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jaylaxies · 1 year ago

Text

ROMAN HOLIDAY

PAIRING: jake x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, slight fluff, protected and unprotected sex, (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!), cunnilingus, marking, creampie, mentions of petnames (princess, baby, darling, daddy), lots of kissing and brief mentions of smoking, stealing, running away from cops, drugs, somnophilia (consensual), etc.

WC: 10k words

SYNOPSIS: visiting your grandma’s place was more or less your entire plan for your summer vacations and only break you get before your university starts, although, meeting your neighbour, bickering with him and clutching his hand while running away from cops wasn’t in your bucket list.

PLAYLIST: welcome to wonderland by anson seabra, movement by hozier, if you let me by alina baraz, how to love by jen z, roman holiday by halsey.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, my sweetest angels <3 i'm finally here with a jake fic which was long due! i hope you guys like it <33 all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated :D loveyou all <3

Bagging a window seat for a day-long journey sure is a blessing, peculiarly when you have to stay sitting at your spot in a train for a sum of six hours. Nestled in your seat, you sit straighter when the scenic view of the sea water meeting the sky graces your eyes—which you capture on your phone’s camera with a soft smile.

It felt as if it had been ages since you got out of your room, where you used to be cooped up during the entirety of your day, studying for your final year of school.

Your parents were concerned. They were highly proud of you for achieving top honours, yes, but it was about time you went out and cherished your life a little before you got winded up in the stress of University yet again, which was to start in one month.

And what’s a better place to spend your vacations at if not at your granny’s home?

It was a few minutes past six when you finally reached your desired destination, dragging your luggage behind you as a swish of cold breeze hit you. It looked straight out of a movie with how the train station was lit up by old-fashioned lamps which radiated warmth just by glancing towards them.

You hugged your cardigan tighter, walking out to find the taxi stand just outside the exit area of the station, pulling out your phone to show the driver the address you’d be meaning to go to. He was a kind man, helping you put your luggage into the trunk of his taxi. Your curious eyes looked out, observing how much the town had changed over the years.

You were seven when you last visited her hometown. Ever since then, your grandma used to be the one who visited you in the city, at your place, however she did not wish to leave her town and move in with your family. You could see why she chose to stay here—the serene view, the freshness in the air, the tranquil surroundings, it made the corner of your lips curl up into a smile.

It only got wider once the driver stopped his taxi in front of your grandma’s house. It was exactly how you had remembered it to be—a small but two story house with a big veranda which was lit up by fairy lights on the big bushes. The back door connected the path towards the small pool and then yet another door linked the beach from your backyard.

Your grandma stood by the door with the fondest smile gracing her ever so beautiful face, a few grey strands fell on her face and you couldn’t help but get out of the taxi and run towards her, capturing her in an embrace. A hearty chuckle filled the air, the scent of your favourite cookies encapsulated you, making you wonder if she had baked a batch just for you as you snuggled further, her hand patting your head exactly the way she used to do ever since you were a kid.

“I missed you, grandma.” Your expression said it all, and she looked more than happy to usher you in the house, saying how chilly the night was and you made sure to pay the driver, thanking him for his service as you dragged the luggage in.

A wave of nostalgia hit you as your eyes wandered off to observe each corner, but your grandma didn’t hear any of it, making sure her granddaughter was well fed and rested after the long journey.

She spent a good while telling you embarrassing stories of your father during dinner, which you listened to with delight, sharing your own stories with zeal before you climbed up the stairs, opening the door to the room you used to use each time you stayed over as a child.

It didn’t change, the bed was still too big for you, the windows were spotless as if it had been cleaned frequently and the scent of old books paired with a tinge of vanilla filled your senses. Your body felt calm and you couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this way.

Calling your parents, you updated them by telling you had reached safely as you walked in the balcony, feeling comfortable in a sweatshirt and cotton shorts. The night sky resembled a velvet blanket full of glistening stars.

However, a figure clad in all black captured your attention. It was a bit beyond one in the morning, which is why it was unsettling to see someone walk in such dim lights. The stranger made his way towards your neighbouring house, making you wonder if he lived there.

Shrugging, you sighed. Sitting at one place for hours does tire your body, so you proceed to finally get into your cozy bed, setting an alarm before your grandma comes in to check if you require anything.

“Sweet dreams my little peanut,” your grandma smiled, closing the door behind you as you replied back with a gentle voice.

“Sweet dreams, Gigi!” It was a nickname you used for her, she found it lovely.

The placid atmosphere and the distant sound of waves acted as a catalyst to your sleep, and you slept soundly, not knowing that the calmness was just a start to your inevitable venture—something no one could have prepared you for.

You found yourself walking alongside your Gigi to visit the lady next door in the afternoon. She was a kind soul—as stated by your grandma, not to mention that she treated her like her own family, making sure to provide help whenever she could and that’s the reason why you were going to meet her.

It wasn’t the first time; apparently you used to play in their veranda a lot as a child, which again, you didn’t remember. However, when the lady—Mrs. Sim, opened the door, the memories came rushing back to you. She was jolly, almost as if she was waiting for your arrival and soon, you were engulfed into a sweet hug.

She called out your name in sheer excitement, leaning back to take a good look at your face, which sported a silly smile due to embarrassment.

“Aw, love. You’ve grown into such a pretty young lady,” she gushed, ushering you both inside and into the living room area.

“And you don’t look a day over twenty, Mrs. Sim,” you replied, not lying considering how youthful she appeared to be.

Her smile only widened at your comment, “now, another word and I’ll be floating in the clouds,” she said, making you chuckle as you got engaged in a conversation, sipping on the cranberry juice which Mrs. Sim had so kindly offered you.

It was decided that you’d be having lunch together, and you tried your best to help the two women in the kitchen but you were soon shoved out, saying you don’t have to do a thing and rest—that’s the purpose of your vacations.

Which made you sit down and use your phone, scrolling through random apps and replying to all the texts.

“Y/n!” Soon, you were called into the kitchen, and you poked your head in with a smile.

“Yes, Gigi?”

“Oh, peanut, can you please go upstairs and call Jake for lunch? It’s almost done.” She asked.

You tilted your head in confusion, mind wandering back to the guy you had seen last night and you came to the conclusion that Jake might be Mrs. Sim’s son.

You nodded, heading up the wooden staircase. Would you have to introduce yourself to him? Would it get awkward? You had no clue.

Knocking on the door twice, you took a step back and patiently waited for the door to open and so, you tried again to no avail. You wondered if he had his headphones on, which left you with no choice but to open the door, peeking in slightly only to find the room empty.

“Oh,” you let out, closing the door behind you for the sake of privacy.

“He’s not in his room,” you informed Mrs. Sim.

She sighed, serving a good portion of food for all of you, “I could have sworn he didn’t go out,” she shook her head as you three sat down. You let the elders start eating first and only then you picked up your chopsticks to do the same.

“I haven’t seen him in a while, what’s the tough guy up to?” Your Gigi asked.

“He’s busy enrolling himself into universities,” Mrs. Sim says, a sad smile taking over her face, “he says he doesn’t want to leave me and is aiming for nearby universities.”

“My my, isn’t he a darling boy?” Your grandma praised while you chewed on your food, which melted right in your mouth, silently eating while hearing them converse.

It didn’t take long for your grandma to ask them to come over for dinner the very next day, “it’s only fair that I cook for you too,” she argued when Mrs. Sim told her that she shouldn’t bother.

This time, your grandma let you help with the cooking, and of course, you were sent to invite the Sims over for dinner. You hugged your white cardigan close to your body—the nights tend to get chilly. Walking over to the neighbouring home, you rang the bell and were greeted with the sight of Mrs. Sim, who actually dressed up for the little dinner party.

“Oh, darling. Can you please call Jake down for dinner too?” She asked you as she was busy tidying up her own kitchen.

“Of course,” you smiled.

It was the second time you were heading up the stairs. This time, you were sure you’d be meeting the said boy. You found yourself standing right in front of his room yet again, gulping down your nervousness. It wasn’t as if you weren’t used to introducing yourself to new people, school made sure you knew how to do that, however, your nerves were acting up.

With a deep breath, you knocked on the door, twice—just like the last time. The difference, however, was that the door was opened in this instance.

The scent of an intoxicating blend of masculinity and sophistication announced his presence, undertones of musk and wood laced up, providing him a complex aura altogether.

A tall guy with parted black hair leaned against the doorframe, eyebrow perfectly raised in question, his arms folded as his honey brown eyes with the slightest speckles of gold stared your way, his plump lips soon curling up into what seemed to be an assortment of a smile and a smirk.

“You must be Y/n,” he stated, standing up straight, which caused his muscles to flex enough to the point it was visible in his white button up.

You licked your lips unknowingly, moistening them up before you nodded, extending your hand for him to shake, “pleasure meeting you, Jake.”

His eyes travelled down from your face to your hand, a low chuckle left his mouth, him opening the door and stepping out, coming closer to you as he grabbed your smaller hand in his bigger, warmer ones in a firm handshake.

“I can see why my mom can’t stop talking about you,” he said, making you tilt your head in question, eyes never leaving his face which was captivating.

“And why is that so?” You asked, stepping back slightly as he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“Because you seem to be a good girl,” he breathed, making you go still as he leaned back with the same smirk, leaving you behind, walking down the stairs.

Now, you didn’t expect the situation to turn out this way, yet you knew that talking to him further would only cause your head to hurt.

What even made him think about you being a good girl?

Is it your outfit? Plain, loose jeans paired with a pink top and cardigan. It’s basic enough not to be categorized so easily.

You scoff to yourself, already hating the situation as you walk downstairs, only to find Jake with a smile that genuinely looked sweet while he talked to his mother, helping her lock the door.

“I see you met Jaeyun,” she smiled, and you nodded, sitting alongside her, not sparing a glance at the said boy as you didn’t even know his real name was Jaeyun.

The table was set for four, which made you sit right across from Jake, who’s demeanour had changed as he complimented your granny, who laughed at his sweetness.

“Here, have some more,” he says, serving another portion to your grandma, who cooed at his kind conduct at the table.

He made sure to be on his best behaviour, only in front of others but when his gaze fell towards you, a bored expression overtook his features, which no one paid attention to.

You rolled your eyes. It hadn’t even been a whole day since you met and yet the boy made you dread his presence. He wasn’t being straight up rude per se, however his actions weren’t subtle either just like how he completely ignored your existence during the entirety of the dinner.

He offered to clean up, which included him having to clean up your plate as well, which was something he did with a frown on his face as Mrs. Sim endorsed that he should help with the household work.

Both ladies were in awe of how well mannered Jake was, and it left you irritated to no end before Mrs. Sim called out your name softly.

“Jake’s been acting distant lately,” she told you in a soft voice, making sure the said boy doesn’t hear you both, “and comes home late from his part time work, doesn’t share a lot these days too,” she sighs before looking at you softly, “you’re such a lovely girl, Y/n. I’m sure Jaeyun would love to have you as a friend he can rely on. Will you please look after him?” She asked, eyes sincere with worry for her son.

Now, you were provided with two choices—one to say yes and agree, but you’d have to be in Jake’s proximity for that. The second one would be a plain no, which would sound disrespectful and insolent.

So you put on your most convincing smile, which turned into an unadulterated one when you saw her being concerned about her son, “of course, I’ll do that, Mrs. Sim.”

“Oh please! Call me auntie,” she swatted her hand at your formal usage of name and you laughed, agreeing.

Since the dinner was summed up now and the dishes were done, courtesy of Jaeyun; you were asked to walk them back home, which wasn’t even a two minute walk, however you couldn’t say no to your grandma and hence, you agreed.

Mrs. Sim—or your auntie Sim, thanked you for the dinner, and proposed to at least have one meal of the day together each day, which you thought was a lovely idea given that you had grown to like the lady.

You were just about to leave when she went inside but a firm grip on your wrist stopped you right away, making you look up at Jake in question.

“You don’t have to bother being my friend, you’ll only be a hindrance in my way,” he says smoothly.

Your expression turns sour, almost as if you were bored, “why? So you can keep your fake good boy persona up and going?” You said, mimicking his tone.

Not expecting such a reply, he let out a surprised scoff, mixed with the slightest chuckle, “so what? It doesn’t concern you. Or are you offended that I’m not actually good, like you,” he whispered, leaning close, which made you realize how tall he actually was, “you know nothing about me, princess.”

The nickname rolled off his tongue seamlessly, sending a shiver down your spine while you kept a straight face, trying not to seem affected at all.

“Neither do you know about me, Sim. So stop making assumptions and just because I’m nice doesn’t mean I’ll take your bullshit.” You rolled your eyes, saying it all in one go before turning around to leave.

“You should be scared of me,” he chuckles behind you.

“In your dreams,” you retorted, not sparing him another glance as your heart palpitated.

You had never talked to anyone in such a manner before, it gave a sense of newfound confidence—which you needed.

Jake simply watched you walk back to your place, shaking his head once you disappeared from his eyesight and still, a humorous smile never left his face.

You had updated your parents about your three days here and later called your friend to do the same, who was also busy with her own vacation bucket list, yet it was a refreshing talk given that you currently did not have much to do to entertain yourself.

Which left you to grab your swimwear and go for a swim—utilizing the pool in your backyard.

Gigi loved to sit by the pool and made sure that it was cleaned every now and then. She had gotten it cleaned right in the morning today, which also gives you an opportunity to use it.

The sunset casted a warm glow on the calm waves of the pool, the slight breeze in the air making it serene as you immerse yourself in the water, it closing you right in, feeling like a warm hug.

You started slowly with effortless strokes, enjoying the feeling of lukewarm water on your body. You stopped after a while, resting as you let your body float with your eyes closed.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we now?” A voice broke your state of tranquillity, your eyes opening in a swift and the water sloshed with how fast you turned around.

Of course, it was none other than Jake sim who sat on the pool lounge chair, arms behind his back as if he was sitting to enjoy the view.

“The fuck are you doing here?” You breathed out in question.

He looked at you, feigning disappointment as he leaned to look down at you, “oh, princess. Didn’t they teach you not to use such filthy words?”

His condescending tone only riled you up, “didn’t they teach you not to show up at someone’s place unannounced?” You mocked, getting out of the pool and trying to find your towel, only for you to realize he was sitting right on it.

“I’m simply here to get cumin from your grandma, we ran out of it, you see,” he explained, not sounding sincere as he let his eyes wander all over your wet body, barely covered with your bikini.

Your eyes, however, focused on the cigarette he took out from his pocket, making you gasp as you made your way towards him in an attempt to snatch it off his fingers.

Nevertheless, Jake was quicker to get up, grabbing your hand which was extended and pinning it up against the wall, his body pressed up against yours, successfully making your body go still with shock.

Yeah, you didn’t really adore your body’s fight or flight response.

“Fuck—” your eyes widened, yet he wasn’t the one to give you even a second to complain.

“Shh, princess. I don’t want a single bad word coming out of your mouth now, is that understood?” He asked, using his condenscending tone again.

You could feel every ounce of confidence which you had yesterday leaving your body as you stared into his honey eyes, an unconscious slight nod betraying you.

That satisfied him, although he didn’t bother changing his position, nor did he mind your wet body as he took out a lighter from his free hand, lighting up the flame, keeping it close to the cigarette which was pressed in between his lips.

Your eyes were transfixed on his face, observing how swiftly he closed the lighter, stuffing it in his pocket right before he looked away, blowing smoke into the air, giving you the greatest opportunity to stare at his consummate side profile.

He took the joint back in his fingers, returning his attention your way, “ever smoked before?” He asked, tone seemingly raspier.

Not trusting your voice, you simply shook your head as to provide him an answer.

He snickered, “of course you haven’t. It goes against your good girl rulebook, doesn’t it?”

“Shut up!” Your sudden outburst of anger only humoured him, even more so when you tried to snatch the cigarette from him using your free hand to prove him wrong.

He didn’t let it happen.

Instead, you found yourself looking right into his eyes with his slender fingers holding your chin in place. His breath was cool with a lingering smell of mint—which was probably due to the flavour of cigarette.

“Want it that bad now?” He raised his brows, “open your mouth,” he ordered, not giving you a second to comply, his thumb parting your lips as he desired.

He took a drag, inhaling the smoke deeply as you gulped, you could hear your heartbeat, or maybe that was simply how aware you were of your surroundings—your proximity with Jake.

Tilting his head, he leaned in again, mouth parted just the right amount. He let the smoke out and into your mouth in an agonizingly slow fashion, his lips on the verge of touching yours.

Your subconscious took over once you inhaled the smoke and it hit your throat. The burning sensation caused you to push him off as you coughed out in distress.

“Guess you can’t handle it, princess,” he clicked his tongue in disappointment.

You glared his way, composing yourself enough to actually snatch the cigarette from his fingers and take a deep puff, ignoring the way it burned your throat. It was your turn to surprise him by pulling him closer, grabbing his collar.

Your eyes were closed when you leaned in, blowing the smoke right into his mouth, causing him to take it all in, him never once closing his eyes. He stared at you with such intensity that you could feel it, despite your eyes being closed.

Once you were done, you breathed deeply, throwing the cigarette on the ground, “don’t get ahead of yourself, Sim,” that’s all you said before walking back into your home, rushing up the stairs and into your room just to avoid running into him again.

Only when you were in the safety of your room, you let out a frustrated scream right into your pillow.

Three days in your vacation and this boy had already driven you insane to the point you had smoked right into his mouth.

You took a warm shower before taking a nap—something you required to calm your heart before you saw him at dinner, again.

In contrast to yesterday, when he didn’t provide you with an ounce of attention, his behaviour had done a solid one eighty as now, he provided you with his utmost attention, passing you subtle smirks during the entirety of the dinner.

You were more than glad when auntie Sim distracted you by indulging in random conversations, and you can easily say you enjoyed the information she was providing you with at the given moment.

“And, and!” Auntie Sim said full of excitement, “Our Jaeyunie was four and you were three when it happened. He was so curious about you playing on the beach building sandcastles alone, he wanted to talk to you and so he collected flowers from our garden and gave them to you,” she cooed.

You looked at the boy, surprised with the information of him being a sweet baby. Now, he was the one who tried to stop his mother from spilling the stories any further, averting his gaze but you didn’t let it go.

“Aw! That’s so cute Jaeyunie. Where are my flowers now?” You asked, voice annoyingly high to bother him.

Your grandma laughed as auntie Sim only urged Jake to get some for you. He looked your way, annoyed and you only passed him a sweet smile.

You couldn’t deny, being a menace did feel good at times and the dinner wasn’t so bad after all.

Yet, the events of the evening didn’t let you sleep, causing you to walk on the balcony yet again and you couldn’t miss the figure clad in all black leaving your neighbour’s home yet again, at two after midnight nonetheless.

It wasn’t something you should be indulging in yet you couldn’t help but wonder.

What exactly was Jake up to?

In these ten days of vacation, you had done quite a few things which included learning a few recipes with your grandma, bickering with your neighbour, minus the proximity as you made your mission to stay away for the sake of your poor heart. Majorly, you had grown to adore the beautiful beach which was right behind your home.

Seeing how you had nothing to do in the given moment, you found yourself sitting on the warmth of the sand yet again, close enough for your feet to touch the water which was cold, juxtaposing the temperature of your body.

You didn’t know how long you sat there dazed, watching the never ending blue waves stretching as far as possible, till you gasped and got taken back into reality once a hand on your shoulder shook you in annoyance.

It was none other than Jake, who stood there with his jaw clenched, a bouquet of flowers resting in his right hand, causing you to raise your brows at him.

“Mom forced me to do this, okay?” He huffed, handing you over the multicoloured bundle of happiness.

It didn’t matter that it was Jake who gave you the flowers, it still made you happy, a smile growing on your face as the scent infiltrated your senses.

This certainly wasn’t the kind of reaction Jake was expecting from you. He was sure you’d throw a snarky remark or maybe simply not take the flowers from him, but even you couldn’t deny the beauty of nature.

“Thank you,” you whispered under your breath, surprising him even more.

It was one of the days you felt calm, not wanting to channelize your energy into something as useless as picking up a fight, however, Jake won’t leave without that happening.

“That’s it? You just need flowers to shut up?” He tantalizes you to answer back.

You only give him a sour look in return, wondering what he’s even doing on the beach wearing shoes, clad in leather jacket as if he was going for the cliché illegal races you see in movies.

“You should go, Jaeyunie,” you nodded with a fake smile.

Your phone started ringing just then, and Jake caught the display name right before you picked up the call.

It was Lee Heeseung—the guy who was your study partner in school and also the guy who was your competition when it came to academics.

The call wasn’t long, he had simply contacted you to inform you about the university he got into as you also filled him up with the university you got accepted into.

You assumed that Jake would have gone back, which wasn’t the case as he stood behind you, eavesdropping shamelessly. His expression turned into one of realization when he saw you actually smiling and talking sweetly to whoever was the guy who had called you, a scoff leaving his mouth on its own accord.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course. Will text you later, goodbye!” You smiled, concluding the conversation only to find Jake still standing at the same spot, making you look at him in question.

“Didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” he said, seeming bored.

A sigh left your mouth, Jake was great at making assumptions, “why do you care?” You asked.

“I don’t,” he replied, not missing a beat, “I should go, I have work to do,” he said, walking back to his place.

Your lips worked before you could process anything, “yeah? Like you do every night?” You asked.

He stilled, turning back in a second and crouching down to your level, grabbing your nape, pulling you close to him, “don’t get involved in my matters, Y/n. I’m saying this for your own fucking good,” he seethed out, causing you to gulp, your heartbeat rising up due to the proximity again.

“What are you up to, Jakey?” You asked teasingly, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Nothing that concerns you, princess. I’m being serious, okay?” He held eye contact, repeating the last word again, and you nodded.

“Okay,” you mumbled as you felt him caressing your nape gently before he got up, leaving you there wordlessly.

You didn’t realize how hard you were clutching the flowers while watching his walking figure. The sudden mood switch made you curious, and despite him warning you, it was something you wanted to see for yourself.

Was he in trouble? Was he caught up in illegal activities? Or was he simply out partying somewhere?

Another sigh left your lips.

You shouldn’t get involved in his matters.

You got yourself involved in his matters.

Sneaking out of your home was easy and you made sure to grab your jacket as the night got chillier than usual. All this to follow Jake.

It was easy since he didn’t use any cars, walking towards his desired destination. It almost felt comical how you tried to tiptoe for a total of fifteen minutes, hiding in random alleyways whenever you made even the slightest noise of stepping on a pebble.

For a second you even regretted coming out and spending so much energy on this, till you saw Jake actually stop and get inside an alleyway, which you approached exactly two minutes after he went in.

Peeking in, you noticed how wide the way actually was, people clad in black and hoodies which hid their faces were present all over, more than thirty people you’d estimate.

You squint your eyes to get a better focus of what they were up to, only for them to widen in realization when you found them exchanging packets and smoking what looked like drugs. Jake was also engaged in a conversation with a guy, purchasing drugs from him, which caused you to gasp slowly.

“Looking for something, kid?” A deep, hoarse voice spoke near your ear, causing you to flinch and move away, turning around to see a guy full of tattoos smiling down at you, which disgusted you.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, looking towards your right to see Jake looking your way, eyes full of shock and worry as he whispered your name under his breath, not believing that you’d actually follow him there despite him saying a firm no to you.

Maybe he was right, maybe you shouldn’t have come here.

“Uhm, I—I lost my way back home. I’ll get going now, I didn’t see anything I promise! You guys please continue,” you said, trying to sprint but the guy was quick to hold your jacket, making you stop as Jake rushed your way, leaving whatever he was up to.

Before anyone could take up any action, the sound of police sirens alerted everyone in the vicinity, which was more than enough for all the guys to scramble as you stood there with panic, trying to move your body seeing how the guys were climbing up the wall full of graffiti on the other side as it was the only way to their escapade.

“Run,” Jake breathed out, grabbing your smaller hand in his without any notice and running towards the same way, his jaw was clenched.

You followed wordlessly, mouth open with how deeply you were breathing, chest heaving up and down while you ran and reached the wall.

The sirens got closer as if someone had tipped the cops to search this particular area and you were worried if you both would get caught up in this mess.

“Jump,” he commanded and you stared at the wall, shaking your head.

“I—I can’t,” you stuttered, watching how the others claimed it

He pulled you closer, picking you up with ease as to provide you with some kind of elevation, which definitely helped when you grabbed on to the top brick, pushing your body up and jumping to the other side, stumbling slighting as you fell down.

