated: “So this is how I find out? From TMZ?”

Her stomach turned. Not because she wanted him back. But because she used to be someone who wouldn’t hurt people like that.

And maybe she still was.

Maybe she’d always be too much. The girl who cried too loud, felt too deep, loved too recklessly. Maybe even now—after all this—she wasn’t someone anyone should bet on.

But then came Vegas.

And then came Roman.

And the sound of his voice saying her name like it wasn’t a burden.

And the look in his eyes when he touched her like he didn’t just want her body—he wanted her.

And now?

She’d married him in a haze, walked out on a man who never saw her, and somehow built something real with someone who could ruin her just by staying.

It should’ve felt wrong.

But Roman never did.

And that was what terrified her most.

She didn’t hear him walk up.

Didn’t hear the car. Didn’t hear the footsteps.

But she felt him.

The way her spine straightened just slightly. The way her lungs unclenched like they recognized him first.

Roman didn’t say anything.

He just lowered himself to the sand beside her—slow, solid, like he knew she was already made of glass.

There was space between them. A full foot. Maybe more.

But she still felt him like warmth in winter.

He reached out like he might brush sand from her sleeve—then stopped. Let his hand fall between them instead.

Asha didn’t look at him.

He didn’t ask her to.

The ocean never stopped reaching.

Just like her—too much, too often, too loud.

And yet the shore always met it.

Every single time.

They sat like that—still, quiet, broken open—until Roman breathed in.

Just once. Slow.

Then he said, “I didn’t want to push you.”

Her eyes stayed forward. “I know.”

“I just…” His voice caught low. “I didn’t know what to do with the way you looked at me before you left.”

Asha swallowed hard.

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to be away from you,” she said. “I left because I didn’t know how to stay without falling apart.”

Roman’s jaw tightened.

She kept going—not because it was easy, but because silence felt like the only thing worse.

“My whole life, I’ve been told I’m dramatic. Sensitive. Too much. And I believed it. So I stopped letting people see me break. I stopped letting myself break.”

She dug her fingers into the sand again.

“And then I met you. And I was already engaged. Already living a lie. Already pretending I was okay because it was easier than admitting I wasn’t.”

Her voice cracked.

“And then we got drunk and married and somehow it felt like the only thing I’ve ever done that made any damn sense.”

The tears came easy now.

“But then came the guilt. And the shame. And the fear. Because what if it was just adrenaline? What if I’m not enough to make this last? What if I was never supposed to be loved like this?”

She turned to him finally.

And his eyes—

They didn’t flinch.

She wiped her cheek, even though it didn’t matter anymore.

“I don’t know how to be with someone who actually sees me. I’m so scared you’ll look too long and decide I’m not worth the cost.”

Roman didn’t blink.

“You think I don’t already see all of that?” he asked quietly.

She stared at him.

“I see the parts you think make you hard to love. And I still—”

His voice broke.

He looked down.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with someone who already belonged to someone else,” he said softly. “But I did. And I wouldn’t take it back.”

Her breath hitched.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. The wind moved her hair across her cheek, and for once, she didn’t try to fix it. She just let it settle.

Roman looked up again. Met her eyes.

“I still want to love you anyway.”

Silence fell again.

But this time it wasn’t heavy.

It was full.

Asha turned back to the ocean.

Her chest didn’t hurt as much.

Her breathing, while still shaky, came easier now.

Roman moved closer. Just a few inches. But she felt it. The permission in it.

She let her shoulder lean into his.

Not much.

Just enough to remember what it felt like to be held.

They stayed like that.

Shoulder to shoulder. Leg to leg. Grief to grief.

And when her hand slipped into his, he didn’t ask for anything else.

He just curled his fingers around hers and anchored her there.

Not in words.

Not in promises.

Just in presence.

Some silences weren’t empty. Some silences said everything.

Roman helped her stand.

He didn’t rush her.

Just rose beside her on the sand and offered his hand like it wasn’t a rescue but an invitation. Like she could say no and he’d still stay.

Asha hesitated for only a moment.

Then her fingers found his.

And for the first time all night, she let someone carry part of the weight.

They didn’t say a word as they walked to the car, feet sinking softly into the cool beach sand. The ocean stayed behind them, whispering secrets neither of them could quite hold anymore.

Roman opened the passenger door.

She got in.

The ride back was quiet.