Jake was swift, landing by your side before he grabbed your hand again, pulling you up with him to run again. Your legs hurt yet you didn’t stop till he pulled you by his side, getting a bobby pin out of his pocket to unlock the door, which he opened in a go and pulled you inside, locking the door.

Silence.

Your breathing is all you could hear, but Jake’s eyes were louder than anything else, which scared you even further.

“I specifically told you to stay out of it, what’s so hard to understand here?” He more or less shouted, pushing you against the wall.

You gulped, not looking at his face but he wasn’t having it, he grabbed your chin and forced you to look his way.

“What if they did something to you? What if the police caught you? What if something had happened to you?” His voice got smaller after each sentence, more breathy and desperate, making your heart break when he genuinely made it seem like he cared about you.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, which probably wasn’t helpful at the given second, “I thought that you were in trouble and,” you whispered, not having more to say.

He sighed, resting his forehead on yours as his eyes closed to get some rest. You couldn’t move, your whole body felt more alive than ever, maybe it was the adrenaline rush, or simply Jake being so close to you.

He stepped back after a few seconds, “go change,” he said, and that’s when you looked around to find yourself in a boutique full of clothes.

“W—why?” You asked.

“Because the cop saw us, he knows what we’re wearing,” he answered, trying to find clothes his size.

Maybe he saw you when you were climbing up, meaning that you barely escaped him.

“But surveillance cameras? Technically, won’t this be considered stealing?” You bit your lip.

“There are none,” he replied, “and we have more pressing matters than to sit and worry about stealing.”

You nodded even though he wasn’t looking your way, trying to find some outfit, or rather, you were stealing it given the circumstances.

“So, why were you out there?”

“I should be asking you that, Y/n,” he said when you went into the changing room.

“You had drugs with you!” Your voice boomed from the stall and he simply took off his shirt in the store.

“So what?” He uttered, pissed.

“Did you smoke drugs that day too? Did you give me drugs?” You screeched while asking and he opened the curtains, seeing you soothing the top down.

“I don’t fucking do drugs,” he groaned, “I buy it and sell it to the guys next town at a higher price,” he explained.

The dim light from the changing stall only enhanced Jake’s shirtless body, his abs full on display alongside his torso, which was well built. Your eyes settled on the tattoo he had on his left side of the rib.

Taking a step further, your fingers gently traced the intricate design, making him shiver without you knowing, his fingers clasping around your wrist to keep it away again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He whispered.

“I—” you started speaking, looking at him with wide eyes which shone of innocence and worry, lips jutted in the slightest pout and hair slightly messy.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he breathes out, not letting you complete your sentence, coming closer to your face, “why do you have to do everything I tell you not to do?” He asked, however his tone wasn’t filled with anger.

It was something you quite couldn’t pinpoint yourself.

He sighed, “let’s get you home.”

“Are we gonna walk back? Isn’t it too dangerous?” You asked as he turned around to put on a shirt averting your eyes from his back which flexed with his movements, your body felt warm and throat parched, especially when he turned around with a smirk.

“We’re driving back home.”

You soon found yourself on a lookout at the garage entrance of what Jake called an illegal garage which was used for repairing old racing cars. The place wasn’t authorized, which is why stealing from here would work perfectly.

“How do you even know this?” You asked, exasperated as your nerves got the best of you.

It certainly didn’t help that the place was dark, and Jake wasn’t replying as he was hot wiring the car without a number plate

You had no idea where he learned that from.

“You need to learn things if you want to survive in this world, darling,” he said, focusing on his work, not once thinking how you’d shiver with his use of nicknames.

He’s glad it’s not some new high tech car, which he won’t be able to hot wire as they contain ignition immobilizers, which makes it impossible for it to happen—you nodded as he explained all of this, your focus elsewhere.

“Let’s go,” he said after a few minutes, seemingly done with his work.

You rushed to get into the car, a scream leaving your mouth as he started driving almost instantly, his fingers gripping the steering wheels hard enough for his veins to pop out as you struggled to put on the seatbelt.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” you let out in half a scream.

“Why? Not having fun now, princess?” He chuckled as he changed the gear, resting his hand on your thighs right after which caused you to squirm around in your seat.

Your body was extra attentive when he was around, and you weren’t sure how to control your heart anymore, so you closed your eyes.

“What’s so fun about this?” You asked, clutching the seatbelt.

“You,” he confessed, messing up with your brain even further.

“I hate you,” you mumbled, looking elsewhere.

You didn’t trust his driving despite it seeming effortless, he was over speeding after all.

“Now, we both know that’s not true, princess,” he stated and you huffed, knowing that he was right ignoring the fact that he was insufferable.

His pace ensured you to reach home in record time, your legs felt wobbly the second you stepped on the road.

“Stay here, I’ll be back in a second,” he rushed, leaving you standing alone as he parked the car outside a random garage two minutes away from your place.

It was hard to believe how you got chased by police, stole clothes and a fully functional car all in one night.

You saw him jogging back to you after a few minutes, standing right in front of you, “I think I should get back now,” you started to stay, however he stopped you.

“You can’t do that, your gate’s got a surveillance camera so we need to go from the back side,” he stated, his hand automatically reaching for yours as you started to make way towards the back side, on the sand.

All of a sudden, you felt smaller, heat creeping up your neck due to the body contact and you let him guide you wordlessly before you realized something.

“Wait, how will you go back? Your place doesn’t have a back door,” you asked and he shrugged.

“I’ll just jump to the other side of the garden wall, princess. You don’t need to worry about me,” he teased and you pushed him away, the warmth of his hand leaving yours.

Tiptoeing into your home, you shut the back door as silently as possible before you rushed up the stairs and almost into your room, only to find Jake coming up with you.

“What are you doing?” You whisper asked, eyes wide.

“I’m curious about your room,” he answered with that usual smirk of his and you wanted nothing more than to slap it off his face.

“You—” you tried to say, but stopped the second you heard another voice.

“Oh, Peanut? You’re awake?” Your grandma’s voice called out from the balcony, and your mouth hung open as you shoved Jake into your room in an effort to hide him.

“Y—yes, Gigi! I woke up to get some water,” you lied, wincing slightly as she acknowledged it and wished you a good night in her soft tone.

You rushed in and locked the door, only to find Jake getting cozy in your bed.

It was one of those days when your grandma missed your grandpa, and she spent hours on the balcony, looking at the glistening stars to find solace. You felt sad but the more pressing matter here was—how to get Jake out of your room?

He can’t leave from the back door, he can’t go out from the front door as Gigi would see him, your room windows weren’t the opening type which left you with no option but for him to spend the night right here, with you.

“Now what?” You asked, hand on your forehead while you paced around the room.

“What? We sleep together, of course.” He had a cheeky smile on his face.

“Are you crazy?” You almost screamed, but you didn’t wanna alert your grandma, which made you repeat it in a hushed tone.

“Why? Too scared to sleep with me? You’re the reason we’re in this situation, princess,” he smirked.

You sighed. He was right about that part but you weren’t willing to sleep with him, so you proceeded to ignore him as you went into the bathroom to change into your comfortable clothes for the night.

Jake simply patted the bed when you came out, silently asking you to sit next to him, and suddenly you realized that you’re locked up in a room with him, which didn’t help your nerves as you sat down with him.

Somehow everything was rebellious against your rules when it concerned Sim Jaeyun.

“Can’t you sleep on the floor?” You almost whined.

He cocked his brow, “is that what I get after helping you escape?”

“That’s not it—”

“So? Is it the boyfriend?”

“I don’t have any—”

“The guy you were talking to in the morning.”

“He’s a friend—”

“Then there’s no problem, right?” he rasped.

You didn’t realize your lip was bitten till his thumb brushed against your bottom lip, tugging on it gently to free it, caressing it while looking into your eyes.

“Right?” He repeated.

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding ever so slightly.

“Atta girl,” he chuckled, flustering you as you tried to look away, which wasn’t something Jake allowed, his fingers gripping your chin now, “god, you look so fucking innocent.”

“I’m not!” You argued.

“Yeah? Have you been kissed before, princess?” He asks, amused.

His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine, to the point you almost whimpered out loud, but you were glad you didn’t, “no. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t fucked anyone before.” You confessed, eyes on his plump lips.

“Oh? Who’s the loser who fucked you without even kissing your prettiest lips?” He asked, frustrated that someone even dared to touch you, even though his words said otherwise.

You gulped, “we were drunk,” you whispered, remembering your graduation party and how the guy had failed to please you.

“Did he make you feel good?” Jake asked, expression serious.

“What?” You were surprised by his question.

He wasted no time in pulling you to his lap, your gasp only made him smirk wider, his hands resting on your waist, squeezing it lightly.

“Did he satisfy you, princess?” His voice was an octave deeper, giving you goosebumps.

“H—he didn’t,” you stutter, which pissed him further, his jaw tensed.

“So you’re telling me that some asshole was deep inside you and didn’t even bother making you feel good?” He scoffed.

“Jake—”

“Y’know what I would have done instead?” He asked, caressing your cheek, his thumb resting on your lips right after, “I’d kiss your lips till you get obsessed with mine.” his hooded eyes lured you in.

His fingers travelled down to your neck, rubbing circles just above your clavicle, “I’d kiss you till my lips memorize every inch of your body, till your mind goes blank,” he whispers, biting your earlobe.

You breathe in deeply, a whimper leaving your mouth, Jake’s name rolling off your tongue in a whisper right after, making him groan in response.

“I’d ruin you, princess,” he breathes, eyes meeting yours.

“Please.” You struggled to breathe, his pointy nose brushing against yours, lips threatening to kiss.

“Say it,” he urged you, pulling your body impossibly closer on his lap.

There was no denying that Jake made you lose every sense of rationality and morals in you, it almost felt as if you were intoxicated in his presence, your heart raced, thumping faster than ever, urging you to say yes.

“Please ruin me, Jake,” you whispered, giving in and looking at him with innocent eyes.

“That’s a good girl.”

He was swift to push you down on the mattress, getting on top of you with hungry eyes to the point you almost felt as if you were a prey, and you liked it.

His cold chain brushed against your clavicle, making you shiver as he leaned down to press his lips against yours in a fervent kiss, a groan leaving his mouth as he finally had you so close to him.

Your fingers held on to his shoulders desperately, he was difficult to resist, and who were you to resist such pleasure? His plush lips moulding against yours, his hand squeezing your waist as you allowed yourself to get immersed into him.

You could feel the warmth spreading in your abdomen like wildfire, a gasp giving him the perfect opportunity to taste you, sliding his tongue down your mouth to deepen the kiss, the taste of chocolate lingering in his mouth and you let yourself moan into his lips.

You tugged on his hair, realizing how correct he was about you being obsessed with his lips as you found yourself chasing after it when he broke the kiss, making him chuckle at your desperation.

“So fucking pretty,” he muttered, staring at your slightly swollen lips, which glistened with the mixture of your spit.

He wasn’t the one to waste time, his tongue licking your neck, placing kisses all over it, causing you to squirm and pant till he found the spot which had you rolling your eyes with sheer pleasure.

Placing a hand over your mouth to silence your moans, he felt a feeling of possessiveness take over him. You looked so fucked out and he hadn’t even done anything to you yet, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he sees someone else with you.

The mere thought had him biting and sucking on your skin in an attempt to mark the very spot which had you shivering and your toes curling. He slipped his other hand inside your flimsy tee, and in your bra, feeling your hardened nipples which he flicked between his fingers.

Your body felt more awake than ever, each touch of his getting a reaction out of you, “so responsive, have you been waiting for this, princess?”

You could only nod in desperation, trying your best to keep your moans at bay, not wanting to alert your grandma. He kissed your cheek before he got up to get rid of his own clothes, giving you a few seconds to stare at his faint abs, highlighted by the dim lights along with his tattoo, which you so desperately wanted to kiss.

The image of you looking his way with such big eyes, chest heaving up and down only ignited the carnal feeling of him wanting to be deep inside you.

It all felt new to you, being aware and not drunk this time, however it wasn’t just that—Jake made you feel this way, your thighs closing when you felt a fluttering sensation down your abdomen.

“Undress,” he ordered.

“What—”

“Undress for me, darling,” his words were smoother than the melted butter, making you work upon it instantly.

His eyes were fixated on your figure the entire time you took to get your clothing off, feeling shy under his gaze, not to mention the outline of his cock in his boxers intrigued you even further.

“Fuck, you’re all mine,” he said under his breath.

His plush lips were soon on your tits, his other hand fondling and caressing your nipple while he worked his tongue, swirling it ever so perfectly before giving it a soft bite, making you arch your back as you bit on your discarded clothes, tears forming in your eyes with these euphoric sensations.

He’s giving you all you could ask for and you? You’re a mess with your lipstick smudged and ragged breathing. Just when you thought that Jake couldn’t get you anymore wilder, he stuffed his hand down your wet panties, which brushed against your extremely sensitive clit. Even biting your clothes couldn’t stop a moan coming out of your mouth.

“You like it, baby? That’s my good girl. So pretty and wet all for daddy, yeah? Daddy’s gonna taste you now, princess,” his spoke, his accent deep.

“Daddy?” you asked, whimpering right after when his lips touched your bare pussy, pressing a kiss on your clit.

There was something in the way he addressed himself so confidently which made you want to submit yourself to him fully, only pushing yourself deeper into sub space as he worshipped every inch of your body.

“That’s right, baby,” he spoke against your, sending waves of pleasure through your body as his strong hands held your thighs open.

Obscene noises of him licking and sucking resonated the room as you bucked up your hips unconsciously, desperate for friction, making his cock twitch while he licked languid strokes up and down your cunt, his hot breath fanning your folds, wishing to hear you moan despite the circumstances.

“Shh, princess. We don’t want your grandma to know now, do we?” He smirked.

Your hand slithers into Jake’s hair, tugging on it as you convulse in pleasure, letting him continue his ministrations on your leaking pussy, his lips soft unlike his actions, which were rushed and aimed at your pleasure.

Your eyes roll back, arousal reaching its peak at the unadulterated pleasure as you repeated his name when he moved down to shove his tongue into your cunt, lapping at your juices when you reach your orgasm.

Yet he doesn’t stop, inserting his slender finger in your tight hole, pumping it in and out gently at first while you whine and he gets up, wetness coating his lips. He lets you taste yourself by kissing you yet again, his fingers entertaining your cunt.

Your breaths are heavier, louder and you can’t wait to have his cock shoved into you. You weren’t the one to have lewd thoughts in general yet here you were, moaning into Jake’s mouth, clenching around his two fingers which thrusted into you at a newfound speed.

“Yes, daddy! Yes, oh god,” you mumbled to yourself, letting the lust consume you.

His fingers curled inside you before he decided that you were ready for his cock.

“Let’s see how desperate you are, beg for daddy’s cock, princess,” he demanded.

Now that his cock was in view, you stared at it dumbfounded. It was veiny and stood hard and leaking, the tip was red and ready to fuck you dumb, it pushed you over the edge.

“Please, daddy? I’ll be a good girl for y—you please fuck me?” A tear left your eye, tainting your image even further which aroused Jake as a sadistic smile overtook his face.

You continued to beg him, and he gave you no warning as he lined his tip on your entrance, coating it with your juices, almost pushing it all in but instead, he gave you just the tip, which made you beg out of frustration.

“Tell me about your darkest fantasies,” Jake teased, seeing you pout and whine, “do it baby, only then you’ll get this cock into you.”

You were going crazy, “I—I want to be fucked awake,” you confessed, hiding your face.

“Is that so? How cute,” he commented, pulling your body flush.

Within a second, he thrusted into you sharply, your wet juices acting as the perfect lube to suck his cock right in as he bottomed out fully, cussing at the feeling of your walls clenching around him.

You could feel the imprint of his dick on your lower abdomen, and he pressed on it with a proud smirk, only to make you whimper lowly, your voice quivering with deep he was in you, “big—so big.”

You laid beneath Jake in such a way that the sight was captivating for him, your vulnerability paired with his ignited primal hunger.

He firmly wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling out slightly before he thrusted into you again as you were clinging onto him.

He had never found anyone like you before, it was as if you were the only one for him, the one who reacts to his touch in such ways, the one who drives him insane to the point he has to rile you up just to get you to talk to him.

His slow thrusts soon turned into relentless, pleasure inducing thrusts, and you found yourself bucking your hips up to meet him, helping him reach deeper spots in you, his tip hitting your g-spot.

Choked moans escaped your lips, reaching the point of complete incoherence as you got drunk in the intensity of Jake’s presence, your senses overwhelmed as he fucked you without any interruptions.

“Daddy—please!”

Sensing that you were close, he thrusted harder, twitching inside your pussy, his lips capturing yours as you both cried out, reaching your climax in harmony, breathing in deeply before he filled you up with his warm cum, which mixed with your own juices.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, causing him to laugh and pull you in a sweet kiss.

You could see the clear switch in his demeanour when he cleaned you up, asking gentle questions about how you felt or if he went overboard.

He was perfect.

Something had changed in the air, and you both were aware of it, but rather than verbalising it, you slept in each other’s arms, Jake staying up a few minutes just to see your peaceful face.

“Good night, princess.”

Jake woke up early despite not getting enough sleep, still not believing that he fucked you—the prettiest girl he swore he’d ever laid eyes on.

And he was sure to make your desires come true.

You wore nothing but his shirt to sleep, which made your pussy accessible to him, his fingers playing with your folds ever so gently as he didn’t wish to wake you up, not this soon at least.

He continued to do so for a remarkably long time, smiling each time he saw you stir in your sleep, his lips leaving kisses on your neck and shoulder blades till you were fully wet for him.

Jake was shocked when you revealed that you were into somnophilia, but who was he to deny his girl some pleasure?

His other hand was busy taking care of his raging boner, seeing you dressed in his shirt, your scent mixed with his only drove him crazy.

His grip on your thighs was firm when he straddled you, pumping his cock a few times before he pushed it in you with a few thrusts, the stretch being enough to wake you up with a whimper, your state disoriented but the second you realized that Jake was making your wish actually come true, you moaned.

His dick throbbed inside you and you were still not over last night’s adventure as curse words filled the air, along with the mist of your unholy activities and fervent longing as he thrusted with a groan, kissing and nibbling on the skin of your neck.

You were sure you had bruises forming on your clavicle by now, which also extended down your breasts and inner thighs, Jake being particular about having you marked through and through.

You could only sigh and plead for more, beg for more, the word daddy coming out of your mouth effortlessly, which was effective to the point it made Jake fuel with desire as he provided you with the most overwhelming, ecstasy filled orgasm, him coming all over your pussy, pulling out this time.

“I like you,” he revealed all of a sudden, his smile the epitome of boyishness which made you chuckle with your newfound happiness.

That’s one good way to wake up in the morning.

“Guess what, Sim. I like you too,” you confessed, growing shy by the last word and he pulled you in a sweet hug, swinging your body along his, your laughter filling up the room.

You gasped, looking at him with wide eyes.

You had forgotten to help him escape without your grandma knowing.

The escape was successful, and so were your holidays which were nearing. Your sadness was apparent on your face, having no desire to go back leaving your grandma and aunt Sim.

More importantly, Jake.

It has become a routine for him to slip into your room ever so professionally to sleep with you—some nights you did sleep, other nights he gave you every reason to be awake.

Which also served as a solid reason for Jake to stop indulging in the so called drug trade, one instance of almost being caught was enough for you both, not that you were involved in the first place.

He opened up to you, actually acting like a goof at times, juxtaposing his usual bad boy demeanour. He provided you with the best of both worlds.

Your feelings for the guy you used to find annoying were increasing at record speed per day, and now that it was finally one day before you’d leave, you couldn’t help but be bothered by Jake’s absence.

He’s always around, which made you wonder where and what he was up to, especially when you wanted nothing more than to spend your time in his arms, lip quivering at the thought that he might not wish to see you anymore.

However, that wasn’t the case when he showed up in the doorway, huffing and hair messy as if he was running.

“Jaeyun,” you whispered, letting him pull you in the comfort of his warm arms.

“I’m coming,” he breathed, making you look at him with wide eyes.

“What?” You blinked, almost stuttering.

“I’m coming to Seoul with you, princess. I got into the same university,” he chuckled as you snatched the envelope from him, jumping with excitement as tears filled your eyes, hugging him even tighter.

You felt like your heart was going to explode with the excitement, which Jake found heartwarming. He had planned this the second he saw you and got to know you. It was a given that he wanted to be with you.

“What about your mom?” You asked softly, realizing that she’d be alone.

“She’s gonna stay with Gigi. Our ladies are strong women, right?” He asked, caressing your lip, which you had noticed was his habit.

“W—when did you even apply—this is so amazing,” you went on rambling, which was something he adored, but kissing your lips to shut you up was his favourite thing, especially when he got to see your shy smile right after.

“So, we’re gonna be together?” You questioned, shyness taking over.

“You’re wrong if you think you’ll ever get rid of me now, princess,” he smirked, teasing you again.

This side of him made you faux scoff, “but what if I want to get rid of you?” You challenged, knowing well you weren’t capable of that.

He took a step closer to you, his broad smile illuminating the room, his hand resting on your waist pulling you closer, “I’d like to see you try and escape me,” he retorted.

“You want me that much, huh?” Your smile was coy.

He brushed your nose tip with his, making you chuckle with joy.

“I’ll always want my princess.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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#fic : roman holiday #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jake smut #jake hard hours #enhypen imagines #kpop smut #jake x reader #enha smut #jake #enhypen scenarios #jake sim smut

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trippinsorrows · 1 month ago

Text

looking through your eyes + twenty one

authors note: good lord, ya'll was in a frenzy following that last one. hope this provides some clarity and closure.

cw/tw: angst, solana being very upset, and smut

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

gif belongs to @romanreigns

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 8k

Solana’s cried a lot in the past month.

More than she’s probably ever cried in her life.

But the past few hours have to be the heaviest bout she’s experienced since her mother was killed.

Everything hearts. Her head. Her body. Her heart.

She’s confused and angry and scared and nervous and so many different emotions at once that all she wants to do is scream, but she can’t even do that, because she has nothing left in her. She spent the night crying her eyes out, sleeping a little, then crying her eyes out some more. So much so that she’d be surprised if she got a good two consistent hours of sleep.

She just feels so empty. Like everything she thought she knew is now no more. Because it isn't. Because the man she thought Roman was has turned out to be exactly who he is. Not the….version he showed her. And she feels so stupid, so naive. She gave him so much, exposed so much of herself to him, loved him, and what has it gotten her?

The epic, incurable sting of betrayal.

And a part of her didn’t want to believe it, wanted to believe that maybe it’s not what she thought, but what was said was pretty self-explanatory. And if that wasn’t enough pressing evidence, the fact that Roman kept calling and texting her afterwards, probably realizing the phone was still connected, was the nail in the coffin.

Proof that he knew fucked up.

That he was caught.

That she now knows the truth about their marriage. About it all.

Solana couldn’t bear seeing his name continue to pop up on her phone, resulting in her just turning the damn thing off.

She doesn’t want to talk to him, doesn’t want to see him, doesn’t want anything from him.

Just thinking about it makes the heavy lump in the back of her throat throb. She’s so tired of crying. Tired of it all.

Turning over in her bed, a part of her wishes she hadn’t asked to cancel her therapy appointment with Gail, citing that she was feeling physically unwell. That’s not a lie, but Gail would be the perfect person to speak to right now. If only she had it in her to talk. But, she doesn’t. She has no words for what she still doesn’t fully understand.

A knock on the door disturbs her from her depressing thoughts. Solana shifts in the bed, calling out in a weak voice, “I want to be alone right now.”

Bautista’s deep voice sounds on the other side of the door. “It’s a wellness check.”

Solana shuts her eyes. She should have known this was coming. She was practically silent during breakfast and retreated back to her room in that same silence, which was bound to garner a visit from staff to make sure she’s okay.

With a heavy sigh, she kicks the blankets off and intentionally avoids looking at her reflection in the large mirror anchored on top of the dresser. She’s certain she’d hate what would be looking back at her.

Using the back of her hand to wipe at her eyes, Solana takes a deep breath and turns the knob, opening the door, expecting to see a nurse or maybe even Gail.

But, she’s wrong.

So wrong.

Because it’s neither of those women. Not even Bautista. Instead, standing before her is none other than the one person she doesn’t want to see. At all.

Shaking her head, nose turned up, Solana goes to close the door. “I have nothing to say to you—” But, she should know better, know that Roman is not the man to ever be denied.

He reaches out his arm, putting an abrupt, effective stop. “We need to talk.”

Knowing there’s no way in hell she’ll win the battle for the door, she instead reaffirms her position. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Solana turns away, heading back for her bed when she hears the door shut and footsteps.

“Baby—”

“No!” She snaps, twisting around and jumping away from Roman as he tries to reach for her arm. “Don’t—don’t call me that. You’re a liar.”

It’s only now that he’s a bit closer, and she’s actually looking at him, that she sees just how….different he looks. Concerned. Worried. Scared, almost. “Solana, would you just listen to me?”

“Why?” She demands. “So you can tell me more lies?” Solana was all but certain she cried out all the tears in her body last night, yet standing in front of Roman, just looking at him, makes her sick. Makes her sad.

Makes her angry.

He swallows, tone dripping with anguish. “It’s not what you think—”

“Were you working?” It’s a simple question. One that should elicit a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer right away, but instead Roman just looks at her with that same wounded expression. With a tinge of something else. Guilt.

“Exactly.”

“Solana—” Again he tries to reach for her, and again she moves away. She doesn’t even want to be in the same room with him right now, let alone have him touch her.

“No!” She shouts, hating this. Hating all of it. The hurt. The betrayal. It’s disgusting to her. “I trusted you! I trusted you more than anyone, and you lied to me. You said you’d never lie to me. You said—you said you’d never hurt me, and that’s exactly what you’ve done!”

If not for the heaviness for this situation, Solana would be floored by how expressive Roman is being right now. No stoic, unreadable expression. Just a man who looks like he’s been slapped in the face. Like her words are more of a physical assault on him than any injury he’s ever received.

Sniffling, she takes her hand and wipes at her eyes. She can only imagine how red and puffy they must be from all the crying she’s done the past twenty–four hours. “I know that—that I’ve been a lot, but you didn’t—if you didn’t want me—if you didn’t want to be with me—”

“Don’t you ever fucking say that,” he cuts her off with all the swiftness. His voice taking on an almost angry tone. Like he’s offended she could even fix her lips to say that. “Of course, I want to be with you.”

But, she’s not listening, Solana instead slips into the spiraling she’s done all night. That lane of self-blame. “I know—I know that I haven’t been the best wife, that I’ve been here,” she gestures around the room and points to herself, “but I’m trying—I’ve been trying.” It’s a cascade of emotions that have spilled out of whatever semblance of resolve and border she had around herself. All of her insecurities falling out in the open for him to see. “I’m trying.” She breaks down, hands covering her face as she cries into her palms. Sobs that wreck her body and make her legs feel so weak.

But, it’s when she feels him directly in front of her, his arms around her that she shakes her head and drops her hands. “Don’t touch me!” Solana shouts, trying to push him away. But, he doesn’t budge, just continues to hold her. “Déjame en paz! ¡Te odio!” Solana progresses to angrily beating on his chest to get him away, but he says nothing, does nothing. “Te odio…..” Just continues to let her throw all of her hurt and anger at him until her fists grow just as tired as her resolve, Solana eventually falling and crying into his chest.

Roman carefully lifts her up and carries her over to the bed, laying her down and not wasting a second to lie beside her, gathering her into his arms yet again and positioning her on his chest.

It’s such a confusing experience. She wants him to leave, but she wants him to stay. She hates him touching her, but she craves being close to him. He disgusts her, but she finds herself clutching onto him.

She hates him, but oh how she loves him.

Solana cries until there’s nothing left, depleting her body of nearly all of its energy. Her red eyes are open and focused on nothing in particular as Roman rubs soothing circles on the small of her back. But, it’s only when they’ve been submerged in radio silence for nearly ten minutes that he finally speaks.

Voice low and borderline hoarse. “I didn’t cheat on you, Solana.” There’s not much left in her to offer any sort of response other than the lump in the back of her throat pulsing. Throbbing. Trying to recharge for the next breakdown. “But….but I haven’t been honest with you either.”

She doesn’t want to talk to him. Doesn’t want anything from him. And yet, she finds herself asking, “where were you?”

“I can’t tell you.” Solana closes her eyes and shoots up, moving to get out the bed, away from him, But, Roman is faster, grabbing her by her waist and angling her, so that she’s looking at him. His eyes are soft and damn near pleading. Desperate. “Because I want to show you.”

—-----------

Solana hasn’t a clue how she ended up in this position.

Sitting in the passenger seat of an SUV, Roman in the driver’s seat, driving them to a destination unknown but one that’s clearly not anywhere close to home considering it’s been almost two hours, and they still haven’t arrived to wherever it is he’s taking her.

She shouldn’t have agreed. Shouldn’t have allowed him to convince her to acquiesce so easily. Shouldn’t have let him inform Dr. Stratus and Gail that she’ll be gone for a day or two. Shouldn’t have packed her small bag and climbed in the escalade and allowed him to guide her to this unknown place.

Solana just hates it all. It’s why she hasn’t said a word to him. Not a single one. She just sits in her seat, body angled to the window, earbuds plugged in playing music that resonates so deeply with all of her emotions right now.

Every now and then, the feelings will brew, and she’ll have to quickly wipe away the silent tears, praying he doesn’t see them.

Though, she’s certain he does.

She slips in and out of surface leveled sleep for the majority of the ride but is eventually woken up by Roman lightly shaking her shoulder. His expression is still soft, his voice calm, “we’re here.”

Blinking back into awareness, Solana wipes at her eyes and looks around, seeing the car is indeed parked. Her passenger door is open, Roman waiting patiently for her to get out.

She unbuckles her seatbelt, mouth dropping open when she sees they’re in the middle of a forest. Nothing but greenery surrounding them and the beautiful house that seems tucked away from it all. Solana is starting to wish she’d stayed awake. Turning to Roman, she asks, “where—where are we?”

He doesn’t say anything, just motions for her to follow him. And for some reason, she does. She doesn’t push him more, just stays close behind him as he walks up the stairs of the home and pulls out a key, unlocking the front door.

Roman steps to the side and motions for her to walk in first. Again, she says nothing, just silently follows his directions, mind still racing about everything that’s happened as well as just what in the hell is going on.

Stepping into the home, Solana’s mouth naturally falls open. The interior is beautiful, warm in color, almost naturistic with the design. It feels warm and cozy and welcoming. Like a safe space for any and all who happen to venture into the literal house in the woods.

Roman suddenly calls out, speaking in a language she doesn’t understand. Samoan, if she had to take a guess. Him doing so, however, makes her even more nervous.

Are they not alone?

Now, she needs to know. Needs to have her questions answered. She grabs his arm, ignoring the sparks that fly at touching him. “Roman, what is goi—”

“And he says that I’m the one with the memory problems.” Solana overhears the almost aged voice of a woman, a voice that’s very much unlike the one she heard over the phone. “atalii o le uso, were you not just over—here?”

Solana’s gaze sets on the woman. She’s up in age, that much is obvious. Tanned complexion, warm brown eyes, her hair long and a beautiful combination of salt, pepper, and a brunette color. She’s a little on the heavier side, Solana taking note of the almost limp she walks with as well the disfiguration on both her arms.

Burns.

However, when her gaze switches from Roman to herself, Solana sees the woman smile brightly. A smile that’s eerily similar to the man standing beside her.

“Well, it’s about damn time.” Solana is still trying to process just what’s going on when the woman walks over to her, eyes squinting with curiosity. “Such a beautiful girl.” Solana freezes initially when the woman pulls her in for a hug. Warm and friendly. Just like the atmosphere of the home. It’s…..comforting almost.

The other woman is the first to end the hug, though her friendly expression remains focused on Solana “Hi….” Meanwhile, Solana remains abundantly lost in this situation. “I’m—”

“Oh, child. I know exactly who you are.” She waves off Solana’s introduction, almost playful gaze switching to Roman. “But, something tells me you don’t know who I am.”

At all.

“Solana.” It’s then that Roman steps forward, gesturing to the older woman. “This is Fetu.” He swallows, something flashing in his eyes. “My aunt.”

The past twenty-four hours have been filled with nothing but bombshells, but this one has to take the cake. Solana’s mouth is ajar, her gaze bouncing back and forth between the two. She sees it now. The same smile. Same eyes. The burns.

Similar to Roman’s. The ones he received the night his family was killed, family that included an aunt, according to him.

This…..this can’t be her….right?

A different one maybe who coincidentally has the same type of injuries Roman sustained that night…..maybe.

Or not.

But how?

Completely taken back, she finds herself asking him, “your…..your aunt?”

Fetu says something in what she would guess is Samoan. Roman sighs, loudly, looking over at Solana, expressing quietly, “I’ll explain later.”

That’s…..that’s very much appreciated, because Solana has so many questions.

“Men.” Fetu rolls her eyes. “They have such horrible timing.” Her gaze shifts for a second as she focuses on Solana. “Child, have you been crying?” That seems like an understatement. Again, Fetu speaks in Samoan, voice suddenly angry as she slaps Roman on the arm. “I’ll deal with you later.” She switches English and goes to move her arm around Solana, “come. I was just about to prepare dinner. Roman said you like to cook?”

At that, Solana’s eyes light up a bit. “I–I do.”

“Good, then you won’t mind helping this old lady, now, will you?” It’s not really posed as a question. More of a directive, Solana briefly glances back at Roman as she’s guided away from him. He simply gives her a nod of reassurance and disappears through the door they just walked through.

—--------

Solana likes Fetu. It’s a bit of a strong statement considering she’s known her for less than 24 hours, 12 hours even. But, it’s true.

Roman’s aunt is kind and funny. A spitfire who keeps a smile on her face the entire time they’re in the kitchen cooking together, the older woman so patient as she explains each step of the traditional Samoan dish they’re preparing.

Solana is washing the dishes, with only a few left when Fetu calls her from where she sits at the kitchen table. Solana grabs the towel and dries off her hands, tossing it on the counter as she walks over.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Oh please, I know I’m ancient, but don’t make me feel like it.” Solana smiles and sits down in the chair on the adjacent side of the table. Fetu’s eyes are focused on Solana in a studying manner, a small chuckle leaving her mouth. “I see it.”

Understandably, Solana is confused, asking in a small voice. “See what?”

“The light.” She answers, returning the smile. “Roman refers to you as his light. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. I see it now.”

Solana sits there, silenced and taken back for the 19th time today. “He….he calls me that?”

She nods, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Among other things.” Solana would love to know just what those things are, but there’s something she wants—needs—to know more. A confirmation, really.

“Was—was Roman here with you this weekend?” A question she’s been wondering from the moment Roman introduced her to his aunt, the only thing confusing her being the voices. Fetu is most definitely not the woman she heard on the phone. Her voice is too aged and scratchy.

“He was,” she confirms, and Solana’s stomach drops. “A surprise but welcomed, nonetheless.”

Meanwhile, Solana is doing her best to regulate her breathing and not freak out on this poor, old woman. “I—was someone else here too?”

Fetu nods. “My younger cousin, Ava, stays with me as well, because apparently I need a caretaker.” She rolls her eyes, explaining, “she’s out taking care of some personal business but will be back shortly. I can’t wait for you two to…..is everything alright, child?”

Far from it. Solana doesn’t even need to ask any more questions, because certain pieces are coming together. The truth is gradually revealing itself to be something entirely different from what she thought it was.

“No,” Solana answers with a surprising level of honesty. “I—I really messed something up.”

“Does it have to do with Roman?” Silently nodding, Fetu makes a sound. “I see…..” She reaches over, placing a hand over Solana’s. “Solana, I know that all of this must be confusing to you, and it’s clear while I’ve been asking my nephew to meet you, today was not planned, and I’m guessing it wasn’t from anything good.” Solana says nothing, silent tears falling down her face. “And there’s much I wish to discuss with you once you know the full story, but let me just say this.” She gives a gentle squeeze. “There’s no one on this earth who my nephew cares about more than you. You have completely changed his life, brought out a side of him I thought they killed, that died that awful, awful night.” Solana gasps quietly, stuck on both the words as well as indirect confirmation that this is the same aunt she believed was killed with the rest of his family. “I know he can be difficult at times. Stubborn. Hardheaded. A closed book, but….you must understand the massive weight he carries. Even as a boy, they put so much pressure on him to be perfect.” She shakes her head, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “That’s why he kept him away from him, because I always just let him be a kid. Be human.”

There’s continued confusion at the he part, but Solana doesn’t want to interrupt, doesn’t want to pry too much. Especially since there’s a not so light conversation she still needs to have with her cousin.

“Roman calls you his light because you are. Whether he’s ready to admit it or not, he needs you, and something tells me you need him just as much.” Truer words have never been spoken, “so whatever it is that happened, I can promise you it’s nothing you two can’t work through, because he’d do anything for you, especially if it’s to keep you.”

By the end of it, Solana has a fresh set of tears, the beautiful words from someone who clearly knows Roman, and knows him well, meaning the world to her.

The same way he does.

Even if…..even if her behavior earlier indicated otherwise.

It’s why…..why she needs to make this right.

“Thank you,” she manages through the emotionality of it all. “That….that means a lot to me.” Because it does. More than Fetu could ever know. Clearing her throat, she stands up and dusts off her pants, sharing, “I think…..I think I need to go talk to Roman.”

Fetu chuckles softly. “I think you do too.” She motions with her hand. “Up the stairs. Last room on the right.”

Solana smiles appreciatively. “Thank you.”

The older woman says nothing else as Solana finds her legs carrying her to the dark staircase, up to the second level and down the hall to the room Fetu identified as belonging to Roman.

She starts to knock before entering but ultimately decides against it. They’re way past that point.

So, she opens the door, quietly closing it behind her when she hears Roman’s deep voice from a bit of the distance given the size of the bedroom. He’s in the bathroom ,on the phone, speaking in a different language. It doesn’t sound Samoan. Maybe Italian.

Regardless, she moves over and sits on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for him to walk out while also wondering just what in the hell she’s going to say. Sorry, of course, but what more? That can’t be enough. Not with how she acted. The lack of trust in him and their relationship completely shelved to the side, replaced with her borderline irrational behavior.

She didn’t even give him a chance to speak.

Just the thought of how unfair she treated him bringing another set of tears to her eyes at the same moment the bathroom door opens, revealing a shirtless Roman, dark sweatpants resting low on his hips, hair down and clearly in the midst of air drying given its voluminous state. If not for the nature of why she’s here, of what transpired, she’d be distracted at him in such a state.

But, that’s not the focus. She doesn’t care about that right now.

She just cares about him.

About making this right.

And the minute Roman’s gaze sets on her, he says something quickly and lowly, followed by him hanging up the phone. He places it atop the dresser near him, eyes never leaving her. “Solana, what’s—”

He’s silenced when she hops up from the bed and rushes over to him, practically throwing her body into his, holding him. Tight.

“I’m sorry,” she cries, uncaring about any sort of plan she had regarding how to tackle this. How to make this right. She simply just needs him to know how sorry she is. “I shouldn’t have said those things—I didn’t mean—”

“Solana, it’s okay.” Him holding the back of her head with such tenderness is an equal match to the gentle way he’s speaking to her right now. Undeserved in her opinion.

“No,” she forces out. Pulling back, she shakes her head. “I was—I was mean to you, and—and I didn't trust you.” He’s always been so good to her. It’s almost embarrassing to Solana how easily she could believe he could do something like that to her. “You didn’t deserve t–that.”

Roman, however, simply looks down at her with an almost nervous expression. “You weren’t entirely wrong, Solana. I was lying to you. Like Ava said, I’ve been lying to you.” He lightly taps on her hip and motions for her to follow him as he sits on the edge of the bed. Solana is right beside him, one leg up on the mattress, the other on the ground. “Fetu…..”

And just like that, she knows where he’s going. Knows what he’s about to share.

Truth be told, the past twenty four hours have been such a whirlwind of emotions that she’s not even sure this is the right time to be having this conversation, but it’s one that needs to be had. Whether she wants to or not. Because she’d rather not. Rather not put Roman through any more unnecessary stress than she already has. “Ro, you—you don’t—”

“Someone dragged me out of the house. I never found out who.” Interrupting her, his voice is eerily similar to the first night he opened up about his family, about that night when so much was lost. “But, I—I couldn’t just stand there and let my family die. So, I ran back in.” Her chest tightens, listening to him recall such a harrowing night. “There was so much smoke and fire, and I don’t know how the hell I got to her, but I did. She was hurt and burned, but she could walk, so I guided us both out, but I got burned too in the process.” Fetu. He has to be talking about Fetu.

It’s hard for her to imagine him. An innocent 10 year old boy who’d just lost his family in the most horrific way still doing what he can to help. To save them. To save her.

Solana naturally moves closer to Roman, holding onto his arm, her thumb soothingly running over his tattoos.

“I wanted—” He closes his eyes, and for the first time in maybe ever, Solana can see and hear the visceral emotions in his voice. “I tried to go back in there, but one of the firefighters restrained me, and I was too weak and injured to fight back. I ended up passing out shortly after that.”

“Roman….”

He continues, hard gaze focused on the intricate design of the large rug on the floor. “When I came to, they told me everyone was dead. Including Fetu. That she’d died from her injuries.”

Solana gasps.

What?

They….lied to him?

Roman, however, just continues to recall his trauma, expression still blank, voice betraying all of the emotions brewing beneath the surface. “So, for years, I worked to accept the fact that I was alone, because at the end of the day, Jimmy and Jey still have Rikishi. They had their brothers and mother. Rikishi had his own family. Everyone did. Except me, cause mine was all dead.”

There’s something so heartbreaking about hearing that. Solana thinking back on how she felt the first time he opened up about his family’s murder. He’s right. They might all be blood related, but they each have their own family units.

Roman’s, however, was taken from him.

“Then, when I turned 21, Rikishi finally told me the truth. That she was alive and had been living in hiding all those years. He was the only one who knew.” It’s the part she was still confused about that his continued explanation touches on, providing an answer but also something else.

Anger.

“Why?” Solana cuts in, unable to help herself. “Why would he keep that from you? Why so long? Why at all?”

Why would he keep an innocent child away and separated from the closest family member he had left? That just sounds so….cruel.

Roman swallows, a dark, emotionless chuckle leaving his voice. “Said he was worried she’d make me weak. He wanted to be sure my training was effective, hence why he waited a couple years after I became Tribal Chief to make sure I could still handle the truth and be what they made me to be.”

Solana thinks back to her conversation with Fetu. Rikishi must be the he she was referring to.

Roman, however, keeps sharing, opening up more than she would have ever expected. “I don’t—I can’t come see her as much as I’d like to, because I don’t want to put her safety at risk.” That makes so much sense. All the sense. To keep her safe, he has to keep his distance. “But, when…..when I need to get away and clear my head, or I just need someone to talk to, I come see her.”

Solana thinks back to something, a few months ago when Roman up and disappeared for almost a week. “That’s where you went that one time…..you came here to see her?” He nods. She would have never in a million years guessed this. Guessed that Roman’s safe space is with the one person he probably needs the most but can only have in small doses.

It’s almost inconceivable to her that his own family could do that to him. To a child. To deprive an innocent child of the only, close family they have left. To keep them separated so he wouldn’t be weak.

It makes her heart heavy.

It only gets heavier though with the next thing that comes out of his mouth. “She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s last year.” Another devastating, crushing blow. “Some visits, she knows who I am. Others….I’m a complete stranger.”

“Oh my God…..” Roman lost her as a child, regained her as a man and is now having to intermittently experience that loss over and over again. It's so cruel and entirely unfair to someone who truly deserves the world.

She can’t imagine what that’s like for him.

It’s like Roman is reading her thoughts, his next explanation touching on some of her questions and thoughts.

“Fetu is….she’s always been like a mother to me. My own mother….that was…..complicated.” She believes it. Doesn’t know how, but she just does. “Fetu was the only person—before you—to ever tell me that she loves me.” Solana’s heart simply breaks all over again, because just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, it does.

While her father never once uttered those sacred words, Nina never let a day pass without both verbalizing and showing her daughter all the purest love in the world. Solana almost finds it inconceivable that Roman’s parents truly never expressed loving him. But, when she thinks about it, it makes sense.

His aloofness. His stoicism. It’s not just because of the titles he holds. It’s because of the upbringing he had.

The lack of care and nurturance.

The lack of love.

Outside of Fetu.

“Solana….” His voice again takes on a desperate, almost foreboding tone. “Outside of myself, Ava, and Rikishi, the twins are the only ones who know about Fetu. Not even Paul knows. I know…..I know Naomi and Bayley are your friends, but—”

“Roman.” She brings her hands to his face, eyes locked with his. “I swear to you on my mother’s grave that I will never tell a soul. Ever.” And she means that with every fiber of her being. Nothing about what has and will be experienced will leave her mouth unless it’s through discussion with Roman herself. Not even the twins, even if they do know about Fetu. “And I’m—I’m so sorry I put you in this position. Where you felt like you had to tell me. If—if I knew—”

“But, you didn’t,” he cuts in, admitting. “And a part of me wants to be upset with you that you didn’t trust me, but the truth is I would be a hypocrite, because I haven’t been honest with you either.”

She wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep talking, that he’s been vulnerable enough, but something tells her not to. Tells her that he needs to get this out.

And she’s glad she doesn’t stop him, because his next confession nearly blows her away.

“I’ve—I’ve been struggling, Solana.” Her shoulders slump and frown deepens. “Ever since—ever since you tried—” he doesn’t say what, but he doesn’t have to either. She knows exactly what he’s talking about. “I’m a fucking mess without you. I think about you all the fucking time. The thought of anything happening to you scares the shit out of me.” Roman Reigns admitting to being scared of something, anything, let alone losing her, is something she could have never predicted. But, it’s exactly what he’s saying, and it nearly breaks her heart. “So much that when I read your letter, my initial answer was no, because I wanted you home with me. Because I miss having you around. I want—I need you around.” Her eyes shut, for so many different reasons. “I need you”

“And I need you to know that I would never cheat on you, Solana. Ever.” Tears forming again, she opens her eyes and her mouth to apologize again, but she can’t because he has to continue with the confessions. “I love you too much to do that to you.” Her breathing is halted, focus centering in on the words that just left his mouth or didn’t leave his mouth, because Solana is all of a sudden questioning her hearing. There’s no way he just….no. “But, I—I don’t know how to love you either.”

It feels like there should be some type of cap on newfound, previously unbelievable things being dropped on a person, because Solana is at her absolute max. The past twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind, but this….this has to take the cake.

Roman….loves her?

The tears are definitely falling now. She’s more or less speechless, overcome by the emotionality of it all. “Ro….”

“I don’t know how to love and be with you and still be the Tribal Chief and the Head of the Table and the Capo and every other fucking perfect thing I have to be all the fucking time.” His voice becomes increasingly bitter with each word that leaves his mouth, the full extent of the weight he carries all the time being laid out in the open for her to dissect and process.

This is the last place she expected their conversation to go, but that’s a moot point. What matters is that they’re here, and the last thing she wants to do is discourage him from being open and honest with her. She can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for him.

Solana stands up and moves in front of Roman, lowering herself onto his lap, bringing her hands to his face. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I never have, and I never will. I don’t need you to be the Tribal Chief or the Head of the Table. Or anything else.” She moves her hand to his chest, over his heart, speaking firmly yet gently. “I just need you to be my Roman.”

His gaze visibly softens. Relief. Happiness. Fear.

“And you say….you say you don’t know how to love me, but….what do you think you’ve been doing?” She smiles, head tilted. “All this time, I’ve just been thinking how you are with me is because you care about me, and you do, but it’s much deeper than that. It’s because….it’s because you love me, Ro. I think…..I think you’ve loved me for a while. The same way that I’ve loved you for a while, We just….it took us a while to catch on.”

Because what Solana is now realizing is that the love has always been there. For him. For her. Always there. Lying dormant, waiting for both of them to step into the space of realization.

“And the honest truth is that I don’t know how to love you either. I just know that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and no one else I want to be with.” If it’s not Roman, she doesn’t want it. He’s her forever. “So, here’s what we’re going to do.” Smiling softly, she pushes back some of his hair. “I’m going to love you, and you’re going to love me. We’re not going to question it, not think too much about how to do it and just do it.”

Because what is also true is that clearly neither of them had the best, healthiest examples of love and what a healthy marriage looks like. So, they have to make it their own. Trial and error. Living and learning. Knowing that at the end of the day, what matters most is their love for one another.