Not the kind that echoed with what hadn’t been said—but the kind that softened the parts of her still clenching.

Asha leaned her head against the window, the chill of the glass grounding her. Her knees curled toward her chest, arms wrapped loosely around them. Her hoodie was damp at the edges from the sea air, and her throat still burned from crying.

Roman didn’t fill the silence with apologies or questions. His hands stayed steady on the wheel, eyes on the road, but his energy never drifted. He was here.

Present.

Even in her silence.

His right hand shifted to the center console and rested there—open, palm up.

She stared at it for a beat.

Then laced her fingers through his.

She kept rubbing her thumb over the ridge of his knuckle. Not hard. Just enough to remind herself she was real. That he was real. That she hadn’t drowned.

The wind outside howled softly against the windows. But inside the car, it felt still.

Not healed.

Not fixed.

Just still.

And for once, stillness didn’t scare her.

They pulled into the driveway. Roman turned off the ignition, but neither of them moved.

The porch light cast a soft glow across the front step. Familiar. Quiet. A house they shared but still hadn’t fully settled into.

Asha uncurled herself slowly.

Roman got out first and came around to open her door.

His hand hovered at her lower back—not touching this time. Just letting her know he was there.

She stepped out on her own.

But when the breeze caught her hair and she shivered, his hand found the small of her back like it belonged there.

Inside, the house smelled faintly like leftover garlic knots from two nights ago and the candle she forgot to blow out before she left. It was clean—but something in the air still felt fractured.

Like grief was waiting at the threshold to ask if she was still carrying it.

She slipped out of her shoes at the door and stood there, uncertain.

Roman’s voice cut softly through the quiet.

“You want me to run a bath?”

Asha nodded. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

She stayed in the kitchen while he moved down the hall. The sound of water rushing into the tub filtered through the walls like white noise.

Asha leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyes low.

The glass from the fight earlier had been cleaned up. The space looked untouched.

But her heart wasn’t.

She stared at the drawer she’d slammed hours ago and felt something fragile uncoil in her ribs.

Shame.

Exhaustion.

Relief.

Roman’s voice broke gently through the quiet. “Tub’s ready.”

She looked up.

He stood at the edge of the hallway, dim light pooling behind him. His shirt clung to him, wrinkled and soft from the night. His eyes weren’t guarded anymore. They weren’t trying to read her.

They were just waiting.

She walked toward him, steps slow, towel tucked into her arm.

Then stopped.

“Will you stay?” she asked.

Roman didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He just stared at her for a beat, like he wanted to say more, like he had more— “I’m not going anywhere.”

The bathroom was warm.

Steam curled in the air like breath.

The lights were dimmed low. A candle flickered on the shelf beside the tub—its soft glow catching the edges of the tile and making everything feel less sharp.

Asha undressed slowly, peeling off layers like old skin. Her hoodie. Her shirt. Her sweatpants.

Her hesitation.

She stepped into the water.

The heat enveloped her.

It reminded her of when she was little, hiding in the bathroom with the door locked and the water running—not because she was dirty, but because the silence made her feel safe. Because if no one checked on her, it meant she was being good. Easy. Not too much.

Back then, she used to pretend the tub was the ocean.

Tonight, it felt like one.

Roman didn’t leave.

He sat on the closed toilet lid, arms resting on his knees. His presence wasn’t looming. It was anchoring. Like the tide coming back to shore.

Asha leaned her head against the edge of the tub and watched the flicker of the flame.

She didn’t speak.

But her body softened in the quiet.

Minutes passed like that.

Neither of them moved.

Eventually, she looked up. “You ever think about what would’ve happened if we didn’t get married that night?”

Roman’s gaze found hers.

“I think about it,” he said.

She waited.

“But not because I regret it.”

Asha’s heart thudded.

“I think about it,” he said again, slower this time, “because it scares me to think I might’ve lived a life without ever knowing this version of you. The real one. The one who’s not trying to be perfect.”

She blinked hard. The water blurred around her, but she didn’t close her eyes.

“I’m still learning how to be her.”

He nodded once. “Then let me learn with you.”

When the water cooled, she rose and stepped out.

Roman stood and grabbed a towel. He didn’t look away. He didn’t ask her to hurry. He just moved like someone who had loved her in all her versions.

“May I?” he asked softly, towel already in hand.

She nodded.

He wrapped her slowly, reverently, like she was made of something rare and breakable.