“And you’re going to talk to me, the same way you let me talk to you, because what I do know is that people who love each other help each other out. You help me so much, more than you’ll probably ever know. Now it’s my turn to return the favor, okay?”

That might even be the thing that Solana needs the most. Needs him to know that he’s not alone. He has her. He’ll always have her.

“I’ll—I’ll try.” Roman nods, and Solana closes her eyes. That’s all she needs. All she’ll ever need.

Pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. She tries to move off his lap when he just so slightly holds her, preventing the separation. “What’s—”

“Can—” He swallows, an almost nervous hint to his deep, usually confident voice. “Can I make love to you?”

It’s not a question she was expecting. Not in the slightest. But, her answer is an obvious one. Solana gets up to stand directly in front of him. Moving her hands to the waistband of her pants, she pushes them down her legs, stepping out, kicking the material to the side.

Her fingers then move to the bottom of her shirt as she lifts it over her head, also tossing it to the side. Her eyes never leaving his, Solana reaches behind and unclasps her bra, breast falling freely at the same time her bra also tumbles to the ground. And lastly, with fingers hooked around the band of her underwear, she slides off and steps out of them, the last piece of clothing now piled with the rest.

Completely bare in front of him, in more than just the physical, Solana places both of her hands on his broad shoulders and answers in the softest voice, “yes.”

Roman briefly closes his eyes. His hands move back to her waist, gently tugging her closer to him. Solana’s eyes also shut just as he opens his and drinks all of her in. “aulelei oe…..” Oblivious to what he’s just said, Solana is instead tightening her grip on him when he moves his mouth to her neck, starting a downward trail of kisses down her body.

She’s missed this. So much. “Roman….”

She releases a sharp gasp when he covers his mouth over her areola, his other hand softly kneading her breast. Solana can already feel the wetness pooling between her legs as he sucks on her nipple, finally releasing with an audible pop as he tugs her onto his lap so that she’s straddling him.

Her eyes lock with him as he lifts his hand to her cheek. “How the hell could I ever be with somebody else when all I see is you?” It’s a rhetorical question posed with so much tenderness and dedication. It brings tears to her eyes.

Solana brings her hands back to his face, voice quiet and purposeful. “Make love to me.”

It doesn’t need to be asked or said twice.

Roman is careful in how he lifts her and lays her down on the bed. Solana moves up the mattress, watching with a steady beating heart as Roman starts to remove his clothes. Movements somehow graceful but determined, like he’s just as eager and wanting this as much as she does. Because he is. Because Solana isn’t certain they’ve ever wanted each other more than they do in this moment. This space of full, visceral vulnerability.

Completely naked, a small flash of nervousness fills her as Roman moves over her, the heavy, lengthy weight of him semi hard between his thick, muscular thighs. It’s been over a month since they were last intimate, and as much as she wants him, she knows there might be some initial pain.

Roman seems to catch onto her anxiety, hand going to her chin, capturing the softest kiss before he assures, “I’ll be gentle.”

Soft smile on her face, her hand moving to his chest, she reminds him, “you always are.”

Roman returns his mouth to hers, engaging her in a sensual kiss full of all the longing and love that fills the room, dances up the walls and creeps through the cracks and crevices. It’s overwhelming in all of the right and wonderful ways.

But the more passionate their make out becomes, her nectar soaks her inner thighs, the throbbing between her legs so bothersome that she ends up breaking their kiss, both of them breathing heavily. Solana pulls him closer, her thigh lifting against his hip, another gasp leaving her mouth at the feel of him warm and hard against her apex.

“Please…..” She breathes, eyes shutting when Roman lays his forehead against hers. “Need you….” Solana finds her hand traveling down his chest, venturing until he’s hot, heavy, and pulsing in the palm of her hand. She watches him release a shaky breath at the contact of her hand on him, his shoulders tensing almost when she moves to align him at her aching, dripping entrance.

Roman reaches and stops her, Solana confused only briefly when he instead takes over, directing her, “hold onto me.”

She nods and lifts her hand, instead doing just as he advised, her wrists locked over one another behind his neck. And the minute his thick mushroom head presses against her velvety lips, they’re both moaning, breathing uneven. But before he can ask her if she’s okay, if she wants him to stop, Solana wiggles her hips and scoots down the bed, wanting more of him. All of him.

Roman takes note of this and tips her head upward, claiming her lips for another kiss, maintaining and holding it as he continues to slide into her welcomed warmth. Solana’s hands shift to his back, nails pressed against his tanned skin, tiny crescent indents formed from the sharpness of her nails.

“Fuck. I’ve missed this,” he breathes against her once fully situated and settled in her. The fullness of and tightness of which, something that takes them both a second to adjust to. “Missed this feeling. So tight….just for me…”

They’re both so deeply synched that Solana doesn’t even have to prompt him to move, Roman’s thrusts initially gentle to continue to help her re-adjust, to reacclimate to the feel of him, so deep, so good.

“Baby…..” She moans, holding onto him, thighs pressing against his hips as he pistons in and out of her, her back arching, head falling back against the pillow. “Roman.”

Roman groans, his thrusts purposeful and focused. “Does that feel good, baby?”

Her answer should be obvious, but Solana nods as best she can, whining when he hits that spot, that sensitive space that always brings tears to her eyes. “Yes, baby.”

Head resting in the crook of her shoulder, Roman reaches for the headboard, using it to steady him as Solana continues to hold onto him, ankles locking above his ass. “Look what you do to me.” Her whimpers and moans under him only serve as fodder for his determination to make her feel good, to make her feel a fraction of how he feels being inside her like this. “I’ve never wanted or needed anyone like I need you, Solana.”

“Don’t need anything else in this life. Just you. Always you.” Her eyes shut, still holding onto him as she kisses his temple. “And you can’t leave me, Sol.” Solana’s stomach coils and twists when he switches angles, somehow reaching her even deeper than he already was. “You understand me?” He steals another kiss, whispering against her mouth. “I can’t lose you.”

There’s something deeper beyond his words, something underlying and still incredibly painful for him. And Solana knows exactly what it is. Tears from a different reason brimming her eyes, she palms his cheeks, forcing him to meet her contrite gaze. “I’m sorry.” His eyes shut, and her chest tightens. “I’m so sorry.”

He’s lost so much already. Had more loss as a child than some people will ever experience in their entire lifetime. And almost losing her, because of her actions is clearly something that he’s still not over, that she didn’t realize affected him as deeply as it did.

And she hates that. Hates that she missed how much he’s been struggling.

How much he’s been hurting.

“Never again,” she promises. Never again can she put him through that, can she do that to him, can be the cause of so much emotional turmoil for him. “I promise, Ro.”

He pauses, stops mid movement, opens his eyes and looks at her, fully vulnerable and exposed. Letting her in in a way she knows no one else is privy to. This isn’t the Tribal Chief or the Capo.

It’s just Roman.

Her Roman.

Solana takes a sharp breath as he pulls out of her almost entirely only to enter back in, slowly, gradually, a breathy “I love you” falling out of his mouth. Once again, he somehow manages to reach a different depth that has her back almost completely arched off the mattress, her breast pressing against his hard chest.

“Roman.” She’s not sure she could ever tire of having his name in her mouth, on her lips. It’s embedded in her soul at this point.

“I love you,” he repeats it, hips meeting hers, Solana whimpering from the overwhelming nature of it all. “I love you.” And again, each sensual thrust accompanied by a confession. A vow. A promise. An oath.

The pleasure continues, flows, consistent and strong, depleting her body of all energy while filling her with a rapture that feels too beautiful to be human. It carries and sustains her until she absolutely can’t take it anymore, Solana’s orgasm strong and pulsing, her toes curling and stomach coiling. Roman talks her through it, loving and comforting, his own coming over him not even minutes later.

And the minute he falls down on the bed next to her, his arms are around her, tugging her close into his side. He kisses her temple, Solana holding onto his forearm, murmuring, “I love you.”

A part of her expects him to not say it back, to somehow be limited to only so many uses of a term that’s, sadly, unfamiliar to him. “I love you too.”

But, he does, and it may be the best thing anyone has ever said to her. She cranes her neck to look at him. “Enough to start talking to me more?” A small frown falls on her face. “I mean it, Roman, you—you can’t keep holding it all in.” She knows better than anyone else how badly that can turn out. “You always say you’ve got me, but–but I’ve got you too.”

Emotion flashes in his beautiful brown eyes. “I know.” Is his reply, quiet but understanding. “I’m—I’m going to work on it.”

“Good.” That’s all she can ask for. Because Roman has been so patient and understanding with her. The least she can do is return the favor. “And I’ll start us off….” Taking a deep breath, Solana decides to share with him a secret she’s been keeping. “I’ve been having dr—”

Abrupt banging on the door startles Solana to the point that she nearly jumps out the bed. Her reaction makes Roman smile when she buries her head under the blankets.

“Roman, you fucking asshole! You parked that big ass truck in my spot!” Solana peeks from under the blanket, curious to see her husband’s reaction at being spoken to so boldly but also realizing she recognizes that voice. It’s the voice of the woman on the phone. This Ava person, most likely. His cousin. “Pe e te fa'agaoioi pe ou te sasaina i fafo faamalama uma!”

Roman, however, looks unbothered and borderline amused. “O ki o loo i luga o le matau ki. Aveese oe lava.”

Solana taps him on his chest, asking, “what did she sa—”

“Ava! Leave your cousin alone!” Fetu’s voice also calls out from outside the door, Solana’s eyes widening again. “He’s having make up sex with his wife!”

And just like that, it goes from bad to worse. Solana wants to melt into the bed, the floor, the ground. Anything to escape this humiliation. Looking over at Roman, she yell-whispers, “she heard us?”

Her husband, however, still looks just as unbothered and amused as before. “Baby, you’re not exactly very quiet.”

“Oh my god, Solana is here?” Ava gasps on the other side. “I’m so sorry! It’s nice to kind of meet you! Sorry you got stuck marrying my asshole cousin.”

“This is so embarrassing,” Solana moans, moving to bury her head into Roman’s chest before calling out with all awkwardness, “ummm, it’s n–nice to meet you too!”

“Tama teine, leave them alone! They might be making a baby!” And it just keeps going from bad to worse, Fetu adding on. “Keep the Samoan breeding kink tradition growing strong!”

“Uso o le tinā! What do you know about breeding kinks?” Solana is certain her face is tomato red. She’s never been so mortified. “Anyway, I’ll meet you later, Solana. And Roman, fuck you.”

He rolls his eyes, Solana waiting until she hears the footsteps vanish and melt into silence to speak again. “I can’t believe that happened.” Something said, however, triggers a thought for her. The breeding kink comment, specifically. “Roman….should we….should we use protection or something?” He looks confused, prompting her to explain. “I don’t—I don’t want you feeling pressured. I want a baby, but I want to make sure you’re good first too.” She adds on, wanting him to know how sincere she is. “Or, I can get on birth control. I know it’s not really allowed, but—”

“You’re my wife, Solana.” He cuts her off, hand to her cheek. “I’m not using a condom, and you’re not getting on birth control.” She nervously licks her lips as he brushes his thumb over her cheek. “When it happens….it happens. Okay?”

She nods, eyes closing when he kisses her forehead. She goes to lay on his chest, Roman’s hand on the small of her back, gradually moving downward. A small, teasing smile grows on her face as she looks up at him. “Dinner is gonna be ready soon, Ro….”

He hums, smirking when she gasps at how he squeezes her ass. “My appetite’s not for that….” Solana giggles when he flips them, so he’s over her, her hands gliding down his chest. “It’s makeup sex, right?” His eyes are filled with lust, Solana moaning when he starts spreading her legs. “So, let’s continue to make up.”

--------

Translations:

“Déjame en paz! ¡Te odio!” = "Leave me alone! I hate you!"

“Aulelei oe…..” = "You're so beautiful."

"Pe e te fa'agaoioi pe ou te sasaina i fafo faamalama uma!" = "Either you move it, or I'll smash out the windows!"

"O ki o loo i luga o le matau ki. Aveese oe lava." = "The keys are on the hook. Move it yourself."

"Tama teine." = "Niece."

"Uso o le tinā!" = "Aunt."

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfic #arisnotebook

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stalkerofthegods · 11 months ago

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Lady Nyx/Nox deep dive, straight to the point info

Lady Nyx is wonderful, her beauty even ascends the stars, May we respect and adore Lady Nyx as a goddess and as a wonderful mother.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Herbs • Dahlias, Cannas, Some lobelia, Night-blooming jasmine, Moonflowers, Datura, Tuberose, Evening primrose, Queen of the Night epiphyllum, Herbs that only grow at night, black leaves, black flowers, Blackthorn, Cypress, Holly, Juniper, Locust, Pomegranate, Witch Hazel, Comfrey, Honeysuckle, Ivy, Lavender, Mugwort, Patchouli, Primrose, Vervain, Nectarines, Dragon Fruit, Morning Glory, Nightshade, Roses, Lilies, Poppies

Animals• Horses, Owl, dogs, bats, black bulls, Blue Jay, Crow, Sparrow, Snake, Turtle, cat

Zodiac • your moon sign.

Colors • Black, Dark blue, Dark green, Dark Purple

Crystal• Obisidian, Morion, Jet, Hematite, Onyx, Black tourmaline, Black Sapphire, Black moonstone, Black agate, Shungite, Black calcite, Eye Agate, Amethyst, Andalusite, Apophyllite, Cat's Eye, Hematite, Moss Agate, Moonstone, Petrified Wood, Smokey Quartz

Symbols• Black wings, Dark clouds, Black fog, Egg, New Moon, Stars, key, veil, poppy, serpents, owls.

you can wear in their honor• you can veil in their honor, PJs

Deity of• Night, she is the personification of it

Patron of• Night, Sleep, Death, the Fates, Nemesis, Old Age, Darkness, Light, Motherhood, Magic, Mystery, and the unknown;

Offerings• Black candles, Poetry or songs related to the night, Images of the night sky, Beef, Milk, Black flowers, Black fruits, Dark red wine, Black animal votives, Dew (the one that gathers after sunset), Dark feathers, Dark liquors/beers. Black Tea/Coffee, Symbols of Her children (ex-torch, skull, scissors), Black fabric/veil/cloak, Dark chocolate, Honey/molasses, Viniq (shimmery liqueur that looks like a galaxy in a bottle)

Devotional• Go star gazing, donate to owl shelters, go to the zoo to see her animals, draw her, listen to a playlist for her, go camping under the stars, go glamping to look at the stars, Take a night time walk, Get a good night’s rest, Learn a new star or constellation each week, Stay up late, do something you enjoy without fearing the dark, Sleep with your windows open, Burn a candle that represents the stars, Sleep in every once and a while, Watch an astronomy documentary, Be extra polite to those who have to work the night shift, Wear dark colors, Learn about which animals are active at night in your area, Go for a night drive, Do divination at night, Listen to music with your headphones in, Use silver, black, and gold glitter, Plant some flowers that only bloom at night, Use a star/constellation app, Read the House of Night series, Watch the evening light fade away into darkness (you can do this in your window, or watch a lapse on YouTube of it), Wear more things with the stars or planets on them, Defend someone who is vulnerableble, Turn your electronics off a couple hours before bed each night, Drink an herbal tea with cinnamon before bed, If you’re staying up late already, make your night productive. (Ex- Complete some homework, tidy up your room), Keep a dream journal, Learn how to identify owls by their calls, Make the night sky your screensaver/home screen, Wear scents that remind you of the night, watch a video of the stars, and sleep with stars in the background.

Ephithets• Bringer of Night, Mother of Daimones, Mother of the Cosmos, Subduer of Gods and Men, Mother of Mysteries, The Dark and Shining, The Winged, of the Great Shadows, Dressed in Stars, Dew Bringer, of the Witching Hour,

of the Deep and Silent Dark.

Equivalents (alike but not the same)• Nótt (Norse), Selene (Greek), Hecate (Greek), Nox (Roman), Nyx (Greek), Al-Qaum (Arabian), Nabatean (Arabain), Itzpapalotl (Aztec), Metztli (Aztec), Tezcatlipoca (Aztec), Khonsu (Egyptian), Nut (Egyptian)

Signs they are reaching out• Sudden fascination with stars, seeing her Symbols and attributes all of the sudden, a pull to her and the night.

Vows/omans• None, maybe wedding vows, but many say she just has Erebus as a boyfriend, not a husband.

Morals• Unkown, but most suspect Morally grey.

Courting• Erebus (darkness)

Personality• She is motherly and protective of her children,

Home• Tartruas

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Fact• The first Deity to exist,

Roots• Gaia, Birthed at the beginning of time, lived in Tartarus.

Parentage• Chaos

Siblings• Gaia (goddess of the Earth/mother nature), Erebus (god of darkness), Uranus/Ouranos (god of the heavens), and Tartarus (god of the underworld).

Pet• The two/four horses pulling her chariot

Children • Aether and Hemera (Day) by Erebus (Darkness), Thanatos (gentle death), Hypnos (sleep), she also made the spirits - the Fates, Sleep, Death, Strife, and Pain. Aether, Moros, Apate, Dolos, the Keres, the Moirai, the Hesperides, Oizys, Momus, Philotes, Geras, Eris

Appearance in astral or gen• In ancient art Nyx was depicted as either a winged goddess or charioteer, sometimes crowned with dark mists.

Festivals • Wiccan Yule, Wiccan Samhain, Winter solstice, you can do a ritual for her on the full and dark moon, but there is a feast you can hold in her honor, which is called Lemuralia.

Day • her time is Twilight, Dusk, and Midnight, and her day is Monday

Season• winter

Direction• north

Status• Primordial Goddess of night, even Zeus fears her, one of the first primordial beings alive, she was there for the creation of the universe.

Planet• Moon

Her Tarot cards• Death, Temperance

Scents/Inscene • Myrtle, Camphor, Patchouli, Lavender, watery, musky, earthy

My opinion • She is a very hard divine being to find information on, I hope this helps, but I've never met her before, I assume she's great, my friend says she is kind and calls her ‘Mother’

Prayers•

In general

Beautiful, black-eyed Nyx, cloaked in darkness, older than old, daughter of misty Chaos, mother of great and mighty spirits, I call to you. Ever-present one, you live in the shadows; we know you in the dusk, in the comfort of the night. Broad-winged Nyx, you clasp the hand of bright Hemera, each eve and morn, you greet her with love and sorrow for only in those moments may you embrace your child. Goddess, awesome one, in your realm are we all unblemished, in your realm do lovers’ promises ring true, in your realm are all things possible, if only until daybreak. Nyx, I honor you.

Small prayer

“Nyx, mother of the night, mother of sleep, mother of death: Might your darkness embrace me Might your energy caress me Might you be mine and Might I be yours Blessed be.“

In general

O ancient Goddess, born of Chaos and steeped in shadow, I honor you now and always. With eyes which have watched the beginnings of all that is, see us now embracing your sleep and mystery. With power that strikes fear into the hearts of the most revered of Gods,

I remember your strength when I am searching for my own. In the starless night where light shines not i will give my thanks to your Greatness, And surrender to the dark.

Links/websites/sources • Nyx - Greek-Goddesses Wiki - Fandomhttps://www.theoi.com/Protogenos/Nyx.html mystical-sleepy-musings <a href="https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/nyx/">Nyx – Greek Goddess of The Night: https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net</a> - Greek Gods & Goddesses, June 10, 2018 https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nyx https://www.theoi.com/Protogenos/Nyx.htmlhttps://www.britannica.com/topic/Hypnoshttps://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/nyx/https://www.ancient-origins.net/myths-legends-europe/nyx-goddess-0017255 https://www.worldhistory.org/Nyx/https://gods-and-demons.fandom.com/wiki/Nyx https://www.moonfallmetaphysical.com/s/stories/nyx-greek-goddess#google_vignette https://www.moonfallmetaphysical.com/s/stories/nyx-greek-goddess#google_vignette https://mythopedia.com/topics/nyx https://oldworldgods.com/greeks/nyx-greek-goddess-of-the-night/https://www.vintageisthenewold.com/game-pedia/what-does-nyx-goddess-look-like https://aminoapps.com/c/hellenistic-polytheism/page/item/nyx/Vn7V_bmCvIP7XMLvlKzJJbl2lGY55JLxDZhttps://thebacchichuntress.tumblr.com/post/127160005123/offerings-to-nyx/amphttps://www.tumblr.com/heatherwitch/161308460295/nyxhttps://tuiliel.tumblr.com/post/139053552874/epithets-of-nyx/amphttps://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_night_deities https://greekpagan.com/category/prayers-2/nyx/#:~:text=older%20than%20old%2C%20daughter%20of,the%20comfort%20of%20the%20night.Magickal Spothttps://magickalspot.com › nyxGoddess Nyx: Prayers, Symbols, Books & More [Guide]https://www.tumblr.com/moonlitmagic/189775766368/prayer-for-nyx

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

This post is payment to my friend @briislame

May Nyx cover you with the calmness of night.

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

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333creolelady · 3 days ago

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Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Ch.9 (Finale)

Afab! Black OC x Roman Reigns (Pirate Au)

Warnings: SEX, Fem rec oral, Male rec oral, P in V penetration, Cursing, Discussions about Racism/ Systematic oppression, very light angst (with heavy fluff omg)

Word Count: A Whopping 34k. I am so sorry.

Official playlist link

Alternative playlist link

Official songs for this chapter: The whole world, Le style du Barry, Le lever du, Concerto G, Sonatas, The zong, Lord Mansfield, First impressions, The living sculptures, Darcy’s letter, Jeanne Versailles, spring 1, Malena Titoli di coda, To the ball, Academy, Laverton, Merry, Misirlou, Danube, The pink room, You would be my wife, You already, Nobody gets me (classical).

Alternative songs for this chapter: The gentle rain, Flick, From scratch, Guitar song, 26, The only exception, We’ll never have sex, Futile devices, Love Story, Hide, Breathe, Possibly Maybe, Lover you should have come over, Feel like home.

Cover by @joannasteez

<-Chapter 8

<- Back to Masterlist

Jane Pov

There were many inexplicable occurrences that happened as a result of the island. For one, the seasons had changed. They were spat out somewhere between Totoguam and a British occupied port. This was a relief, as it would take them a very long time to get back to Europe from where they came. It took 6 weeks flat to reach the Port of Tillbury.

Jane agreed to accompany Roman to meet an old friend in Paris and take a breather after such a vigorous quest. A quarter of the pirates parted ways with the group to pay off debts, return to family, visit family, or simply retire. William was included in that group of people. Understandably so, he needed to make things right with his wife. Doctor Earl decided to stay a bit longer, simply stating that his work was not done yet. Caden would be accompanying Jane and Roman on their trip.

Before any real break could happen, business had to be dealt with. Roman left early in the morning to travel to London to clear warrants. Jane spent the day preparing for their trip. She started packing the new sets of clothes that Roman had picked out for her. Shoes, dresses, shifts, stockings, garters, stays, modesty slips, caps and fichus, paniers, petticoats, and engageantes. Roman had gone on a bit of an impulsive spending spree as he was terribly sorry about the destruction of the last ship and all their personal belongings. After packing her items she moved onto his. She prepared her hair in small twists, hoping to not be bothered with it for a week or two. The slip of her hair pomade in her hand made her grateful to be back in the general population.

With a smaller group of pirates, dinner took half the time to cook. Tilbury wasn’t particularly known for its fresh produce or quality cuts of meat. The boat had better food. Beef and potatoes were a favorite and it was a favorite this night just as any other night. Roman came back with a tired but satisfied look on his face. She could tell by his smile that the day had gone well. Before she can utter a word, his mouth is on hers, giving her a generous and suggestive greeting after so many hours apart.

“ Dinner is ready. Caden helped”, She pulled away from the kiss with a chuckle, slapping her hand across his chest.

A goofy grin spreads across his face “ Great. Let us enjoy our meal in the bedroom”, he suggests lowly. She looks around at all the men sitting in the dining hall. They were far too busy stuffing their faces. Roman motions for the door with his eyes, trying his best to convince her. “come on”, he whispered to her. He’s already holding his plate and hers. She pulls off her apron and sets it on the seat. One of the lower ranking pirates hoots suggestively as the two disappear behind the door. Roman doesn’t even bother his typical threats from his cheery mood.

The two reach the bedroom and she sets the plates on the table, pouring a glass of water for the both of them from the picher that sat near the window sill. Roman strips himself off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt. He pulls off his tricorn hat and takes down his hair from his respectful ponytail.

“ You’re in a good mood”, Jane laughs.

“ I am. I have great news. I was able to clear up some warrants for myself and the crew. You don’t even have a warrant anymore.” Jane perks up at those words.

“ Indeed, you are declared missing in the country of England. This is because they found no remains. This means that all your debts and warrants have been cleared. You are free”, Roman quips.

“ Free…”, the word bounces off her tongue in a peculiar way. She supposed that life in London was no freedom after all. If one could even call what she had before a life.

Roman sat next to her, throwing his arm around her shoulder and pulling her temple to his mouth for a peck.

“ A fresh start. You can even choose a new name if you like not that it will matter. I don’t have much business to do with London at this point. You won’t have to go back here if you do not wish to”, he assured her.

“ Processing the paperwork will taking some time. We will head to Paris by carriage the day after tomorrow. Caden will escort you to the shops tomorrow to get anything you need for our stay which will be three weeks long.”

Jane brows raise in surprise “ Three weeks?..What on earth will we be doing for three whole weeks?”

Roman playfully rolls his eyes, “ Can a man not surprise and plan things for the woman he loves? If you were supposed to know I would have told you by now ”, he chuckles.

“ Not even a hint….you’ll spare me ?”, Jane scoffs.

“ It’s a vacation”, Roman muttered, scraping the last bit of potatoes off his plate. Jane was so excited she couldn’t even finish her meal and instead pushed her plate towards his.

“I suppose that will be enough. I’ll try to get more out of you later… I have my ways,” she teased. A rumble in his chest tickled her ears as she stifled a laugh and he pulled her into his lap.

Roman leaned into the crook of her neck. “Spoiled rotten… never let me have the last word, can you?” He quickly caught her off guard with a smack to her bum. She squealed, jumping up and diving for the bed.

As promised, the day after the next, two carriages awaited them at the end of the dock, drawn by four large white horses. The carriages were brown with gold embroidery—no doubt they were expensive. The coachmen placed Jane’s and Roman’s luggage on top of the carriage. Roman helped her step inside while the coachmen held the door open for her. Inside the small cushioned box were three medium-sized windows with retractable blinds. There were two cushioned benches adorned with beautiful swirly embroidery around the perimeter of the carriage. The ceiling was dark red with gold designs dancing across it. Jane sat down, and Roman sat across from her. The coachmen closed the door and opened the two additional windows to let in the light.

“The quality of this carriage… it’s so rich. It almost looks like a royal carriage,” Jane said, looking around in awe. It even smelled nice. A beat of silence passes. “Is this a royal carriage?” Jane frowned in confusion. Roman chuckled knowingly.

“I take it you haven’t traveled in very good carriages before?” he deflected. Jane rolled her eyes, aware of his angle but deciding to drop it.

“I wouldn’t call a wooden bench staring at the back of a horse’s arse particularly ‘good,’ so I’m easily impressed so far,” she snorted.

He chortled. “Well, if it’s that easy to impress you, prepare to be astonished once more… very soon.”

“How long before we get to Paris?”

“All of today. We won’t reach Paris until nightfall.” Roman removed his jacket and rolled it behind him into a pillow.

A day was nothing. The two of them lost track of time in conversation—a common occurrence when they were together. Roman told old pirate stories, and Jane listened intently. The bottle of ale certainly helped keep the topics interesting. Eventually, around midnight, Jane could wait for Paris a second longer. After a long rant about a specific color of dress she could never seem to find, she slumped against his chest. Sleep claimed her, and Roman, a bit of a night owl, decided to join her in slumber. He didn’t want to miss her reaction.

Jane's body sensed the carriage stop, stirring her awake, which in turn woke Roman. He looped an arm around her waist and pulled her upright before opening a blind. Jane gasped as she looked out the window.

A palace? Why would she be at a palace of all places? Why would Roman take her to a palace when he practically hated nobility? None of it made sense. She glanced between his eyes and the massive property just feet away.

A little knock on the door startled her, as she couldn’t see anyone standing there. Reluctantly, she opened the door. A small voice cleared its throat, and her eyes shot down to a sandy-brown-haired girl with large, poofy ringlets split into two ponytails on either side of her head. She wore a child’s nightdress with a robe and matching pink slippers. Her large eyes, tiny bulbous nose, and round pink lips made her look like a little cherub. More surprisingly, she was incredibly tiny, appearing to be around four to six years old. Maybe it was because Jane hadn’t been around many children; most of the earls and ladies she had worked for were older with grown children. The little girl smiled at her. “Bonjour! Parles-tu français?” she asked.

“Uh… no,” Jane replied awkwardly, a small chuckle rising from her chest as the little girl eyed her curiously.

“Hello, my name is Eloise!” the little girl said, sticking her tiny hand out to Jane. Her accent was distinctly French, and her voice was sweet yet clear, as if she had spoken two languages her entire life.

Jane, bewildered but charmed, took the child’s hand in her own and introduced herself. “Jane,” she smiled.

The child turned to Roman. “And you must be Papa’s friend. He said you were coming. He’s not back yet from his hunting trip with Mama, but don’t worry. I can give you a tour since he’s not here. I know all the rooms of the palace and the—”

“Eloise! What did I say?! You are to be in bed! Une dame ne salue pas ses invités dans ses vêtements de nuit. A lady must be presentable!” a woman called from the top of the steps leading to the entrance of the palace.

The little girl took off running into the palace, a guard jogging behind her, shadowing her every move. Jane and Roman stepped out of the carriage as she disappeared around a dimly lit corner. A woman in her fifties with deep brown hair, green cat-like eyes, a long defined nose, and cherry-red lips approached the couple. She wore a long deep green gown, and her hair was styled in a puffy updo. Jane glanced back to see Caden still in his carriage parked a few inches away, greeted by a different courtier.

“Monsieur Roman, Mademoiselle Ramlal—welcome. My name is Beatrice. I split my time between being a governess to Lady Eloise and a courtier for the Duchess of Orleans. The Duke will be so pleased to have you both here,” she said, respectfully curtsying and smiling at them.

“Hi… Is this… Versailles?” Jane asked, looking around curiously at the architecture.

The woman covered her mouth to suppress a chuckle. “No, ma’am. This is Palais Royal—home to the Duke and the Duchess. However, Versailles is just up the road, an hour away by carriage. You will experience the wonders of the King’s home soon enough. Not to worry.”

“Thank you, Beatrice. This is Jane’s first time in Paris, so she’ll need some time to adjust”, says Roman.

“Of course! Let me show you to your room, and we can do a tour of the property after the Duke and Duchess return. Let us take the short way, as I know you two must be very tired. Right this way,” Beatrice smiled kindly, signaling to the officers to unload the luggage, which was then picked up by four servants who appeared quietly in the background.

On the short walk to their quarters, Jane took it all in—what she could see, at least. Before her stood an architectural giant, its grandeur dwarfing the buildings in England. It worried her slightly that Versailles would be even bigger than this. The palace, with its striking classical façade, was an intricate tapestry of columns and arches. Tall Corinthian pillars, fluted and carefully proportioned, rose imposingly toward the sky, framing the grand entrance like sentinels of history. The creamy stone glowed warmly against the light, each detail sharp and vivid against the Parisian night sky.

Jane’s gaze swept over the expansive courtyard, where the geometric design of the paving stones seemed to lead her deeper into the heart of the palace. To her left, the vast gardens unfurled, their manicured hedges and vibrant flowerbeds a riot of color, contrasting beautifully with the pale stone of the building.

The sheer scale of the Palais Royal filled her with awe; it seemed to stretch endlessly, a labyrinth of wealth and privilege. How did people live like this? The intricate ironwork of the balconies twinkled in the moonlight, and the ornate sculptures perched atop the façade looked down like ancient figures, frozen in time. Every detail—the delicate carvings, the imposing gates, the shimmering windows—left her wide-eyed. This was not just a palace; it was a gateway to a life that was completely alien to her old one. And she thought the Earl she worked for was rich?

“Roman, we are criminals. We cannot be here,” she whispered quietly to him as they walked behind the governess. They were in the foyer, heading up a marble staircase so clean she felt she could eat off it.

He looked down at her, noticing her nervous glances over her shoulder as if there was a guard about to handcuff her. “Do you really think I’d take you somewhere where they would arrest you? It’s taken care of, remember? Besides, the Duke and I are childhood friends. He would sooner hide us than give us up to the law—a law we are no longer in trouble with. Relax. It’s what you’re supposed to do on vacation.” He looked down at her again as she continued to glance around suspiciously. Jane could send him into hysterics when she wanted to. This was one of those moments. She grabbed his large hand tightly, and he squeezed her small fist reassuringly.

“Okay. Here are your quarters. The Duke has informed us that you would like to share a room,” Beatrice led them down a winding, tall, echoey hallway that Jane nearly slipped on. She wasn’t used to walking on stone yet. They arrived at the room, and Beatrice opened the door. Jane held back a gasp.

The bedroom was lavish and opulent. The room featured grand, ornate furnishings with rich fabrics and intricate detailing. The walls were adorned with delicate wallpaper in a soft goldish-brown color with floral patterns. A large, canopied bed served as the centerpiece, draped in expensive linens and surrounded by tapestries.

Gilded accents and antique mirrors with elegant chandeliers illuminate the room with a warm, soft glow. Decorative vases and fresh flowers bring life and color to the space. Cushioned gold chairs and mahogany tables line either side of the room. A small table and two chairs sit near the large window with a balcony. The rug is spotless; not even a speck of dust or dirt can be seen on it, despite its cream and gold colors. The fireplace is large, with fresh wood sitting inside it. The room is adorned with ancestral paintings and murals. The marble floor features intricate designs. The ceiling is gold-trimmed.

“Your things will be here shortly. Ms. Ramlal, your measurements will need to be taken.”

“Oh—I brought my own dresses, no worries,” said Jane.

“This will be for your Versailles trip. Here, the court is a little more relaxed. However, Versailles is more traditional. The King doesn’t particularly like British fashion, so you’ll have to respect the rules of his court. Otherwise, you may insult him. His Highness is a little more… particular, ” Beatrice explained gently.

Jane blinked with surprise. “Oh—I was not aware. Thank you for letting me know.”

“My pleasure. Oh look, your bags have arrived,” Beatrice said, stepping aside to allow the male servants to place the luggage trunks next to the room dividers at the far end of the room. Two more servants, this time female, entered the room. They greeted her quietly, and she returned the favor. Roman was sitting in a chair, going through a small bookshelf that sat on the opposite side of the room. Jane walked to the full-length mirror next to the suitcases and allowed the ladies to take her measurements. The process took all of two minutes before they left with a swift curtsy.

“You two enjoy the rest of your evening. There will be a Butler named Joffrey stationed outside your door. If there is anything you need, report to him, and he will have it done. Is there anything else I can assist you two with?”

Roman stood from his sitting position. “No, that will be all, Beatrice. We truly appreciate your hospitality. I wish you a good night.”

“And you as well. See you both in the morning, Monsieur..Mademoiselle,” Beatrice curtsied and left.

Jane let out a long sigh, relaxing her shoulders. “Goodness. I felt like I was in a play.”

Roman chuckled knowingly. “The people of the court are almost as intense as the royalty. Every nicety must be observed. Every interaction is uptight. But trust me, the Duke and the Duchess are not like that.”

Jane looked around the room, turning her body to take in each part of it. At the end of the room sat assorted berries, chocolate, chocolate-covered berries, scones, soups, cheeses, breads, and wines. Jane rushed over to pick a berry from the tray.

“Mmm…” she said, picking another and putting it in her mouth. Utensils lined the tables. She picked one up, only to realize it was pure gold. The thought tickled her. Wouldn’t silver be just fine?

Chocolate was a rare delicacy. She’d tasted it maybe twice in her life and then never again.

“Fan of chocolate?” Roman smiled, watching her pick over the food table.

“Fan of anything sweet, if you couldn’t tell,” she chuckled.

Roman stood, his knees groaning from sitting all day. He pulled off his dress coat and placed it on the side of the chair. “The Persians love their sweets, so you won’t leave this place unsatisfied. Come, let me loosen your corset.”

Jane washed down her berries with a splash of wine before she shuffled over to Roman, kicking off her heels and letting her toes sink into the carpet. Roman stood behind her with his tall stature, pulling down the straps of her corset and loosening the ribbons that wound up her back. The final tug at the bottom of the corset popped the cage loose, allowing the fabric to fall down to her hips. She could feel her breasts spill out, but she made no move to hold them. She carefully pulled it off, revealing a thin, sheer undergarment slip she wore underneath. She lifted the garment over her shoulders and tossed it on the floor, leaving herself in bloomers and nothing else. She felt a calloused finger trail along her back and up her right shoulder. There it was again, that tension that had been brewing for weeks. She peeked over her shoulder, and his eyes were focused on her skin, painting small circles and patterns against her back and shoulder. His pupils, darker than usual, met her own, and she nearly flinched from the heat of them. They stayed there for a minute while a silent conversation was held.

Any day now, it would happen. His lust was so incontestable, so palpable, she could reach out and touch it. He took a step back and surrendered to their circumstances. No, not yet. Close, but not quite yet. It had been a long day, and his eyes lowered to her dress on the floor. He picked it up and set it alongside her luggage.

When she entered the elaborate bathroom, she noticed a large, spacious marble bathtub sitting by the window. She requested a bath, and Roman took his shortly after hers. The exhaustion set in fast as the two barely uttered goodnight before reaching deep sleep.

The morning sun illuminated every corner of the gold-speckled room, creating a shiny and soft haze over her eyes. To wake up glowing was strange after living inside a wooden ship for the better part of a year. Jane sat up to find that Roman was gone, which made her a bit nervous. A small note sat on her pillow, and she opened it.

“Gone to have a smoke with Arnaud. Pull the rope, and your chambermaids will come and get you ready for breakfast. I’ll see you soon.”

Arnaud? That must be the Duke. She pulled on her bathrobe and walked to the golden rope hanging by the door. She tugged it twice and stood in front of her bed, waiting to see if the maids would arrive. When they did, they greeted her quietly and walked her over to the center of the room.

She wasn’t really sure how to speak to the servants; part of her felt guilty. She used to be one. But how does one possibly speak from the other side of it? She supposed it was best to let them do their jobs. Most of the time, she just wanted to be left alone in the presence of the wealthy. Small talk bored her, and she had a million other worries on her mind than which outfit looked better on which hair color. So she let them work her clothes off in silence.

What happened next was absolutely ridiculous. She realized she hadn’t been dressed by another person since she was at least five years old. She was dressed in layers, more layers than she was used to. She felt like a noblewoman, and somehow the dresses she had brought with her, came alive in a way they hadn’t before.

This dress was light pink and frilly. It almost made her look like she belonged in this place. It had bows, lace, and a dramatic bust. The dressmaker had stressed to her how something this beautiful could only be worn somewhere of beauty. He told her that she must wait for a special occasion—now was the occasion. What else would you wear to breakfast in a palace? She put on matching pink pearl jewelry. The price was exorbitant, but it was something that Roman had picked out for her. Things were different now; money was no issue, despite the feeling not yet setting in. The dresses he had bought her when they first met were nice—expensive dresses even—but this was on a whole new level.

The ladies huddled around her and added a pink rouge to her cheeks that complemented her skin tone well. Then, they added a lightly tinted glossy pigment to her mouth that caught the light perfectly. They used a waxy substance on her lashes to elongate them and then pressed a clean-scented powder to her skin. It was perfume, she realized. She never really bothered with perfume, but this one was gorgeous. It smelt like vanilla…cake and berries. She kept raising her wrist to her nose to smell it. One of the mousy maids reached for her hair, and Jane gently grabbed her hand to stop her.

“Madame… your hair… do you not want it styled?” she asked curiously.

“Uh… my hair is a bit of a mystery. I can’t style it like the other ladies; it’s far too… complicated. Please, let me figure it out” Jane scrambled. She ended her sentence with an awkward chuckle as the two maids looked at her strangely.

“No worries, madam. Eloise has special hair too; it requires gentle hands. One moment,” the maid said before disappearing to speak with the butler outside the room.

Jane and the chambermaids sat in awkward silence for a painful five minutes. A woman rounded the corner, her hair wrapped. She wore a white variation of the maid's dress, and her face was kind and smiling. Jane realized that this woman was the first person she’d seen who looked like her in ages. Her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a long sigh.

“Mary, madame. I see you are in need of a hairdresser? I can help” the woman asked in a thick French accent.

“Well, I was just going to wear it in twists,” Jane muttered.

“Twists are pretty, but maybe something more elaborate to go with such a detailed outfit. Trust me, mademoiselle, I’ve touched many heads like yours,” she suggests. A knowing smile crossed her face, disarming Jane. She spoke with such old wisdom that Jane immediately nodded.

Mary whispered something to the maids, and they left. She gently began to take Jane’s hair down, twirling the soft curls around themselves. The maids returned with curling rods and other hair products. They started a fire in the fireplace and quietly dismissed themselves. Now it was just Mary and Jane.

“You do this style often?” Mary asked.

“Yes… when I’m not wrapping it up. Can you tell?” Jane replied shyly.

“The hair has memory for sure. It’s very healthy—that’s a hard thing to maintain when you have so little product to work with. I made these creams myself. I use them on la petite Eloise. Her hair is thick and not quite like other little girls her age. It requires some work, but it’s very beautiful. She only allows me to touch it.”

“It used to be even harder, so I would just wrap it. It was hard to keep it soft at times. I had to make my own product before…” Jane stopped herself. Was she talking too much? This woman hadn’t asked for her life story. And why did she suddenly feel so self-conscious about what Mary might think of her? Jane tucked her lips as she snuck a glance at the woman in the mirror.

“Before… go on,” Mary chuckled.

Jane cleared her throat. “Before I met the gentleman I traveled with.”

“Ahh… Monsieur Roman. I’ve heard many stories about him. He is the Duke’s longest friend, and he’s supposed to be very fierce. Sir Roman is he your…?” Mary trailed off as she parted Jane's hair. Jane looked down into her lap. Would it be in bad taste to say the truth? They weren’t married. Truthfully, she didn’t think it would matter; they would go back to being pirates after this. Pirates don’t have wives.

“My companion. M-my friend,” Jane blurted. Women don’t have male ‘friends’, especially not in high society, but it’s not like she had a ring to say otherwise.

“I see. Well, he certainly will be able to tell you a thing or two about Paris. He used to frequent Paris quite a bit. I’ve seen him around”

Jane’s mind went blank. Why had she suddenly forgotten how to speak to a woman? She needed more friends, that’s for sure. “Yes. He brought me here as a surprise. D-do you like Paris?”

“Like? Sometimes. I think it’s easier to see the beauty in a place when you don’t live there. I can at least admire the architecture.”

“Yes. The buildings are a sight to see.”

Mary brushed Jane’s hair in sections, clipping up most of it while pulling a small piece out. She walked over to the fire and placed a long metal rod above the flames. After about a minute, she returned to the styling chair and wrapped a piece of cloth around Jane’s hair. She looped the hair around the heated rod, using the cloth as a barrier. After twenty seconds, she released the hair to reveal a large ringlet. Jane gasped.

“Wow,” she said, touching her hair gently with the tips of her fingers. She didn’t want to mess up the style, but it amazed her. Somehow, it made her hair look longer yet the curl was more dramatic. She’d never manipulated her hair in that way. “You are going to do that all over my head, just like this?!”

Mary burst into laughter. “You look like little Eloise after I do her hair. She jumps out of her seat and then starts dancing and posing in the mirror. Of course, mademoiselle, it’s why I’m here. Now hold still,” Mary said, resting the rod on a thick piece of cloth and pulling out another section of hair.

Jane could feel her excitement bubbling over as Mary continued to work on her hair. She couldn’t remember the last time she got excited about something like this. Having her hair done was a luxury she wasn’t sure she could part with.

“So… what part of France are you from?”

“I am from Haiti, but I came to Paris when I was about eight years old. I grew up here in Palais Royal with the former Duke—the King’s brother. My mother was a dressmaker, and I was her little assistant.”

“Ah, I see. Do you live here in the Palais? Or away?”

“Oui, in the servants’ quarters. Though I have my own apartment due to Eloise’s favor. The Duke treats his staff quite well,” Mary spoke with a relaxed tone, as if Jane were her longtime girlfriend. She liked that. The other maids seemed so high-strung and tense.

“I’m not from here… in Europe, I mean. I’m from Trinidad. I came to Europe as a child too,” Jane admitted. She felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She wasn’t about to pretend to be something she wasn’t.

“An island girl like myself? Who would have thought. What a peculiar place for us to be, no?”

“Peculiar indeed.”

“So I take it you’re not a former Kings gift? Or rather a Bastard to a Duke or Marquis?” Mary said playfully, with a suspicious tone.

Jane held back a laugh. “What gave it away?”

“You look me in the eye when you talk.”

Jane pondered that for a second. She remembered those days slaving away over a stove, serving a dish to people who couldn’t see her. She was invisible. Over time, that invisibility became a comfort.

“And if they were to look you in the eye, they would only be looking at their reflection in it,” Jane quipped absentmindedly. Mary let out a high-pitched laugh.

“What was your job before this?” Mary asked, working quickly and already finishing the back and crown of Jane’s head.

“Cook. I have fingertips of steel. I could probably wrap my hand around that rod and not feel a thing,” Jane joked.

“Explains the humor. Well, Madame Jane, I can tell that you and I are going to get along just fine,” Mary grinned knowingly.

The two fell into chatter and banter like friends. Mary was funny, and she seemed to know so much about everything. Jane even had to excuse herself from cursing a few times as it slipped out. Mary found it funny. The connection could only be explained as the harmony of having a conversation with another woman—there was nothing quite like it. And while Roman was the keeper of her secrets, he preferred to pacify and soothe. But talking to a woman—there was something almost spiritual about it. The idea that someone would just “get it,” whatever that “it” might be. The comfort in knowing that somewhere, your stories lined up, even if just for an instant.

Mary pinned Jane’s hair in a rolling pattern that accentuated her long neck. She left a singular thick curl hanging down against her shoulder. Then she dusted Jane's hairline with a pink sparkly gold powder that matched her pale pink dress and makeup. Jane gasped when she saw herself in the mirror.

“What do you call this style?!”

“The tête de mouton, or sheep's head. The ladies in Paris love this style.”

“I see why. Wow, I’ve never looked like this before. I mean, you practically did magic!” Jane exclaimed, brushing a finger against the curl on her shoulder.

“I am very pleased you like it, madame. Now one moment. The governess wants to meet with you before breakfast. I’ll see you soon,” Mary said, stepping back and curtsying before leaving the room.

Jane stood in front of the mirror, eyeing every detail. She’d never looked so beautiful. She pondered if the novelty of being dressed and styled to perfection wore off for wealthy women. She could never tire of this—of feeling pretty.

The governess broke her out of her trance with a clearing of her throat. Jane turned around and curtsied. The governess returned the gesture and walked further into the room. Jane couldn’t help but feel that these sorts of greetings were growing tiresome. The governess was a serious woman but kind enough. “Don’t worry about curtsying back to the help. A short, quick curtsy to ladies of the court is fine. More dramatic and precise curtsies are suitable for nobility. Just remember to bow to the Duke and Duchess. They are to be referred to as 'Your Grace.' We will go over other things for your Versailles trip. Are you ready?” she said.

Jane sensed that the governess was in a rush, so she didn’t bother to ask any questions yet. “I am.”

“Splendid. Follow me,” said Beatrice. Their heels tapped against shiny winding staircases. It took every bit of five minutes to reach the entrance of the dining room. Two guards stood on either side of the double doors and opened them for the pair.

“Madamoiselle Jane of London,” a white-wigged announcer called from the back of the room. It nearly startled Jane, but she stepped into the path of the room and walked through the doors. A ridiculously long table, which nearly stretched across the entire room, revealed little Eloise, the Duke, the Duchess, Roman, and Caden. Each corner of the room had a guard, and a line of cooks stood near the entrance of the kitchen. Everyone stood as the Duke and his wife joined hands and walked closer to where Jane stood. She bowed alongside the governess, muttering “Your Grace” and “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, I can’t help it!” Charlotte lunged for Jane and wrapped her arms around her. She was a pale woman with curly, frizzy strawberry-blonde hair, large downturned green eyes, a button nose, and a bow-shaped mouth. She had a single mole on her right cheek. Slightly shorter than Jane, her comically large bust nearly cut off Jane’s circulation when she squeezed her so tight.