His hands smoothed the edges over her shoulders.

And then he just… stood there.

Not trying to make it better.

Just staying.

Asha’s hand found the front of his shirt. Not pulling. Not clutching.

Just… resting.

Her thumb brushed his jaw. Just once. And then she kissed him like maybe—just maybe—she was choosing to believe him.

Their mouths met in the middle.

The kiss was quiet. Almost hesitant. Like two people asking the same question at the same time.

Then it deepened—slow, aching, open-mouthed.

Roman’s hand rose to her cheek. His thumb brushed under her eye, and Asha didn’t even realize she’d been crying again until he caught the tear.

“You’re not too much,” he whispered, barely audible. “You never were.”

She closed her eyes.

And for the first time in days, she believed him.

When they finally broke the kiss, her forehead rested against his chest.

His arms wrapped around her fully now, the damp towel forgotten between them.

He kissed the crown of her head.

“You ready for bed?”

Asha didn’t answer with words.

She just took his hand.

She never liked silence after crying.

Not the kind that wrapped around your ribs and stayed there. Not the kind that echoed like a punishment, or held the weight of things unsaid. It always came too soon—after a fight, after an unraveling, after trying not to shake while pretending she was fine.

But tonight, silence was what met her.

And it didn’t scare her. It hurt.

Because Roman didn’t say a word when they stepped into the bedroom. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t brush a thumb across her knuckles or let his fingers skim her lower back like he always did.

He just closed the door behind them and stood still. Present, yes—but distant, somehow. Still trying to let her breathe.

It should’ve felt like space.

It felt like loss.

You’re too much. You ruin the mood. Why are you always so damn sensitive? Smile and stop making everything so heavy. If you keep crying, no one’s going to stay.

She had spent so long learning how to hide her feelings in order to be loved. And every time someone left, she wondered if it was because they finally noticed the weight she carried. Not just on her shoulders—but in her chest, her gut, her throat. Every part of her that pulsed, ached. She thought she had to earn love by being easy. Palatable. Pleasant.

Even when it was killing her.

Asha stood in the center of the room, towel wrapped high around her chest, as if it were armor. She wasn’t sure who she was more afraid of disappointing—Roman or herself.

Her hands flexed at her sides. Her voice came out raw.

“I’m not okay.”

It wasn’t a confession. It was a wound.

Roman didn’t move. But something behind his eyes flickered—tight and protective and burning.

“I know,” he said, voice low. Not careful. Not tiptoeing. Just real.

“I want to be close,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to be consumed.”

She didn’t look at him when she said it.

“I can’t… I can’t lose myself in this. Not again.”

There was a pause.

Then Roman asked, softly, “May I take it off?”

Her eyes shot to his.

Not because she was startled by the question, but because she felt it down to the bone.

He wasn’t talking about sex.

He was asking to peel away the thing she was still hiding behind.

She nodded.

Barely.

But Roman still waited.

Only when her fingers dropped away from the towel’s knot did he step forward.

His palms hovered just inches from her skin—two suns waiting to rise.

“You can stop me at any time.”

She didn’t.

The towel loosened beneath his hands. A quiet pull.

A gentle slip.

And when the thick fabric fell, it landed on the floor with a soft thud that sounded louder than it should’ve.

Asha stood completely bare. Goosebumps rising along her arms. Not from cold.

From vulnerability.

Roman’s eyes didn’t trail down her body—not immediately. He looked at her face first. Stayed there. Just stared.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply. As if it were a fact. As if it couldn’t be argued.

Asha swallowed hard. “Even when I’m like this?”

“Especially when you’re like this.”

Her lower lip trembled. She hated how it did that. How her body betrayed her.

Roman didn’t flinch. Didn’t say a word.

He let her come apart one thread at a time, steadying her with nothing but his presence.

When he reached for his shirt, he didn’t yank it over his head like a man preparing for something physical.

He peeled it off like a man shedding expectations.

One slow sweep of cotton over muscle. One silent offering.

He stood bare-chested in front of her, and for a second, it felt like they were two strangers staring at something they weren’t sure they could survive.

But neither of them looked away.

“I don’t want to be the girl who breaks every time,” she said quietly. “I hate that I still get like this.”

Roman’s jaw tightened. Not out of frustration. But something closer to hurt.

“You’re not breaking,” he said. “You’re feeling. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

She blinked.

“And if I crumble?”

His voice dropped.

“Then I’ll hold the pieces.”

Asha stepped forward, slow and unsure. Her hands lifted to his chest.

Fingertips first. Then palms.

Roman’s skin was warm. So warm.

She wanted to crawl into it.

He bent down and kissed her forehead. Then the tip of her nose. Then—finally—her mouth.

The kiss wasn’t deep. It wasn’t ravenous.

It was quiet. Full of breath. Full of patience.

When his tongue finally touched hers, it felt like silk—an invitation to stay, not a plea to hurry.

Her knees wobbled slightly. Roman caught her waist, grounding her.

“I got you,” he murmured.

His breath brushed her lips.

“I always got you.”

She didn’t know how they moved.

Only that the backs of her knees hit the bed. And his arms came around her again.

Lifting her.

Holding her.

Laying her down like something sacred.

She stared up at him.

He knelt between her legs and just looked.

At the curve of her hip.

At the stretch of her collarbone.

At the small tremble in her fingers.

And then, finally, at her eyes.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

But something passed between them—breath, fear, surrender.

And then Roman leaned in.

He kissed her knee first.

Then her inner thigh.

Slow. Reverent.

Each kiss deeper than the one before.

Asha’s head fell back. Her breathing picked up.

His beard scraped gently, his mouth soft—hot.

When he reached her hip, he paused and nuzzled the delicate dip just above her pelvis.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly.

“I don’t know how to stay still,” she whispered.

“Then I’ll move slow enough for the both of us.”

He kissed up her torso, tongue grazing her ribs.

Then he made it to her chest.

She gasped when his lips wrapped around her nipple—warm, wet, slow.

Her back arched.

Her thighs shifted.

Roman dragged one hand up her leg and gently splayed it across her belly.

“You’re allowed to feel everything,” he said into her skin. “You’re allowed to want. To need.”

She whimpered.

“I need you to see me.”

“I do,” he said. “I see everything.”

Asha’s thighs parted slightly.

Roman slid lower, nuzzling the inside of her knee, then her inner thigh again—closer, warmer, almost there.

Her heart was thundering.

Her hand slid into his curls, anchoring herself.

Roman looked up, voice low, eyes darker than she’d ever seen.

“Let me taste you.”

Her breath hitched.

She froze—but didn’t pull away.

Roman’s voice was a promise when he added—

“You’re not too much. You never were. You’re mine.”

Asha closed her eyes. Let her head fall back. Felt the air shift. Felt her body say yes before her mouth could.

She didn’t reply out loud.

But in her chest, in the quiet that used to scare her—

She heard it clearly:

He sees me. He wants me. Maybe I really never was too much.

He was right there.

Between her thighs, lips grazing the skin that had never felt so exposed, so open, so alive.

And somehow, she still couldn't believe this wasn’t a test.

Not a dream. Not a trap. Not a moment she’d regret later when the lights came on and someone called her too much again.

Because that voice still lived inside her. Not his—hers.

“You ruin everything when you feel too loud.”

“If you stop crying, maybe someone will stay.”

“Don’t take up too much space. Don’t be dramatic. Don’t ask for more than people offer.”

But Roman wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t hurrying her along. He wasn’t shrinking from the parts of her that felt wild, tender, loud, or complicated.

He was… waiting.

Not like a man who needed permission to touch her. Like a man who already understood that he’d never touch her the same way twice. Because she wasn’t just skin and heat and breath.

She was weather. She was feeling. She was everything she thought made her unlovable—and still, he stayed.

Still, he looked at her like the ache in her chest was a symphony.

And she didn’t know what scared her more.

That he might leave.

Or that he might never let her hide again.

Her fingers trembled where they clutched the sheets. Her eyes fluttered shut.

And in the silence she once feared, she heard something new:

“You don’t have to be small to be safe.”

“You don’t have to be quiet to be kept.”

“You don’t have to be perfect to be loved.”

Roman’s hands slid along her thighs again. His beard brushed sensitive skin. And when his mouth finally dipped low—soft, warm, unhurried—

Asha didn’t brace.

She let go.

The first time he kissed her inner thigh, it didn’t feel sexual.

It felt like worship.

Roman didn’t rush. Didn’t grope or devour. He kissed her skin like she was something he’d prayed for and now held in his hands.

Asha lay bare, breath unsteady, her body still humming from the unraveling conversation before. Her towel was gone. Her armor too.