“Hi, call me Charlotte! Arnaud has told me so much about you two. You’re even more gorgeous than Roman could have ever described in the letter. I’m so happy to have you here!” the woman squeaked. Her British accent surprised Jane. Blinking at her with a flustered look, Jane smiled at the radiant woman before her. Charlotte had a porcelain-doll quality, and her bubbly personality fit her well; however, Jane hadn’t expected her voice to be so high.

“Nice to meet you, Charlotte.”

The Duke offered his hand for a shake, and Jane took it, happy to be over with the formalities. “Arnaud, It’s so nice to finally meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Paris.” His French accent was thick, but she understood him clearly. Arnaud was tall, almost as tall as Roman. He had a thick beard, slanted almond eyes, a broad nose, full downturned lips, and dark skin. For a moment, the concept didn’t register, and a blank stare crept onto Jane’s face as she held his hand.

“You’re the Duke ?” she asked, dumbfounded.

A knowing smile crept onto Arnaud’s face. “I have my paperwork to prove it if you don’t believe me.”

“No—sorry. I mean… you know what? Never mind,” Jane scrambled to find the words.

“Relax. I get it. Not what you were expecting,” Arnaud laughed.

“Well… no,” Jane sputtered.

Suddenly, something tiny and furry ran through the gap between Jane’s feet, causing her to nearly stumble off balance. Arnaud caught her. A tiny body pushed past her feet on all fours, yelling in French.

“Mauvais chat! Come back here!” Eloise shouted.

“Good heavens!” the Governess gasped, clutching her chest. Eloise was chasing a white fluffy cat around the expensive dining room on all fours, meowing like a cat.

“Eloise! What did I tell you about chasing that cat?! Get off the floor! You’re terrorizing the poor thing!” Charlotte dodged for the little girl, crawling on the ground herself as Eloise chased the cat under the dining table. It was truly a sight to see, as most high born mothers did not bother reprimanding or even parenting their children.

Jane wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to laugh, but she had never seen anything like it in her life. Then the guards started chasing after all three of them—the cat, Eloise, and the Duchess—trying to prevent an accident and stop the cat from running up the drapes.

Arnaud turned to Jane with a tired look. “One thing I can say—I am never bored in this house.”

“I can see that,” Jane chuckled as he walked her to her seat next to Roman.

Roman pulled her chair out for her, and she took a seat, taking in all the wonderful dishes. A male servant greeted her and set a plate in front of her. The Duke sat across from them as if utter chaos wasn’t unfolding in front of them and started loading Jane’s plate with food. No one of Arnaud’s status had ever served her food.

She could feel Roman draw closer as he whispered, “You look stunning.”

“I hope so after how long it took to get ready,” she smiled.

Roman took her hand and kissed the back of it. Jane looked to Caden, who had been quiet as a mouse this entire time, watching Charlotte crawl past him with a determined look on her face as she grabbed hold of Eloise’s leg. Suddenly, Roman shifted in his seat and caught Eloise with one hand, lifting her in the air. There was a tiny shrill of her voice before she went limp in his iron grip.

“Pas juste!” she pouted. (No fair)

To Jane’s surprise, Roman muttered, “La vie n'est pas juste,” chuckling at the cat darting underneath the chairs before it was caught by a guard. (Life is not fair)

“Maybe for you,” Eloise teased.

Charlotte grabbed the child and quickly swatted her on the bottom, though it made no difference given how thick the child’s dress was. Instead, she just snickered as the governess took her to her room. Charlotte fixed her hair and straightened her dress before sitting down next to her husband. Order was restored to the room as Charlotte regained her breath. Arnaud looked to his wife and whispered something to her that caused her to giggle.

“I apologize that you all had to be subjected to that chaos. Eloise is a very advanced child, which means that left to her own devices, she will attempt to dominate whoever or whatever is in her vicinity,” Arnaud admitted. He almost looked proud of it, which made Jane look away to avoid laughing even harder.

“We hope the food is to your liking,” Charlotte added. They dug into the food, and at first, there was just the quiet of chewing and plate scraping. Then Caden decided to break the silence.

“So, Arnaud, how did you and Roman meet?” asked Caden. Jane finally got a good look at him now. A year’s worth of grime had been washed from his light chocolate hair, and he looked every bit of his teenage years—so baby-faced and bushy-tailed. He wore a matching brown jacket with black trousers. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. He looked uncomfortable, which was understandable. Although Roman and Jane had interacted with nobility in the past, Caden had never even seen a palace up close. Jane would be sure to check in with him when she had the chance.

“Roman and I are what one might say—adopted. We have a very similar backstory. We met when I took a trip to Germany as a young boy. The king was negotiating with their territory, and I saw someone my age playing in the ballroom. No introductions needed. Instant friends.”

“And he’s been a pain in my arse ever since,” Roman grumbled.

“Who are you telling? I can’t get rid of you,” Arnaud bantered.

“So I suspect your home is a bit further away?” Jane asked curiously. She hoped she wasn’t being too forward, but she had to know.

“Sierra Leone, actually.”

“I see,” a sad expression crossed her face. He was indeed a long way from home, just as she and Roman and Mary were—a feeling so unique from regular homesickness.

“What about yourself?” asked Arnaud.

“Trinidad, originally.”

One of his brows twitched in surprise. “How on earth did you two meet?”

“He… saved my life, actually.”

Roman rubbed the back of his neck. Jane didn’t understand his hesitance. “Long story…”

Jane took his hand and placed it on his lap subtly, not wanting to draw attention. It was reassurance. She felt safe to open up a bit. Arnaud and Charlotte were already drawn in, judging by their concerned expressions.

Jane cleared her throat. No turning back now. “Yes… he found me. The ship I was traveling on had a terrible accident. I was floating on a life raft for God knows how long. He found me and helped me get better. That was over a year ago. I owe my life to him.”

“You’ve saved my life as well. You have no debt with me, I assure you,” Roman muttered back quietly.

“Wow… what a strange way to meet a person. I’m so very glad you’re here with us, Jane,” said Charlotte.

“Who are you in relation to Roman?” Arnaud asked Caden.

“Roman took me in when I was young. He’s looked after me ever since. If you start meeting a lot of his friends, you’ll notice a pattern: everybody owes them their life. He nursed me back to health too. I think he has an affinity for finding the strays of the world,” Caden joked.

Arnaud let out a quick snort. “Very maternal, that one.”

“Now you’re pushing it,” Roman warned Arnaud. He chortled at Roman’s irritation.

“What about you, Charlotte? How did you and Arnaud meet, and how long have you been together?” asked Jane.

“A tavern in Southwark. His carriage broke down, and he came inside to have dinner. I served him. That was seven years ago now,” Charlotte smiled as she remembered the day fondly. Jane was even more confused.

“Served him?” Jane tilted her head.

“Why yes, I can only sell the highborn act for so long. I served beer to drunkards for a living, darling. My father was a farmer,” she giggled.

And there it was. Charlotte had a very approachable quality about her. Despite how pretty she was, there was a carefreeness to her that only someone working in the general public could have.

But how on earth was that marriage approved? Let alone them being from two very different parts of the world. However, Jane didn’t want her questions to come off as rude. She’s asked enough questions. One thing was for certain: they were an intriguing pair. Opposites certainly attract. She could tell Charlotte was the wild one, and Arnaud was the relaxed one. Perhaps she and Roman weren’t so different when it came to opposites. Jane had a tendency to be more reserved and withdrawn. It took time for her to get out of her shell. Roman was more straightforward, rougher around the edges. He wasn’t loud, but he wasn’t quiet either. He was just right for her, just opposite enough to make her a better person.

Breakfast was a surprising delight. The conversation was hysterical. Roman and Arnaud, as storytellers, were quite the pair. They were almost like siblings the way they shared mannerisms and inflections at times. Before they knew it, they had been sitting at the table for two hours.

Plans were made. There would be an official welcome dinner with all members of the Duke and Duchess's court. There were plenty of people that Jane hadn’t met yet. After that, Charlotte raved about the Opera with the live orchestra that she wished to invite Jane and Roman to. Jane had never been to a ballet, nor had she seen an orchestra play live before.

Until then, Arnaud took them on an expansive tour of the palace, which took every bit of an hour. She had no idea how or why the home of someone had to be so big. But it’s easy to forget just how many people lived in the palace: servants, soldiers, teachers, cooks, doctors and nurses, animal attendants, gardeners, and more. Not to mention the courtiers and advisors who lived there simply to keep the nobles company. The acreage was just as expansive. There was a vast greenhouse, gardens, orangeries, and horse pastures. Each bedroom was practically a mini museum, with portraits of the long line of royalty that once lived in the palace. Thankfully, there weren’t any in the bedroom they shared.

The rest of the day would be spent at her leisure. Charlotte decided to ride horses with Eloise. Arnaud and Roman went to have a drink on the balcony. They had a lot of catching up to do. She took this opportunity to have tea time, which apparently involved relaxing in a room lined with oil paintings, satin pillows, and floor-to-ceiling windows that swung open like doors. She brought Caden along with her.

“Are you okay?” Jane asked him quietly. The boy had his feet swinging over the side of the couch as he stared up at the mural above him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked with an inquisitive tone.

“Because I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I think they’re a bit strange. Not my idea of nobility. But I guess that’s a rather good thing, considering that with a warrant, Europe would be searching for Roman with dogs by now,” Caden scoffed.

“I think they’re rather sweet. Though I can’t imagine how people must talk about them behind their backs. Those poor people,” Jane muttered quietly.

“She probably gets the worst of it. She said that she’s a commoner, right?”

“Yes, which is why I don’t know how it happened. He must have some sort of favor. I don’t imagine an old king being nice enough to grant somebody their true love. It’s always duty and sacrifice with that bunch.”

“Rich people problems. Beats me,” Caden shrugged.

“How quickly you forget that you are, in fact, a rich man now. Though you’ve barely spent any of it quite yet. I’m very proud of you. Don’t let Rory set an example,” Jane sighed. Rory had suddenly decided he needed a new fur coat collection for the winter, which wouldn’t be for months.

“Why thank you Mother,” Caden teased. Jane chuckled. At times, Caden really did act like a teenager, which warmed her heart.

The room fell silent as she thought about their arrival for the trip. She understood Roman wanting to visit an old friend. But this was such a stark difference from what she was used to. With the way he talked about royalty, she never expected him to have any friends that were still affiliated. She felt there was more than one reason as to why they were here. She didn’t sense any malice or ill intent, thankfully, but he was so subliminal about the whole ordeal.

“Has Roman ever talked to you about Paris?”

“Taking you there, yes. Said something about how he had something special planned for you and to be on my best behavior, blah blah blah,” Caden sighed, turning over to face the cushion of the couch. “I’m taking a nap. Those bloody white-wigged bastards woke me up at 5 in the morning to dress me like some stupid baby. I’m tired.”

Jane scoffed and chugged the rest of her tea before retreating to her bedroom for the afternoon. Roman hadn’t come back yet, and she was starting to miss him. She had been informed that he’d gone into town, which surprised her. She would have gone with him had he asked her.

Later that evening, as the sun went down, Jane prepared for dinner with the court. This was an observed dinner with everyone from the Duke and Duchess's court included. Touch-ups were made to Jane’s hair and makeup. She changed into a deep blue dress. The bust, sleeves, and creases of the dress were trimmed with delicate black lace. The skirt was dramatic and wide, with flared sleeves, and the forearm of the dress was flared. She liked that this dress contrasted with the light, airy nature of the first dress. The finishing touch was a black lace choker, a smudge o black on the waterline, and a fake mole on her cheek. Face dots were especially popular here in France, and some women would cover their faces with them. Jane opted for just one. She changed into black heels, and a sheer glitter was added to her hairline. A matte dark red lipstick gave the look the perfect finish. A knock on the door grabbed Jane’s attention. It was Roman, holding a box in his hand. He had changed, and his hair fell down his back in damp waves.

“That will be all for now, ladies. Thank you,” she excused the group. The maids curtsied and left. Roman shut the bedroom door and closed the distance between them, standing behind the chair she sat in. The two of them faced a large mirror that nearly spanned the entire wall. “You are never wearing pirate hand-me-downs again. I forbid it when you look like that.”

A small smirk ghosted across Jane’s mouth before she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Where have you been all day?”

“Oh, have I upset you with my absence?” Roman slyly leaned down and kissed the side of her neck. It took everything in her not to fall into him the way she usually would, to submit to the heat of his touch as she always had.

“I missed you. I had nobody to talk to. Caden went to sleep. It would have been nice to have company. I don’t know my way around here,” she pouted. Roman brushed his lips against her soap-scented skin.

“I went to the city to buy you something special to wear with your dinner dress,” he taunted. Carefully, he twirled the box in his hand and placed it in her lap. He pulled out a smaller second box and placed it on the table.

“You can’t open the little box quite yet. But this one is for tonight,” he explained. Jane hesitantly took the larger box, all blue and wrapped in red ribbon. She pulled off the silk and lifted it open to find a sizable necklace filled with sapphires and diamonds. She gasped at the way it glinted against the fireplace light.

“Roman… this must have cost you a fortune,” her hand flew to her mouth as she lifted it up, feeling the heaviness of it.

“Well, I couldn’t let you make your appearance without something special. These sorts of dinners are all about status, no matter how much they deny it. Having something nice on is a great way to avoid being treated poorly or ignored. It’s also a fantastic icebreaker. I can’t imagine what I’ll do if you are mistreated and I’d rather not find out. This will be a good conversation starter. I think it will match with your light blue dress. You can wear it for your portrait tomorrow.”

It took a moment for Jane to register what he was saying at first. “...My portrait?” she asked.

“Yes, your portrait. Here, let me see how it looks.” Jane reached up to take off her choker. He gently pulled the necklace from her grasp and placed it around her neck. She turned her neck to admire the way it sparkled. Truthfully, Jane wanted to inquire about the portrait, but there was so much going on at once that the thought slipped her mind when the jewelry hit her skin.

Her fingers graced the smooth stone. “It’s beautiful... I love it,” she murmured.

“ You wear it well”, he compliments.

“Will you walk with me to dinner?”.

“It would be my honor.”

They dressed Roman in what was called the habit à la française: his coat, waistcoat, breeches, silk stockings, jabot, cotton shirt, decorative cuffs, and cravat. His coat and breeches were a deep gray color. It complemented her outfit, and that’s when she realized that the people who dressed them corresponded. Beatrice escorted them to the great hall, and the doors opened for them, revealing a full room of people that looked like they wanted to eat her alive.

Roman POV

When you were presented before a court, you were sized up. It was one of the things he hated most about prestigious society. Roman wasn’t here for his health. A future for Jane must be secured, and in order to do that, he would be metaphorically offering the love of his life up to vultures. Except these vultures—more akin to peacocks—were flashy, rich, perfectly powdered, yet rotten on the inside. This would be their reality for the next two and a half hours.

The royal announcer called their names, ringing the dinner bell to hungry hounds as hollow, glistening, depraved eyes landed on the pair of them. Caden had already snuck his way into the room, his youth allowing him to sink into the background in a way they couldn’t. They paid their respects to the Duke and Duchess. Next came their courtiers and other members of rank. Jane’s bow was perfect. Charlotte kissed both sides of her cheek to show favor, something to sway the court. There would be a wait for dinner, and the great hall was full of bigwigs talking about feeble nonsense.

There were whispers, snickers, glares, and stares. Most of them were from the women, which was to be expected. Roman wasn’t particularly fond of the men and their obvious gawking. He and Jane stood near the dual windows overlooking the courtyard. Carts of beverages were rolled around. Roman grabbed a glass of champagne, while Jane chose water. She lifted the glass to her lips, her eyes widening as it fizzed against her palate.

“There’s something wrong with this water,” she warned.

“There’s nothing wrong. It’s supposed to be that way,” he chuckled at her shock as she cautiously took another sip.

“It’s bubbly… why is it bubbly?”

“Vichy water. It’s sparkling mineral water from Vichy, France, from the volcanic region. It has salts and healing properties. Sometimes they use it to treat gout or an upset stomach. Some people just like the taste.” He watched as she took small sips. She shrugged it off, seemingly satisfied with the sensation of the fizzing.

She fidgets, “Should I make conversation?” she asked hesitantly, looking around the room.

“No. Let them come to you.”

“How do you even know it’s me they’re staring at? It could easily be you. Pretty men are a rarity.”

A knowing smile crossed Roman’s face. “I’m not much of a crowd favorite. I wasn’t particularly known for my charming attitude prior to you. You’re shiny and new; I’m old news.”

Before Jane could even protest, a woman walked up. It was Madam Bernard. She was a woman in her late 30s, a member of Charlotte’s court and an official lady-in-waiting. Madam Bernard was a gossip but usually the most curious. She was also bitter that Roman would not bed her in his younger years. He nearly stepped protectively in front of Jane when her ghostly powdered face came into view. He resisted.

“Lady Jane, a pleasure to meet you. I go by Madam Bernard,” she smiled at Jane. Her teeth were always strangely sharp at the corners—an unnerving quality. Jane curtsied briefly.

“I believe we have met, Monsieur,” Bernard turned to Roman, a wicked glint bouncing off her eyes. Roman nodded stoically, not giving her the satisfaction of a true greeting.

“Where on earth did you get a necklace like that?”

“It was a gift,” Jane smiled, her disposition flustered.

Madam Bernard motioned toward Jane’s outfit. “It’s absolutely marvelous. And your dress… blue is your color, my darling.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Jane smiled. The room could smell her nerves. But this wasn’t Roman’s time to step in—not yet. Jane was more capable than most. This room, these people, were no different from the English—hungry with an appetite that would never be fulfilled. Jane knew how to navigate it. Two and a half hours. Just two and a half hours, and they’d be alone again. He was capable. She was capable.

So, with reluctance, he allowed their conversation to flow. He watched from afar. Eventually, Madam Bernard carried her off to her den of gossipers, and Jane was off and away. She mingled. She laughed. She twirled around in her dress to choruses of “Ooh la la!” and “Magnifique!”

One glance at Arnaud across the room. He looked miserable—he usually was at these kinds of gatherings. He cast Roman a knowing look as he held up a glass to his friend from afar. Roman did the same. Caden wandered over to him, snacking on a tray of berries now.

To Roman’s surprise, Jane had come out of her shell. She worked half the room. People came up in droves to speak with her. A kiss on the back of her hand had him adjusting his collar to keep himself cool. Jane was receptive, inviting, smiley, polite, careful. There was no doubt about it: Jane was beautiful. No matter how much anyone tried to ignore it, no matter how much she fit outside the lines of the standard for the region, Jane was beauty with a face. Parisians took eye-fulls of beautiful women with no shame. He also understood that there was a novelty to Jane. Nobody in the court looked like her. That was a cause for curiosity. Still, there was a thin line between intriguing, obsession, and possession. Nobility liked to own more than anything. But she knew that. Jane was a smart girl.

The courtiers were strange the way they struck up conversation. Topics were never meaningful. They believed their leaders to be invested more than they really were. Aside from who they served, they thought of themselves as supporting characters. They treated the room as their stage, believing others were paying more attention than they actually were. Maybe they were right, because Roman couldn’t help but notice how peculiar they were. Men would come up to Jane and ask her about the weather or talk about how hot the room was. They would randomly include her in conversations she wasn’t part of. They would say, “There are a lot of people here today,” with not so much as a hello. Jane remained unperturbed —careful, receptive.

Dinner was ready, and droves of chefs and servants flooded the hall to prepare the table. The Duke and Duchess would sit first. As Jane and Roman were seated, he could see the wheels turning in her mind.

“Do not touch your food until the Duke starts eating. Then you may eat. Use your utensils from the outside in. You start with the utensil furthest from the plate. Your fork is down on the table between bites,” he whispered quietly to her. He placed a napkin in her lap and then his. He could see a worried look on Jane’s face.

“If you get lost, just copy me,” he soothed. She gave him a quick nod and turned her attention back to the Duke, who quickly thanked everyone for joining him for the evening.

Dinner went on quietly. Roman shared quick glances with Jane. The man next to her struck up conversations about fashion and his favorite dishes. Jane chose Coq au Vin—or rather, the “red chicken,” which the gentleman found funny. He knew she didn’t speak French, so he ran down a list of French cuisines, sharing his favorites as well. This interaction was the least condescending or infantilizing conversation he’d heard directed at her all evening. It gave Roman room to relax.

After the main course, there would have to be a wait for dessert. Roman planned to excuse himself to the restroom, but a commotion could be heard behind the double doors of the great hall. In walked King Joseph De Pointe. The entire room rose as his presence was announced. He had aged severely since Roman last saw him decades ago. It was as if a ghost had walked into the room. He stood about 5'10", medium-built with a bit of a stomach from old age, and he had a militant walk. As he walked to the center of the room, everyone he passed bowed in his honor. The Duke and Duchess swiftly walked toward him and bowed deeply at his presence. He whispered something to the Duke, and they both looked at Jane. Now Roman knew why he had come so early into the trip; he wasn’t supposed to meet Jane for at least another two weeks.

From the outside looking in, it might not seem that a commoner would mean so much to the King, that he would interrupt dinner to meet her. But he would. The Persians are just that vain, and nobility is even vainer. It matters that Jane is beautiful; it matters that Jane is poised. It matters how they look together. And while a favor is owed, he has the final say. He who is associated with the crown is someone of purpose and beauty. One has to know how to perform.

The old man walked across the large open circle of the connecting dining tables that filled the room and headed straight for Jane. Roman whispered quickly, “Do not look him directly in the eye.”

“Why?!” she whispered.

“It’s an invitation.”

James's eyes widen before she lowers them. The King now stood directly in front of her. Roman bows first, followed by Jane, who says, “Your Majesty.” His eyes scan Jane as she nervously stares past him. The intensity of his gaze prompts Roman to gently wrap his arm around Jane’s waist. The King looks up at Roman as if he has suddenly appeared from thin air.

“Très bien,” he calls to the Duke over his shoulder.

He falters on his feet as little arms wrap around his leg. Startled, he bursts into a hearty chuckle as he picks up Eloise and holds her in his arms. She is happy to see her adoptive grandfather. She has no inkling of the atrocities and chaos he has caused in other countries. She does not understand his alignment with eugenics or the people he has left hungry in the streets of Paris. All she knows is the warmth and adoration of her grandfather, who is not of her blood. In some sick and twisted way, it is a testament to how powerful love can be and proof of how many people are undeserving of it. Maybe karma isn’t real. Maybe one’s own torturer is not holed up in a cognitive doom, regretful, reflective, and repentant. Even the worst of people live their lives and move on. At the very least, their victims should, too. And that’s why he must take the life Jane is owed.

Whispers hum across the court as people notice the interaction between Jane and the King. They wonder about her importance. This is a good thing; it will earn favor—anything to make her interactions within the court easier.

The King stays for dessert, and there’s another 20 to 30 minutes of mingling before people begin to retreat for the night. Proper farewells are given to those who require them. Roman escorts Jane back to their guest suite.He watches as she removes parts of her outfit while storming down the hall, moving quickly as they pass their posted Butler.

“30 minutes please, Joffrey,” says Roman.

“Very well, sir,” the butler responds.

Roman shuts the door, and Jane stands in front of the mirror, angrily taking the pins out of her hair. Her hair falls into long, voluminous curls that cascade onto her shoulders. She reaches for her corset, too proud to ask him for help.

“Let me get that,” Roman insists.

“NO!,” she barks.

Roman retreats from the sting of her tone and tosses his jacket on the floor as he sits on their bed. He runs a hand down his face, knowing he’s in for an earful. “Tell me what I’ve done.”

“What sort of agreement do you have with the Duke that the king of France is having a staring contest with me in front of a hundred fucking people?” she sneers.

Roman sighs.“Jane…relax.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Are you planning on giving me away? Are you trying to send me off with one of those rich old men?” she presses.

He stands at the accusation.“What!? N-No. I love you. Why would I do that?”

Her breathing is labored. Her eyes shoot around the room as if she’s coming up with a plan. “I won’t be his mistress or anybody’s mistress. I’m not marrying anybody you set me up with. You can act like it’s for the best or you’re doing me some favor by whoring me out but I’ll sooner die! If we’re done, then have the guts to say it, but I’m not staying here if—”

Roman’s eyes nearly buck out of his head as he rushes into her space, holding his hands up in surrender as he tries to reason with her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!!! Let’s start over,”He can see the beginnings of that familiar panicked and trapped look returning to her—one he hasn’t seen in a long time, and it turns his stomach. He wishes not to return to that dynamic.