And Roman? He moved like nothing about her softness frightened him.

Not her tears. Not her tremble. Not even the way she stayed so still—like she was afraid love this gentle might vanish.

His lips ghosted a path up her thigh.

Close. Then closer. Then—

He exhaled against her center, the heat of it making her thighs twitch.

“I’ve been thinking about this all damn day,” he murmured. “You gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

She nodded.

Didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Because the moment his tongue dragged slow and flat through her folds, her whole body shook.

Roman moaned—low and deep—like her flavor knocked the air out of him.

“Fuck.”

His voice vibrated against her.

“Sweetest thing I ever had.”

Then he dove in.

Tongue flicking. Mouth sealing around her clit with gentle suction. Rhythm tight. Deliberate. Focused.

Asha gasped.

Her hand flew to the sheets, the other fisting the comforter by her hip. The sounds coming out of her weren’t careful. Weren’t quiet.

They were real. Soft whimpers. Broken moans. The kind of breathless pleading that didn’t ask permission.

Roman didn’t let up.

One of his big hands slid up to her stomach—spreading wide, warm, anchoring her to the bed as his mouth worked lower.

He kissed her again. Then licked. Then sucked—slow and hard.

Her hips lifted. He followed. Never breaking contact. Never needing her to guide him.

He knew.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured into her. “And I haven’t even started.”

Asha’s thighs quivered around his head.

She tried to respond, but her breath broke in the middle.

Roman chuckled—dark and soft—then slipped one thick finger into her heat.

She cried out.

The stretch was so much but not enough. Warm. Curling. Precise.

Her back arched. Her hand slid to his curls. Not to pull—just to hold.

“Right there?” he asked.

She nodded, voice breaking. “Yes… there, please—”

Roman sucked her clit again. Harder. Tighter. Tongue pressing in a slow, obscene circle.

Her body began to tense. A wave building in her lower belly—tight, hot, coiling with every flick of his tongue and curl of his finger.

She couldn’t stay still.

Her hips rocked. Her moans spilled out faster. Her legs locked tighter.

Roman growled.

“I said let me hear you, baby. Don’t hold it in. You’re not too much.”

Another finger joined the first—stretching her, filling her, fucking her slow.

His tongue picked up pace. Licking. Sucking. Ruining.

“You feel that?” he groaned. “That’s what it’s like when somebody loves you right.”

Asha’s whole body began to shake.

Her stomach clenched. Her throat tightened. And just before the orgasm hit, Roman looked up at her—lips wet, beard glistening, eyes locked with hers.

“Fall apart for me.”

Then he sucked her clit hard. Curled his fingers deep. And kept his eyes on her the whole time.

The orgasm ripped through her.

Her legs clamped around his head. Her back bowed off the bed. Her mouth opened wide on a scream she didn’t recognize.

She shattered. Hard. Raw.

It wasn’t just physical. It felt like grief. Like release. Like someone finally saw everything she was—and didn’t leave.

Roman didn’t stop. He slowed just enough to ride the wave with her, mouth still worshipping, fingers easing the tremble from her body until her breathing softened again.

He kissed her thighs as she came down. Whispered something she couldn’t quite hear over her pulse.

And then he crawled up her body—slow, heavy, sure.

His hand cupped her jaw. His lips met her forehead. Her cheek. Her mouth.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Hoarse.

“I’ve got you.”

Asha blinked up at him, face flushed, eyes glassy.

“I don’t know how to be loved like this,” she whispered.

Roman kissed the corner of her mouth again. Pressed their foreheads together.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He settled between her thighs, resting his weight on his forearms, still pressed chest-to-chest. His nose brushed hers.

“You don’t have to know how,” he whispered. “Just stay with me.”

His thumb stroked along the curve of her waist, not retreating. Not covering. Just waiting.

And when she didn’t answer,

When her eyes filled with something wordless and wet,

He whispered—

“Let me show you the rest.”

His voice had barely faded when Asha pulled him down again, catching his lips in a kiss that felt like a dam breaking.

Not lust. Not escape. Need.

A need she never let herself speak aloud—because when you grow up believing love has to be earned, you learn how to starve yourself of softness.

She trembled beneath him—not from fear, but from the ache of being seen. Completely. Unhidden. No armor. No edits. Just Asha, beneath the weight of a man who touched her like she was sacred.

You have to be perfect to be loved.

You’re too much.

You ruin everything when you ask for more.

She didn’t say those words out loud. She didn’t have to.

Roman saw all of them—and stayed.

He hovered above her like he was protecting something fragile, bracing one hand beside her head while the other slid slowly, reverently, along the inside of her thigh. He didn’t speak right away. Just watched her—like she was giving him something she’d never given anyone before.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

Her breath shook. “I’m sure. I just… I don’t wanna feel like I have to be small to be loved.”

Roman’s eyes darkened—not with anger, but with grief for all the years she had.

“You don’t,” he said. “Not with me. You can be as much as you want. I’ll still be right here.”

His words cracked something in her. She closed her eyes and nodded.

And that’s when he kissed her again—slow and grounding, his hand never leaving her skin as he shifted his weight and guided himself to her entrance.

The moment his tip pressed against her, Asha gasped, thighs twitching from the heat of it. The anticipation. The stretch. The truth of how much of him there was.

Roman groaned into her neck. “Fuck… baby…”

He was so big. Her body clenched instinctively as he pressed forward—slow, deliberate, careful. Not because she couldn’t take it, but because he wanted her to feel everything. Every inch. Every intention.

One hand cupped her face now, thumb brushing the tear from her cheek she hadn’t realized had fallen. “Breathe for me. You’re doing perfect.”

The way he moved was like prayer. Each thrust deeper, each stroke carving a space inside her where fear used to live.

She clung to his shoulders, breath hitching, head tilting back. “Oh my god—Roman—”

“You got me,” he whispered, kissing along her collarbone, “right here. Let me give this to you.”

He rocked into her slowly, letting her adjust to the fullness of him. Every inch he gave her made her heart pound louder. Every kiss on her skin made her eyes blur.

“You take me so good,” he rasped, voice low and hoarse. “Tightest pussy I ever felt. Warm, wet, perfect. Just like you.”

Asha whimpered, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, needing him deeper. Closer. Everywhere.

She’d never been filled like this. Not just physically—emotionally. She wasn’t just open. She was held.

And then Roman slowed to stillness, his body fully buried inside hers, chest rising and falling as he looked at her.

“Say it again,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” she whispered. “I want this. I want to stop running from it.”

He kissed her again, slower this time. Less hunger, more surrender.

Then he moved—slow, steady thrusts that dragged moans from both of them. Her hands gripped his arms, feeling the strain in his muscles as he held back, grounding himself in her softness.

The slide of him was intoxicating. The burn, the pressure, the rhythm building like the sea—waves rising with nowhere to go but over.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmured, forehead resting against hers. “I swear to God, Asha…”

Her voice caught. “Roman…”

“You’re not too much,” he breathed, rocking into her harder. “You never were. They just didn’t know how to hold you right.”

Her hands slid into his hair, eyes wide and glassy. “But you do.”

“I do,” he said, jaw clenched. “You’re mine. And I’m gonna remind you every time I touch you.”

She whimpered as his pace shifted—still slow, but deeper now. More force behind it. Her body sang with the stretch, the rhythm, the weight of his love poured into every thrust.

“I didn’t think I could be loved like this,” she whispered.

He kissed her shoulder, kissed the corner of her mouth, kissed the truth out of her.

“Nobody ever let me love them like this,” he said. “But I need you to let me. Let me give you everything.”

Asha let out a soft cry—not from pain, but from how good it felt to finally be touched like she didn’t have to earn it.

“I’m yours,” she breathed.

And Roman just held her face, kissed her again, and thrust so deep she saw stars.

Asha didn’t know if she was crying or moaning or both.

Roman had her wrapped in him—thrusts deep and rolling, his forearms braced tight on either side of her, keeping her caged in his heat. His body flexed with every grind, dragging against every tender, aching part of her like he knew what she needed and wasn’t afraid to give it. And she was taking it—every inch, every breathless whisper, every fucking word.

"You feel so good," he murmured, voice frayed and low. “So fuckin’ good, baby. I ain’t ever—” He cut himself off with a groan, his hips rocking deeper, slower, like the truth in his throat burned too hot to speak.

But Asha felt it. Felt it in the tension behind his rhythm. Felt it in the way his fingers tightened on the mattress like if he didn’t anchor himself, he’d fall apart inside her.