“Why would you think that I would ever send you away? You are my heart's keeper, Dove. You know this,” Roman says, pulling her hands into his and pressing the backs of her fists to his mouth. She turns her head away in protest. He gently grabs her chin and holds it between his fingers. Her eyes are glassy with tears as she tries to cover sadness with anger.

“I’m not going anywhere. You aren’t going anywhere. You are mine as long as you allow it. Let me explain it all to you. You’ll let me explain?” He presses his forehead to hers. His tone is quiet, just above a whisper—a trick he learned to ease her anxiousness. If she could barely hear him, then she would have to focus on listening. It could stall her panic and help her calm down. She hesitantly nods but he can feel the panic steaming off of her.

“I came here to secure your future—our future. I wrote to Arnaud weeks ago and asked for his favor in securing an honorific lordship title. Arnaud holds favor with the King. The King has the final say on who gets appointed a title, so he came to see what you looked like and will make his final decision soon. He wants to see how well you handle yourself in high society before he agrees. The only reason he made haste with the request was because I made a sizable donation to his church. This tactic is common in people who want something from him. People looking for political immunity or people who want to sway his opinion,” Roman explains.

Jane’s eyes shift from confusion to sharp understanding. However, she pulls away. “I thought you never wanted this life again. Why are you going back to what caused you so much pain? We have money. We don’t need these people.”

“You’re right; we do have money. However, we have no home. We have no property besides Totoguam which isn’t adequate enough in size if we were to settle roots there. We don’t even have bank accounts or investments. We will always have to hoard our stash; otherwise, we risk being suspected of criminal activity. If I go back to that ship and sail to another pirate-filled port after all this time, they will know. I’ll be a walking target. I am done putting you in harm's way. I want stability for you. If it means that you are safe, it will always outweigh the cost,” he pleads. Jane’s gaze switches back and forth between his eyes. She’s reading him. Confusion is still etched on her face. He may not win her over.

Jane shakes her head in denial. “But you love the sea. Why subject the rest of your life to being around these people you hate? That’s a miserable existence. Shouldn’t your happiness matter too?”

“We would rarely make appearances. It would only be the most necessary parties that we attend, maybe three to four times a year. The countryside is three hours away from here, near the beach. We won’t have to worry about keeping up with the Paris court. We can make our home whatever we want. It can be a sanctuary for all our brothers when they need it. If we want to sail, we sail. If we don’t want to sail, then we don’t. My point is that we will have something to come back to Jane. Out there in the open sea—it’s all temporary. In a split second you could lose it all. This will give us the opportunity to have a real home. A true home, Jane,” he urges. Jane goes quiet, and Roman’s stomach sinks; she is still not sold on the idea.

He sighs a defeated breath as he steps back to give her space. Her body language is open but defensive. He drops her hands gently. “I should have consulted with you first. Maybe I didn’t because I knew you would be hesitant. I didn’t go about this the right way. It was never my intent to scare you. It’s just that ever since we met, I’ve started to really think about the future, Jane. You must understand, before you came into my life, I didn’t bother picturing what life would look like ten years from then. I lived moment to moment. But now that I have you, I must do this right. I must seize this opportunity to give you the life you deserve,” he says. She’s slightly disarmed, and her eyes trail down to his mouth and then back up to his eyes. It was funny that even during a disagreement he could still see the love she had for him. That ultimately, they both wanted to understand each other even when their views were different. He loved her…

“You’ve sprung this on me very suddenly. You’re right; you should have consulted with me. You have made your points and I can see how you would feel the way you do. I need some time to think about this. I can’t make any promises yet,” she crosses her arms hesitantly. She looks down at the carpet. Her lips twitched as if she wanted to say more.

Roman says nothing but continues to study her. She walks back over to the bed, putting her head in her hands. “This is a big step. And while we may be afforded solitude, there is still a duty to be fulfilled. How would we be any better than the people who have hurt us? No matter how low in rank, we would be part of this system.”

He walks to her space, standing in front of her. “We would be part of the French gentry, which are titled non-nobles. I would indeed have a vague association with the King, and that is something I’m willing to sacrifice morally to ensure your future. I’ve pondered this for many nights. If there has to be a bad person in this situation, then allow me to be the monster. I won’t pretend that I’m not selfish when it comes to you. You make me impulsive…you make me uncooperative and irrational at times. Maybe even most of the time. My condolences to whoever gets in the way. But I…I must have you, Jane. You and you only.”

His words burn in his mouth, but from the ensnared gaze she sends his way, she is on fire. She plays with her necklace and hair, biting her lip as she contemplates what he said.

“I’m not giving you an answer right away, no matter how convincing you are. I need time to think,” she mutters and stands. He doesn’t know why she feels the need to put her foot down, but he can at least afford her this. He’s already made the mistake of being sneaky. Now he must pay.

“That’s fine,” he says, stepping closer, and she doesn’t move. Another step, and she doesn’t budge. He goes in for a kiss, and she dodges it at the last minute, turning around so he can undo her corset.

Jane's POV

Jane doesn’t think she’s ever been so conflicted in her life. Deep down, she can’t believe that he would want to leave his pirate years behind. What about Caden? What about Adhar? What about everyone? Everyone had a different idea of what their future would look like. William left to make things right with his wife. Other pirates, like Daniel and Gregory, retired alongside dozens of other mates. Rory wanted to keep sailing, and so did Caden. Roman, being a lord, also meant she would be his wife eventually. Could she do that? Could she do it well? How much of their lives would they give up to conform to this new standard? If she married him, would he change as they fell into domesticity? Would there not be enough excitement to keep him interested? Worst of all, what if she began to feel trapped? If she married him, he would own her. Could she take that chance?

Roman wasn’t there when she woke up. The servants informed her that he had picked out what he wanted her to wear for the portrait: a light blue dress and no makeup. As she sat to get her hair done, she noticed that Mary hadn’t brought any heating tools. “No sheep’s head style today?”

Mary shook her head. “Monsieur Roman requested that you wear it down for your picture. But don’t worry; I will give you a more elaborate style before the show,” she promised.

“So be it,” Jane rolled her eyes at the mention of him. As annoyed as she was with him, the requests warmed her heart. She remembered those quiet nights on the boat when it felt like they were the only two people in the world. Perhaps she was scared of change.

Mary wet her hair and wrapped her coils around her fingers, section by section. Each strand was left shiny and wet, waiting to air dry. She took breakfast in the courtyard to speed up the process. Caden spent most of his days in the library, and he showed it to her. There were so many books and documents to choose from. She spent lunch there before she was sent off for her portrait. She didn’t even understand why she agreed to this, but it was something to do.

She was escorted down a winding staircase that led to a marble hall. All of the rooms on this floor were open. At the end of the hall, she could see the Duke sitting next to someone. Arnaud was in front of a canvas.

“Your Grace?” Jane called from the doorway.

“Ah, Jane. Come inside. Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

Jane walked into a room full of paint and plants. Every piece of furniture was covered in sheets. The windows were open, letting in a lukewarm breeze. Jane gasped as she saw portraits of people, animals, fruits, houses, and a baby who looked a lot like Eloise.

“You did these?!”

“Of course. Who else?” Arnaud smiled. The man next to him started to mix paints, solvents, and thinners. The smell was strong, which was why the windows were open. She didn’t mind it.

“Can I sit here?” Jane motioned for a seat by the window. Arnaud studied the lighting and shadows of the room and agreed. A servant offered her tea, and she accepted: two sugars and a splash of cream.

“I had no idea you were such a talented artist. Is that little Eloise as a baby?” Jane smiled, motioning to the canvases on the wall.

“Oh yes. She was about eight months old there,” Arnaud said fondly.

“What about these other people?”

“Some of them are from my court—people I’ve met over the years. Some of them are from dreams.”

“I’m jealous. It must be a hard skill.”

“It’s a lot easier than you might think. Most of it is just shading and blocking. It’s about looking at the overall picture before focusing on the details. You can mold a shadow into the silhouette of a woman with practice. A trick I always use is squinting my eyes as I paint the foundation before I focus on the finer details. I’ve gotten better with practice.”

“I’ve never thought about it that way.”

His assistant continued to add more colors to his palette before he bowed and left. “So how have you been enjoying your stay?” Arnaud asked.

Jane went to speak but hesitated. Has she been having fun? There had been enjoyable moments, but the conversation with Roman had been sobering. The interaction with the King was strange. “It has been… interesting.”

Arnaud stopped his blocking and paused to look at her for a moment. Jane nodded cautiously. “Roman and I had a discussion last night. He finally came clean about why we’re here.”

Realization spread across Arnaud’s face. He looked slightly guilty. “You’re not the one who’s in trouble,” Jane chuckled.

Arnaud threw her half a smile and began painting again, building the structure of the picture. “And how do you feel about the idea?”

“I’ve never been more confused about anything in my entire life.”

“Ms. Ramlal, speak freely if you must.”

Jane raised a brow at him. Did he really want to know? Or maybe Roman was friends with him because of their shared ideas? Arnaud had been nothing less than graceful since she met him. She didn’t want to offend him. His regality could be a bit intimidating despite his kindness.

“I’m not sure it would be wise.”

“Do you honestly suspect my utter allegiance to a place that held me hostage? At the very least, I afford myself criticism. Others are allowed the same,” Arnaud sighed tiredly.

Jane paused. Well, he had a point. “Roman had a very difficult time in his early years. Europe has caused him much pain. It’s caused me much pain. I wonder if us being a titled family would make us guilty for the suffering of others. He says that if it does, he’s okay with it. Roman has a habit of becoming tunnel-visioned when it comes to me. He is willing.”

“Roman has a head made of stone when he sets his mind on something,” Arnaud said. Jane chuckled.

“We won’t be nobles, just low-titled. He makes that distinction as if it makes things better. Perhaps it does. But we answer to the crown at some point. Even being here—buying these expensive luxury goods. In some way we are contributing to someone’s suffering. I have a hard time getting over it. Being on the other side of it can feel very strange.”

“In some ways, you do,” Arnaud agreed.

“I feel that if I accept this position, then I am betraying the woman I used to be. Betraying the women who I lived with and grew to know. Betraying people like me,” Jane sighed.

“Now I must speak freely,” said Arnaud. His tone loosened, falling out of that distant, respectable voice.

“Please,” Jane urged.

“The grim reality, Ms. Ramlal, is that you do not get paid for suffering.”

Jane froze at those words. They rolled off his tongue easily. They were slightly sharp when they hit her, but the kindness in Arnaud’s eyes reassured her.

“Women like you, people like you—there is no reward for the pain. You get this life, and then you pass on. They dangle the idea of upward mobility above your head to keep you running. The minute you return to the earth, someone fills in your spot. It’s how the system sustains itself. It sustains itself on the guarantee that you will struggle and never see that reward. Not just you, but millions—of people just like you. You are born in one specific position and that is your assigned role. Your duty it to stay at the post you were given at birth. Miraculously, impossibly, you have snuck past your assigned post and now you are here. You are not here as a servant, or a slave, or for entertainment. You are here by sheer luck. You have been given resources that were never intended for you. You have been given security that is supposed to be systematically withheld from you. You may very well be one of the only women with your background, your skin, your life to ever have some semblance of security. You weren’t stolen, you weren’t bought. You are here out of free will. I imagine that could be quite frightening in some aspects ?” Arnaud glanced at her while mixing two colors to get a light blue shade.

“It is,” Jane said, her tone quiet and inward now.

“ You are guilty of no crime. You are not a bad person for ending up here. I don’t want to push you into this. Please believe me when I say that… I speak only from the purest intent when I say this. I believe that the people who came before you—all the people who have struggled in your bloodline—all the people who loved you, none of them want you to suffer. None of them want your life to be any harder than it used to be. They never get to see the seeds they planted sprout and turn into trees.”

Jane was unmoving as she stared back at him. She never would have guessed that he would say such a thing, to be so introspective from his pedestal.

“Instead, you have a choice. A choice is a beautiful thing to have, trust me, Jane. And within that choice, you make it alongside a man who is irrevocably, unabashedly in love with you—a rarity, even among the most noble of them all. There is no force, no violence. Only a blank canvas waiting to be filled,” he said.

The room went silent now. Arnaud’s eyes shifted from her face to the canvas. He was likely blocking in her face and hair now. She took a few sips from her tea, yet another small discovery since being here. She had never had it before. It was spicy and warm on her tongue—cinnamon, orange, vanilla, and other flavors she couldn’t describe. Would every day be like this? A realization of just how small her world used to be?

For a moment, she nearly lost it. There was a knot forming in her throat, her palms becoming wet. Her composure was so close to snapping that it caused her to shift in her seat. This stranger gave her the permission she couldn’t even give to herself. She hated the way her voice wobbled. She hates the vulnerability of it all. But his presence is quiet and knowing. If she closed her eyes, she could believe he was a vessel from the other side in that moment—or maybe just a manifestation of his natural wisdom. “At times, I worry that I’ve made my pain my identity,” she says.

The look he gives her nearly blows her away. It’s a slip of his mask, too—an acknowledgment, a subtle nod to the idea, a quiet “me too.”

She finishes her tea, and now Arnaud is really working the canvas. A few minutes of silence pass before she gets the courage to ask about him—really ask about him. She sits up straighter and clears her throat. “ Since we’re speaking freely. How exactly did you end up in Paris?”

Arnaud inhales quietly as if he almost prepares himself to say the words. “If you’ve heard Roman’s story, then you’ve heard mine. Except I was actually royalty in my homeland. I was stolen—plain and simple. I was about seven years old. I was a gift to the ‘Angel of Versailles.’ That’s what they call Queen Angelique De Pointe here. The King and Queen already had seven children at that point. Angelique’s last child—a child about 7 years old, passed away. It was becoming popular in Europe to have one of our kind as companions. Angelique wanted one, and Joseph would stop at nothing to make her happy. That’s where I came into the picture.”

“Very similar stories. I’m glad you two at least had a friend in each other.”

Arnaud nods. “One of the better things to come out of it.”

“Your daughter seems to adore him,” Jane suggests.

“He formed a soft spot for her in particular. All of his grandchildren are boys. He even has tea parties with her at the palace. Remarkable, isn’t it? That someone like him could hold adoration in his heart for a small child that has no relation to him in any way. I certainly wasn’t afforded any of his affections as a child. Then again, why would I want it? I would hate to love my kidnapper. It would make it all the more complicated to identify what is love and what is not,” Arnaud shrugs.

“... Do you want her to have a relationship with him?”

“Yes. She’s far too young to understand. She will know one day. For now, he’s just her grandfather.”

“He must hold some affection for you, though. I mean, you are a Duke. You have a royal title. You have some pull in the monarchy. That’s unheard of. I thought most adoptees just faded away.”

“I’ve often wondered why he would go out of his way to title me as well. The only thing that could explain it…is that he is old. He has but so many years left. The closest atonement he has for his sins is to give people what they want. He knows the destruction he’s left in his path. You see, it’s the ego—the cognitive dissonance of all of it. There is a belief that if you are a winner, if you are a conqueror, if you are stronger, you are favored by God. You MUST be a good person because of the power you hold. I'm sure that men like him believe this to be true. I’m sure that’s how he reasons with the violence. At least that’s my theory.”

“He had trouble swallowing his food, I noticed. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s old age… and guilt,” Jane says. Arnaud nods in agreement.

“Time has passed, and he has grown more tolerable. I'm no fool; I recognize that his growing friendliness toward me is less equal to that of a son and closer to how a man adores his dog. His children have married off and started their own families. For a while, I was the only one of his kids living at the palace. I regrettably and embarrassingly only started to live my life in my thirties. I was always there—reliable, constant. Thankfully, things started to look up when I met Charlotte. I wanted to give her a better life, so I started asking for more. He granted my wishes. I suppose that somewhere deep in his heart, buried in the most human parts of himself, he feels he owes me for all I’ve endured at his hands. Though the idea will never cross his mind in his wake.”

“I’m sorry…” Jane sighed sadly.

“It’s alright. It’s just the way life plays out sometimes. I have found parts of this world that belong to me alone, like my love for Charlotte, my beautiful daughter, my art, the home I’ve made of Palais Royal. This is the post I have made for myself. I will not abandon it.”

Jane smiles at the way his eyes light up as he talks about his family. His love for Charlotte is genuine, and Eloise is adored by everyone. “I’m happy you’ve found your family.”

“And so have you. Which is why I think you will be just fine if Roman becomes seigneur.”

“What exactly is a seigneur?”

“A seigneur, or lordship, is a feudal title appointed by His Majesty the King. He is granted a large piece of land to rule over. This land is governed by the seigneur, who lives on the land and builds a community. He establishes farms, crops, wheat mills, churches, manages taxes and tenants, and grants licenses. He organizes a town, and the people in it answer to him. Don’t worry about the land belonging to anyone else. The countryside of France is rural with not many inhabitants. Roman would most likely govern there.”

“I see. So essentially, Roman would have the power to create the community he wants?”

“Correct. Now, of course, there will be certain guidelines, but I’m sure he’ll find a way around them like he usually does. It would be whatever you two make it.”

“You very well may be saving him from sleeping in another room tonight,” Jane quipped.

A throat clears and it startles her. “Very bold of you to say, especially knowing you’d get the most horrible sleep of your life,” Roman scoffed.

Jane rolled her eyes at the smirk on his face. He strolls into the room and sat next to her on the couch.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I didn’t invite you to sit over here,” Jane sighed.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I just wanted to see how you were doing and ask if you’ll allow me in the room if I agree to sleep on the floor,” he smirks.

Jane shook her head, feeling a smile creep onto her lips. Roman leaned back into the couch, his long, muscular leg crossing over his knee. One of his arms sling over the seat as he stared back at her. He clearly felt no shame at her utter annoyance. There was nothing in his eyes but pure adoration, and his smile showed that he could feel hers, too.

“You know what? I think this picture would be much better with both of you in it,” Arnaud quips.

“Fine. How should I pose? Do we need to start all over again?” Jane asked.

“No. I’ve got your clothing down. I’ll just restart from the neck up. Just keep looking at him.”

And that’s how Jane found herself stuck staring at him for the next four hours. By the end, he had her laughing. He always did. He would say something, and she could feel the heat in the room rush to her skin. With nowhere to hide from the heat of his gaze, she was stuck. She should have known it was a ploy to get on her good side—and it worked. When Armaund left the room she pulled him down for a kiss.

After a quick dinner, the time for the Ballet was approaching. A deep red dress with black trimmings would match the theater curtains, or at least that’s what her stylist said. Jane had never been to a theater, and she was intrigued about how it would feel to finally sit inside one. Mary kept Jane’s natural curls but pinned them up in a pouf style, arranging her hair into a hive shape. A few face-framing curls pulled the look together. A ruby choker matched the color of her dress, but she kept her lips soft and bare; otherwise, it would be “too on the nose,” according to Gaston.

Gaston was a male makeup artist who wore gold on his eyes and rings on every finger. His accent was heavily Mediterranean, and he always wore a tightly curled white wig as a status symbol. Not only was his style eccentric, but so was he. He was rumored to be one of the best in Paris, so Jane trusted his judgment. The two agreed to repeat the same eye makeup on her as the night before. He would place a black kohl-like substance on her waterline. When she asked what it was called, Gaston recalled Arnaud’s friend's wife from North Africa. Apparently, she would smear a black color into her eyes to accentuate them.

“She used something called kajal! I made my own products to mimic it. It made her look so sultry. Like a cat! I absolutely loved it! But you know the French women here all want to look like children—so obsessed with wide eyes and pinched cheeks. Stupide et ennuyeux! I never get to experiment. This is why you are sent from heaven. You have yet to say no to me. Finally, somebody who lets me work!” Gaston gushed.

Jane laughed at the way he dramatically threw the back of his hand over his forehead. So far, there hadn’t been any misses with her assigned team of stylists. They always made her feel beautiful, and they were easy to talk to. Jane twirled in the mirror, admiring the final outcome of her look. “You are ready to own the night, Mon Cher. This will certainly get back to Versailles!” Gaston placed a jacket onto Jane’s shoulders.

“I take it you're in on the operation to get Roman and me titled as well? I’ve been walking amongst traitors.”

“You’re just now catching on? You’re a little late to the party, darling. Your beauty makes up for it. Now prepare to be copied. By the time they catch on, you’ll already be onto the next thing,” said Gaston.

Roman was quite pleased with the look. He stole many kisses in the carriage. Charlotte and Arnaud rode ahead of them and Jane couldn’t be more grateful for it. His beard burns across her décolletage as her fingers somehow loop themselves into his hair. What was once a ponytail was a tousled swell of silky black strands. Every time her hands would tug on his hair he would press into the side of her body harder—a welcomed punishment. She enjoyed the suffocation, the mugginess, the tight quarters. His teeth found her skin, gentle but alluring all the same. His mouth sucked the skin of her breasts leaving darkened flushed hues of pigment for anyone to see. Thank goodness for the low light of the theater. With many more appeasing yet reciprocal kisses, she convinced him that it was in fact important that they not skip the opera. After all, this was Jane’s first time.

“If you mess up my hair, we’re going to have a problem. Mary spent an hour on it,” Jane gently pressed her hand against her updo. It was still intact.

“What about me? My hair was pulled back before we got into this carriage, need I remind you? That’s not very fair,” he scoffed.

“It’s better down anyway,” Jane smirked.

Roman opened the carriage door and helped her down the steps. Arnaud and Charlotte stood near the entrance waiting for the pair. The sounds of horses stomping and neighing filled the stone-paved streets as carriages pulled up to attend.

“Watch your step; there’s horse shit everywhere,” Roman grumbled as he pulled her closer.

The tall, ornate doors, framed by intricate carvings of floral motifs and cherubic figures, loomed among the other buildings on the street. A marbled staircase, its steps worn smooth by the passage of countless patrons, ascended beneath a lavish canopy of crimson and gold fabric, fluttering softly in the evening breeze. Guests, adorned in their finest silks and lace, chatted animatedly, their laughter mingling with the strains of a distant orchestra. There were stares and whispers directed toward Roman and her; she had gotten used to it by now. The faint scent of perfume and the earthy notes of fresh-cut flowers from nearby arrangements wafted through the air, fighting against the smell of the horses. It dissipated the closer they got to the doors.

The towering columns seemed to reach the clouds, crowned by a grand pediment where allegorical figures danced in sculpted relief. The soft glow from within the theater spilled onto the steps. The foyer was noisy with the clicking of heels and the chatter of wealthy men and women. As they crossed the threshold into the auditorium, the stage revealed itself in all its splendor. Draped in deep crimson velvet, the proscenium arch was embellished with intricate golden filigree, framing a scene that was both inviting and magical. The stage itself, expansive and meticulously crafted, was decorated with lavish painted backdrops depicting ethereal landscapes, castles, and mythical realms.

The seating was arranged in a horseshoe formation, with plush, upholstered chairs in rich fabrics of burgundy and gold. Each seat was carefully positioned to afford an unobstructed view of the stage. Box seats lined the walls, each featuring velvet curtains that could be drawn to reveal or conceal the spectators within. These private enclaves, often reserved for the nobility, boasted intricate woodwork, showcasing the status of their occupants. The four of them would have the highest seats with a private catered booth.

Above, the ceiling soared—a magnificent expanse painted in soft pastels, depicting celestial scenes filled with cherubs and swirling clouds, as if the heavens themselves opened up to watch the stage. Ornate plasterwork framed the scenes, and the edges were lined with delicate gold leaf.

The theater buzzed with whispered conversations and laughter, the anticipation palpable as the lights dimmed, casting a soft glow over the audience. The smell of smoke was strong in the air. A waiter came with trays of tobacco, pipes, alcohol, and a small box placed discreetly in the back of the tray. He filled Charlotte and Arnaud's orders before turning to Roman.

“Brandy and a pipe. What about you?” Roman turned to her.

“The vermouth, please,” said Jane.

The waiter poured their drinks into sparkling, pristine crystal glasses. Her vermouth had oranges and limes in it.

“Oh, what is that?” Jane pointed to the carved black box on the serving platter.

“Snuff, madam. Would you like some?” the waiter asked.

“Does it go in the drink?” Jane asked curiously. Roman chuckled with Arnaud.