Every time he hit that spot deep inside her, her spine arched, her eyes fluttered, and her chest rose like she couldn’t catch her breath. Her body didn’t know whether to cling or collapse. She was so full it made her dizzy. He kissed her between each thrust—her cheek, her chin, her mouth when it opened in a gasp—and she started whispering his name like a prayer she’d just remembered how to say.

“I can’t—Roman—I can’t—” “You can. Look at me.”

His hand came to her face, thumb brushing her bottom lip as he slowed to an aching grind.

“I got you, Asha. I got all of you.”

Her breath hitched. That was what undid her.

Not the thrust. Not the pressure. Not the stretch. Him. Saying her name like it wasn’t too heavy to carry. Like she wasn’t.

Her legs locked around his waist. Her hands fisted the sheets, and when he started to move again—slower, deeper—her climax began to curl like smoke behind her ribs. Her thighs trembled. Her walls fluttered. And Roman felt it—let out a low sound that cracked straight through her chest.

Her mind scrambled to hold on, but her body had already surrendered.

The orgasm took her like a wave—sharp, blistering, impossible to stop. Her cry was jagged, caught halfway between a sob and a scream. Her hips jerked off the mattress. Her toes curled. And she clenched around him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to this earth.

Roman’s breath punched out of him.

“Shit—baby—” he muttered, voice breaking into a moan as she pulsed around him.

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Didn’t need to.

His next few thrusts were shaky—desperate. She could feel it in the tension of his thighs, the tremble in his breath, the way his rhythm faltered when she clenched again.

“Don’t… do that,” he whispered, eyes flickering shut for a second. “Unless you want me to—”

He broke off, grinding into her slow and deep, burying himself like he needed to feel all of her, just like this, one last time.

Then he came.

With a raw groan into her neck, his body tensed—hips jerking, hands clutching her waist, chest pressed to hers like he was trying to breathe her in. He was quiet, but the weight of it rolled through him like thunder. His mouth brushed her jaw, her shoulder, her mouth again. Every part of him shook.

And Asha… just held him.

Still panting. Still overwhelmed. Her limbs were jelly and her heart was water and her eyes filled with tears she didn’t fully understand.

A soft silence settled around them. Heavy. Sacred. Real.

Then her voice cracked open.

“I was so scared I’d ruin this,” she whispered, her fingers brushing his spine.

Roman didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back. His forehead stayed pressed to hers, like moving would make the truth go cold.

“You didn’t ruin a thing,” he said softly. “You saved it.”

Asha blinked up at him, her throat closing. Her voice barely came out.

“Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“When I fall apart again… you’ll still be here.”

His kiss came then—slow and sure, like he meant it.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And neither was she.

The room held a silence so heavy it felt sacred.

Not empty. Not cold. Just still.

Only the hush of waves against the shore outside reminded Asha that the world hadn’t stopped spinning. A soft breeze from the slightly cracked window kissed her skin, carrying the faint scent of sea salt and night air. Somewhere in the hallway, a clock ticked like a heartbeat.

Roman hadn’t moved much. His chest pressed gently against hers, one hand cradling her cheek while the other curled protectively around her waist. His body—still flush against her, skin to skin—radiated heat. She could feel the soft rise and fall of his breath. His lips hovered just above hers, close enough that she could still taste him.

Her fingers stayed tangled in his curls.

He hadn’t said a word since whispering, “I’m still here.”

And he was.

Even now, when her body was limp with exhaustion and her ribs felt cracked open from how deeply she’d let him in—he stayed.

Asha closed her eyes.

For a long, quiet moment, she let herself be held.

Eventually, Roman eased out of her, slow and careful, pressing a kiss to her cheek when she whimpered at the loss. One hand lingered on her thigh, grounding her, as if to say, I’m not gone. Just give me a second.

She nodded without speaking.

Then he stood—naked, golden in the soft lamplight, hair tousled and damp with sweat—and walked out of the room.

She watched him go.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel abandoned.

Instead, she felt… still.

Safe.

Her fingers splayed across her lower belly, brushing the soft imprint of his touch. Her eyes drifted toward the ceiling.

And without meaning to, her mind whispered something she hadn’t known she needed to hear:

Peace didn’t arrive when I was perfect. It came when I stopped pretending I had to be.

Not when she had everything figured out. Not when she fixed all the broken pieces. But in the middle of the storm. In the most chaotic, messy, upside-down part of her life. It found her anyway.

And somehow… it looked like him.

Roman came back a minute later, quiet and barefoot, holding a warm towel and a bottle of water. He didn’t speak. He just moved toward her like he’d always belonged there.

She gave him a soft, tired smile as he gently nudged her thighs apart, settling beside her on the edge of the bed.

The towel was warm and damp, the cloth soothing against her inner thighs as he cleaned her—slowly, reverently, without a trace of hesitation. Like none of it scared him. Like he’d do it again and again if it meant she didn’t have to flinch when someone stayed.

Asha blinked up at him, her voice barely above a breath. “You don’t have to—”

Roman shook his head before she could finish. “I want to.”

He set the towel aside and offered her the water. She took a sip, then another. Her throat was tight, but not from pain.

“This is new,” she murmured after a beat, voice cracking despite herself. “Being taken care of like this.”

Roman looked at her for a long moment. Then he brushed a damp curl from her forehead and pressed his lips there instead.

“Guess I’m learning how to stay,” he said softly.

And just like that, the tears came.

Not all at once. Not loud or violent. Just quiet streaks down her cheeks, like her body had finally unclenched and decided to let them go.

He didn’t ask why she was crying.

Didn’t try to stop it.

Roman simply climbed into bed beside her and pulled the sheets up, tucking them around her with one arm while the other cradled her against his chest.

She let him.

Curled into the space beneath his chin and rested her palm over his heart.

His voice came like gravity.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And for once, she believed it.

Others called it a mistake.

Said she threw away her engagement. Her future. Her reputation. Whispers followed her like shadows: impulsive, reckless, naïve. And maybe once, she believed them.

But lying here—skin flushed, cheeks still damp, body molded to his like they were carved from the same ache—Asha knew the truth.

The real mistake would’ve been walking away.

Because Roman wasn’t her downfall. He wasn’t some drunken accident or broken detour.

He was the only thing that ever felt like choosing herself.The only man who held her without asking her to be smaller. The only one who didn’t flinch when she gave him everything.

And God help her—

He was the damn miracle she never saw coming.

Author’s Note ✍🏽

I’ve been quiet the past few days—giving myself space to breathe, to feel, and to not rush back before I was ready. This one-shot came from that space. It’s softer. Heavier. A little more angsty than I usually write… but it’s honest. And sometimes, honesty is all I have to offer. We should all have a place where we’re allowed to be soft and vulnerable.

I wrote this on a night when everything inside felt too loud. For a while, I didn’t think I’d ever post it. But this moment between them deserves to live on its own.

It’s part of a messier little series that’s been sitting in my drafts for a while—emotional, dramatic, chaotic. But this one needed to come first.

If this story held you—thank you. You didn’t have to read it, but you did. And if you liked, reblogged, or especially commented… your words mean more than I can explain. You give me courage just by showing up and supporting.

My master taglist is always open if you’d like to stay connected. Links to the rest of my work are at the top of the post. There’s more softness there. More chaos. Always more heart.

And if something in this lingered—if a line stayed with you—I’d love to know what echoed back.

My inbox is always open. Whether you want to talk, share, or just need a soft place to land—I'm here. (hugs)

With love always,

Mikayla 🖤✨

✧ What line or moment stayed with you?

✧ Have you ever felt like Asha—caught between love and fear?

✧ What does honesty in love mean to you?

✧ How do you think this fiasco started?

current taglist (love yall down bad)🖤✨

@star017 @sheaabuttaababyy @tribalqueen20 @trippinsorrows @mamis-girly

@pittieprincess22 @zoeroxiie @beccalynns-world @keyera-jackson @li-da-savage

@sharmelasworld @jaded-human @lov3rla03 @justazzi @fearlesschimera

@skyesthebomb @chrissyxcxox @reginawhorge01 @purplementalitybluebird @jeyusosqueen

@brianochka @diamondlifeee @perksofbeingbeautifulyetsobroken @cyberdejos2 @transparentphantomface

@sayyestoheav3nn @kianaleani @sxvual @vebner37 @sexyblacksimper

@dopematicdiamondz @behavior619 @annfg8 @ayeeeitsmiracle @ariiaellbtheedonn

@romanreignsluver1 @ashykneee @fame-ass-ers @baybehkay @queenofklonnie22

@blackchickinthedesert @thekittysmeow @faialii @sassginaswanmills @keenagurl

@tribalchief2112 @emotionalhottiee

#mikaylathenerd5 #kayla's random universe #kayla answers

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