“You snort it, silly! It goes in the nose and makes you all fuzzy and happy. It’s like you drank ten cups of coffee. I’ll have some, sir,” Charlotte put out her hand and turned it over with her palm facing the ground. The server placed the powder on the back of her hand with a small scooper, and Charlotte sniffed it up.

“You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to,” Roman murmured quietly to her.

“Sensitive nose,” Jane excused. Charlotte looked a little disappointed but nodded.

“Don’t feel bad for Charlotte. She will find any excuse to party. You’ll see at the ball,” Arnaud chuckled.

“Not true,” Charlotte playfully rolled her eyes and scooted into Arnaud's lap. He patted the side of her thigh as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

“A ‘no’ is good for her every once in a while,” Arnaud joked. Charlotte flicked him on the forehead.

Roman took a small sip of his brandy and then a puff of his pipe. She drank a little from his cup. It wasn’t her favorite, but she deliberately placed her mouth on the part of the cup his lips touched. He caught her and his eyes darkened as he shook his head at her. She giggled mischievously when their eyes met.

Jane could see the wandering eyes of the other guests. Many people stole quick glances at the group. She wondered if they were glances of offense; it was often hard to tell with the Parisians. Either way, they had no authority to reprimand or kick them out. For once in her life, Jane felt untouchable—comfortable in a place that did not prioritize her comfort. Maybe it was their incredible hosts or just being alongside the man she loved. Jane sipped her own drink as she opened the brochure for the show while the curtains opened. The show began, and the room darkened. A single light appeared on the stage.

Iphigénie en Tauride is a tragic opera based on the myth of Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon. The story unfolds as Iphigenia, saved from sacrifice by the goddess Artemis, finds herself in Tauris, where she serves as a priestess. Her brother Orestes arrives, pursued by the Furies for avenging their father’s murder. The siblings, unaware of each other’s identities, are caught in a web of fate, sacrifice, and familial duty, ultimately leading to a reunion and a quest for redemption.

The experience of watching Iphigénie en Tauride was enthralling and emotional for Jane. The stage props depicted the rugged landscape of Tauris, enhanced by dramatic backdrops and oversized body parts like hands and heads. The costumes of the actors were rich and ornate, with performers clad in flowing robes that reflected their noble heritage and emotional trials.

As the music swelled, she was captivated by the powerful arias and choruses, her emotions stirred by the blend of tragedy and beauty. The orchestra was so loud that the vibrations of the music rumbled in her chest. The gas lamps flickered above, casting a warm glow that highlighted the faces of rapt spectators as they reacted to the unfolding drama. Gasps, tears, and applause rippled through the crowd, creating a shared experience of profound themes of love, sacrifice, and fate that resonated with everyone in some way.

Jane was moved to tears. It was embarrassing at first, but then she realized just how many others were affected. Plenty of men cried alongside the women. Roman pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Jane, and she blotted her face with it.

“I would pay good money to see this for the first time again. I was like you,” Charlotte sighed as she fanned herself.

“How many times have you been?” Jane asked.

“This is my second year seeing it and my tenth time. It’s my favorite,” Charlotte swooned.

“The things we do for love. Grab your coat. ” Arnaud said, taking a final hit from his pipe and pulling Charlotte up from her seat. He placed her coat on her shoulders as she finished her glass of wine.

“I suppose those were tears of enjoyment?” Roman asked as he helped her into her coat.

“Enjoyment. Sadness. Relief. I’ve never seen anything like it. I wish we didn’t have to go,” Jane pouted.

“I’ll bring you back for another show,” Roman chuckled as they walked down the stairs to the foyer.

“Opera isn’t your forte, is it?” Jane suggested.

“I’m familiar with the arts. I’ve indulged in them to the point of apathy. But seeing you experience it was the best part of the night,” Roman replied.

The four of them were swallowed up in the crowd heading for the doors. When the night air hit them, Jane felt energized after such an intense show. She wasn’t ready to end the night.

“You two fancy a nightcap back at home?” Arnaud asked.

“Actually, I think we’re going to take the long way home. Don’t wait up for us,” Roman said.

Charlotte and Arnaud wished the two of them goodnight. Jane was happy to be out with just Roman. He tipped the valet and led Jane down the paved streets.

She was thankful she had taken a coat. She looped her arm around Roman’s as he led the way; he had a far better idea of where they were than she did. As the moon cast a silver glow over the cobblestone streets of Paris, she couldn’t help but notice the liveliness. Even though it was late, many people were still out and about.

Jane’s dark dress whispered against her ankles as she glanced up at the ornate facades of the buildings, their windows darkened, some lit by a single candle. Roman, tall and composed, occasionally pointed out the elegant details of the architecture, his voice low and warm against the backdrop of the night. The air was cool, filled with the faint scent of baking bread.

They passed the Seine, where the water glimmered like scattered diamonds, and the distant sound of laughter from a tavern mingled with the soft rustle of leaves. Groups of couples rode past them on bicycles.

A flickering lantern illuminated their path, and they paused for a moment, taking in the beauty around them. Jane marveled at how the night transformed Paris into a romantic tableau. As they continued their walk, the distant tolling of church bells marked the hour, a gentle reminder of time slipping away. Jane leaned closer to Roman, comforted by his presence. She had never been so enthralled and present in her environment. Jane had never people-watched or taken time to notice the beauty of London. Where was the time? Was there any beauty? Maybe if she had been happier back then, she could have found it. Roman squeezed her hand gently, grounding her in the present—a habit he had formed when he noticed her mind racing. It still perplexed her how he could tell when her thoughts were elsewhere. Jane perked up and looked at him.

“Don’t I owe you an ice cream?” he asked quietly. It took a moment for it to register before a knowing grin spread across her face.

“Yes, you do. You promised,” she chuckled.

“Well, I don’t break my promises. Let’s hunt you down some ice cream,” he said, pulling her forward as his pace switched to a determined one.

It didn’t take them long to find an ice cream stand. Roman ordered only one and handed it to her in a tiny goblet-like cup. They walked to a bridge overlooking the water. She dug into the treat and spooned it onto her tongue. Her eyes lit up. “Wow! That actually might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“I tried to tell you,” Roman laughed.

“Here,” Jane scooped more onto the spoon and fed him some. He insisted that it was hers only. She didn’t put up a fight.

Roman took her to Sainte-Chapelle, a stunning Gothic chapel with stained glass windows. Even so late at night, it was open to bystanders. Sainte-Chapelle has a striking Gothic presence characterized by its tall, pointed arches, intricate stone carvings, and vibrant blue and gold tiles. The exterior was littered with delicate sculptures and gargoyles. It was an incredibly old building, featuring two distinct levels—an upper chapel and a lower chapel. They walked inside to sit. Nobody was there, which made it deafeningly quiet.

The interior was breathtaking, dominated by stunning stained glass windows that rose to impressive heights. These windows, filled with vivid colors and intricate biblical scenes, created a luminous effect as light filtered through them, even during the night. The ribbed vaults of the ceiling soared above, enhancing the sense of grandeur. The atmosphere was serene and reverent. They slid into the seats.

“Surprised you wanted to come here. I thought you didn’t subscribe to religion ?,” Jane quipped.

“ You are my religion darling”, he quips. Her heart flutters but she hides it when she turns away to look at the large statues in the front of the room.

“I may not always agree with the talking points, but it’s beautiful, is it not?”

Jane nodded. “It is. It never ceases to amaze me how people come together to create these kinds of giants. It must take such a long time. It’s almost hard to believe they made it.”

“Not much can stop a determined man’s hands. Not even heights, apparently,” he retorted.

“Is that what you are? Determined?” Jane jokes.

“I am most urgent,” he hummed. Jane chuckled at that, but not a hint of humor gleamed in his eyes. His dark, toned eyes glossed over her face as he leaned further into the wooden pews of the church.

“What is making your haste?” Jane playfully turned her head back to him.

“You…” he said quietly. His eyes drifted to the muraled ceiling. Jane followed, throwing her head back onto his shoulder to enjoy the view.

“Me?” she echoed. A silent pause surrounded them.

“I had a vision when I went under,” he said. For a moment, his voice wavered. It stunned her. A man who was always so sure of himself and the conviction of his words had lost that command. Jane listened carefully, careful not to throw him off his train of thought.

“When it was black…I was not dead to the world. It was colorful. I saw many things. Revisited many instances. But what stunned me the most was that I saw memories I never had. Memories I was supposed to make…with you,” he whispered. A fragility in his voice wounded her. His words made it evident that this thought had been weighing on him.

“What did you see?” she asked quietly.

“My whole life with you. Me, old and withered. You, with white hair. You as my wife…” he said. Jane stilled, slowly lifting her head from his shoulder to sit up and look at him. His eyes found hers, mirroring her own—stunned and surprised.

“Look…I’m okay if you decline the lordship. But that vision, or dream—whatever you want to call it—instilled a fear in me that I have never known. And that fear is that somehow I’m making a mistake by not giving you a life of dignity. I’m making a mistake by not sharing your last name. I’m making a mistake by not being able to introduce you as my wife. And I can wait no longer. I can’t Jane”, he admits.

Her lip trembled as tears flooded her eyes. It nearly frightened her the way this feeling washed over her. Was it relief? Was it anxiousness? It was both. She hadn’t known how badly she wanted him to ask.

Roman slowly rose from his seat onto one knee. His stature was as tall as hers, even while she sat higher. He reached into his coat and pulled out the bright blue box she had seen days ago. He gently opened it to reveal a silver ring with blue sapphires circling around it. Jane shook as she looked down at it. With a hand over her mouth, she tried to hold back the sob that threatened to escape, but it was useless.

She could see tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. His voice cracked with the fear that she would say no—a fear he likely had already accepted as a possibility before he asked. “Jane Ramalal. Will you be my wife? Will you allow me the honor of carrying your last name?”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” she cried. Roman dove for her mouth like it was the only source of air between them. Her hands clawed at his hair, holding him against her. He pulls away to gently hold her hand. As he slid the ring onto her finger, she hurriedly wiped away her tears.

“It’s heavy,” she giggled, her laugh wet with tears. It was surreal. He wanted her last name of all things. And since he had dropped his own as a form of freedom, she had one to spare. So unorthodox and likely to ruffle many feathers. But wasn’t that their love at its core? Anything but ordinary. She was okay with that. She pulled him in for another hug, seeking the grounding feeling of his chest, scared that the high of this moment would make her float into the ceiling murals.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

“I love you more. And you’re going to be a great Lord. You’re going to help a lot of people, Roman. I just know it. You’ll do great”, she sniffled.

“We are,” he murmured.

She can’t quite remember the walk back to the carriage. The ride back to the Palais was a blur. All she could think about was how grateful she was for another chance at life. She watched the trees pass by from the carriage window. The ride was quiet with the occasional “I love you”. And what more was there to really say?

Roman POV

“Are you going to sleep the day away?” Roman brushed the side of her cheek. They had gotten back very late last night, but now it was well after lunch. Jane rubbed her eyes as he opened the curtains. Streaks of black ran down her face from all the crying she did last night. Her hair was all over her head and smooshed in on one side. “You want help?” Roman asked.

Jane nodded quietly and sat with her back turned in the bed. He slid the pins out of her hair, and she sank her hands into the roots to shake it all loose. He brought her a wet cloth to wipe her face.

She made quick work of a bath, and he sat patiently for her at the foot of the bed, reading a book he had found in the room. She emerged naked and dry, slipped on a chemise, and called for assistance with a corset she had put on over it. She kept her hair down as she cleaned her mouth. It was a slow day at court. Many women hid in their rooms with beauty treatments that would paralyze them until late dinner. Men slept off absinthe-filled nights. There was no rush today.

Charlotte was having tea in the orangery. As soon as Roman walked in, Eloise swarmed him. “Is it true that you are getting married to Lady Jane?!!!”, she yelled.

Her mother groaned. “Too loud, mon petit,” Charlotte rubbed the back of her head. She was obviously hurting from the drinking last night.

“Oui,” Jane bent down to Eloise to show her the ring. Eloise squealed in that pitch only a little girl could manage—shrilly and glass-breaking. Charlotte gasped and rushed over to see as well.

“Congratulations! I told you she would say yes,” Arnaud clapped his hand down onto Roman’s shoulder proudly.

“About bloody time,” Caden called out from behind an orange bush, where he was filling his pockets with oranges.

“Oh, it’s huge! Good job, Roman!” Charlotte gushed as she held Jane’s hand up. They went to sit, and Eloise climbed onto Jane’s lap. Roman could see the humor on her face, considering that the two had had very brief introductions.

“Ummm—can I be your flower girl?”, she begged.

“Well, if it’s alright with your parents,” Jane looked up at Arnaud and Charlotte.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” Arnaud joked.

“Eloise loves weddings. She’s been a flower girl many times, and she will not take no for an answer. But if it’s alright with you and Roman,” Charlotte laughed.

“YAY!” Eloise squealed.

“And you’ll be the ring bearer, Caden,” Jane teased.

“No way. That’s for little kids,” Caden scoffed.

“It will probably be something small anyway,” said Jane.

“Well, what certainly won’t be small is the yew ball. Your invitations came today,” Charlotte quipped. Arnaud handed them the folded cards. “Whatever you’ve done has worked. You’re very close to becoming lordship now. The ball will really be the time to impress. My dressmakers are coming over today to fit pieces on you and Eloise. Expect to go all out. People wait all year for this ball.”

“I don’t understand why I would matter so much to someone as powerful as the King. Why all this performance? Why not just give Roman the title?”

“Nobility, in its very nature, is about performance above all else. Even with you two being non-nobles, it must be evident that the two of you are special enough to be bestowed a title. Your looks can get you far here in Paris. There have been enough whispers about you to make him send the invitation directly, despite it being open to the public.”

Jane agreed that she was ready and willing to do what needed to be done in order to get Roman titled. Roman was ready to start their lives outside of Paris. He was ready for a house to call their own and quiet nights with just the two of them. A town to do with as they pleased. A real community. But there was one last show. The Ball.

In unorthodox fashion, Roman stayed for the fittings—test runs for her makeup, test runs for the hair. He stayed for the dancing lessons with Beatrice, the older woman being very thorough and rigid about what was acceptable and what wasn’t. They went over dining etiquette and greetings. The whole thing felt like preparing for war, and by the end of the day, Jane was clearly tired.

Jane came to bed late from how much time she spent preparing. Roman welcomed her with open arms. She climbed onto his chest, allowing him to rest his head on her own.

“Roman,” her sweet voice called out into the dark.

“Mm?”

“You’ll tell me if you get bored, right? Tell me you want to go back to the sea if our new life doesn’t fulfill you. You won’t keep it from me?,” said Jane, her voice fragile and worried.

“Why on earth would I ever get bored so long as the woman of my dreams is by my side? I don’t think I even possess that level of selfishness,” Roman hummed. She could feel the shift of her head indicating that she was looking right at him.

“Our new life won’t have the twists and turns of the sea. There won’t be as much spontaneity.”

“Says who? I can think of several different things we can do to keep the spark.”

“Like what?”

“Jane can’t wear clothes in the house on Fridays,” Roman scoffed. He could nearly hear her eyes roll.

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t need some grand adventure in the background to love as much as I did the day before. Don’t you and I, of all people, deserve some domesticity? Some normalcy? And what’s more spontaneous than creating the community you and I longed for when we were younger? Making that happen for somebody else who really needs it?”

Jane silently agreed. Roman knew that there wasn’t much he could say to calm her fears about marriage. Truthfully, that’s what this was all about. She feared that their marriage would become mundane and that he would grow bored of it. But Roman wasn’t the type of man to do that, and the only way he could prove it was by never turning into the man she feared. Easy enough.

Jane Pov

In true fashion for the night of the Yew Ball, everyone was running around in a frenzy. Gaston was sweating bullets. Mary wore a look of concentration she’d never seen before. It had taken hours for her to get ready, to the point that Roman and Arnaud had left. The girls would meet them there.

As Jane stood in front of the mirror, she marveled at the way the light danced off the rich fabric of her gown, illuminating the intricate details. The gown, a breathtaking creation in a solid gold color, shimmered like molten sunlight, each layer a testament to the artistry of Parisian couture.

The bodice was cut daringly low, exposing an enticing décolletage, which was a risky choice. The corseted waist was cinched tightly, making the bottom of the dress truly pop. The midsection of the dress was elegant, embroidered with patterns of swirling vines and blossoms in darker gold thread adorning the bodice. The sleeves were extravagant, flaring largely at the forearm, fashioned from sheer silk that flared out at the shoulders before gathering at her wrists, allowing for a playful glimpse of her skin beneath.

Beneath the opulent exterior, the dress cascaded into a voluminous skirt, lined with layers of rich satin that rustled softly with each movement. The hem was embellished with delicate lace. The fabric itself was a masterpiece, woven with threads of gold that caught the light at every angle, creating a mesmerizing effect that was nothing short of breathtaking.

To complete the ensemble, Jane paired the dress with a stunning diamond and gold choker that sparkled like stars against her skin, while a matching necklace draped elegantly over her collarbone. Her ears sparkled with dangling gold and diamond earrings that caught the light with every turn of her head.

Gaston decided that his impromptu kajal eye makeup was old news. He created his own gold-flecked eye shimmer. It was thick and extremely pigmented. He applied it with a gentle hand onto her eyes and added it generously to the front of her hairline. He kept her lashes dark and her lips and cheeks a soft, subtle pink. At the very last minute, he began to lightly dust her entire face, arms, neck, and chest in a sheer gold shimmer.

With hours of heat styling, it took Mary time to get Jane's hair just right. She gently twisted and wrapped Jane's natural curls around the heated rods, creating loose spirals that would later form the base of her lower transitional pouf. The pouf would rise high above her shoulders, showcasing her graceful neck, with a long framing curl that would fall down her back.

Once the curls had set, Mary carefully unwrapped the rods, revealing bouncy, voluminous spirals. With expert precision, Mary began to sculpt the pouf, gathering the curls at the back and securing them with delicate pins. The height of the hair was a status symbol, and tonight they went big, adding a few inches to Jane’s stature.

As the final touches were made, Jane’s hair was decorated with accessories: a few sparkling hair pins shaped like delicate blossoms, glinting softly in the light, and a sheer ribbon woven throughout the curls, cascading gracefully down one side. A small cluster of gold-painted feathers was tucked artfully into the pouf, adding a touch of whimsy and sophistication.

Most striking of all was the solid gold masquerade mask she held delicately in her hands. Its elaborate filigree design matched the gown perfectly, promising an air of mystery and importance the moment she stepped foot in the palace. With each detail carefully considered, she knew that tonight was not only about her. This was about all the people who came together to make this night possible for her: the designers, the makeup artists, the hairdressers, the shoemakers. All the people who used their creativity to make the elite look their best. These events created revenue for them, and despite her not wanting to go, she could at least bring attention to those who helped her.

Charlotte burst into her room with Eloise in hand, gasping at the sight of her. “You look amazing! You look like the gold sculptures of Versailles!”

“You two look incredible,” Jane laughed as Eloise twirled like a ballerina, showing off her dress. Charlotte wore a blue dress with puffy shoulders and a huge skirt that jutted out on the sides. Pearls and diamonds littered her skin, accentuating her eyes. Eloise looked like a princess in her pink fluffy dress, her hair twisted into a crown.

“Everyone is going to love my dress. I’m the best dressed,” Eloise sighed confidently. Charlotte and Jane burst into laughter. Eloise’s confidence knew no bounds, but Charlotte would never take that away from her—especially knowing that she would only experience about three hours of the party before it became adults-only.

“You’re absolutely right, mon chér,” Charlotte kissed the top of her head.

“We're already behind schedule. Let’s go now before they start dancing,” Charlotte said, grabbing Eloise’s hand, and the trio rushed for the door. Caden was already waiting in the carriage.

A wide-set carriage would have to do, given how big their dresses were. Even so, Caden was squished against the window, talking about how he refused to ride back with the rest of them. Eloise just laughed and teased him for the entire hour.

Roman Pov

“If she does not arrive within the next few minutes, I’m going to go look for her.” Roman anxiously sipped his brandy. The mask was rubbing against his face so uncomfortably that he nearly tore it off. The room was muggy, and the alcohol likely didn’t help. A good portion of the people in this room hated his guts. Some of their friends had met unfortunate ends by his hand. Those early days of running rampant around Europe, committing crimes would leave a lasting stain on how he was perceived. He didn’t care for forgiveness, but he knew that Jane’s reputation was in a fragile spot. Tonight, she must do well.

The parties of real nobility were where the true monsters resided. They did not care to hide their prejudices. Arnaud’s court was more tolerant and open-minded. However, these people were a different breed. They did not often brush shoulders with outsiders. They believed in a “natural order” and made it known. He would do his best to dodge those conversations.

“You forget how heavy those dresses are. It takes them ten minutes just to get downstairs to the carriages, and then even more time to get out. You’re anxious. Relax. She’s done this before,” said Arnaud. He always had the same laid-back disposition. Roman used to have it too, once upon a time. Then he met Jane, and the stakes were higher.

“I’m not anxious,” Roman scoffed.

“You’ve adjusted your tie about twenty times since you’ve been here—standing at the bottom of the stairs. You know these environments like the back of your hand. It will be what it will be,” Arnaud sighed.

“If I hear one thing that I don’t like, I might start flipping tables over, Arnaud. I mean it,” Roman warned, an edge to his voice that sounded more pirate than gentleman.

“You will do no such thing. There is too much at stake. You underestimate her,” Arnaud chuckled.

“I do not.”

Arnaud rolled his eyes. “You do. She’s a smart girl. I’ve seen her work her charm. The Parisians love charm. Now if you don’t relax, I’ll have to give you something stronger.”

Roman cursed under his breath as he adjusted his tie one more time. This event was open to the public, but direct invitees wore masquerade masks. This alone drew a line in the sand of who was important and who wasn’t. It also dictated who was invited to dinner and who wasn’t.

A commotion stirred at the top of the steps, and a wooden staff echoed across the room. Someone was coming.

“The Duchess of Orleans, Charlotte Du Pointe, and her lady daughter, Eloise Du Pointe!” the announcer projected across the room. Charlotte appeared at the top of the steps with her daughter Eloise. Their masks glistened against the soft lights of the room, matching their dresses.

Their dresses were big and bright: Charlotte in cotton candy blue and Eloise in light pink. Eloise had a big smile on her face as she yanked her hand from her mother’s hold. “HIII, everybody!!!” she yelled, waving to the room. The guests chortled, chuckled, and swooned at the little girl as a guard escorted her down the stairs in a hurry. She was still at that age where everyone looked at her with adoration and humor. Charlotte softly giggled instead of reprimanding her daughter, a clear indicator of her humble background. She allowed Eloise to be a child. Eloise, still fearless about the world and the people in it, immediately ran to Arnaud and buried her face in his knees.

“Papa, do you like my dress?!” she giggled. Arnaud picked her up with nothing short of pride in his eyes as he complimented the beauty of his daughter. His wife appeared poised and graceful by his side. He kissed her cheek. For a moment, the former pirate forgot what was at stake as Arnaud became enraptured with his family.

Three more clicks of a wooden staff, and the announcer cleared his throat. The room paused, chatter fading as always, ready to cast judgment, ready to gawk and gossip. The minute a glimpse of gold peeked over the stairs, the room fell from quiet to dead silent. “Mademoiselle Jane of London and Monsieur Caden of Grimsby!”

Jane, glimmering, golden, and shiny like stardust, stepped into everyone’s line of view at the top of the stairs, Caden by her side, a helpful arm for her to hold onto. Everything about her defied the rules of court, yet everything about her drew the crowd in. That gold on her, the way her skin absorbed it and then shot it back around the room like a source of light. Her body shimmered with it. Her mask, completely solid gold to match. The cut of the dress, her jewelry—her first step down the stairs set off an echo of gasps everywhere. The crowd inched forward slightly, each shift of her dress and click of her heel bouncing off the waxed marble floor, alerting everyone to her presence. Jane was a vision, a statue come to life.

As she made her way slowly down the stairs, Roman could hear the shock, the whispers, and murmurs.

“Provocante!” (Provocative)

“L’audace!” (The audacity)

“Audacieuse!” (Bold)

As she inched closer, the details of her beauty stood out against all others. She parted the room with each step. The murmurs grew louder as she stepped onto the main floor. Roman was there to greet her with a kiss to the back of her hand. He pulled her by the waist into his chest, her hands gently placed on his. Her sparkling eyes met his gaze, not an inkling of shyness in them.She had changed from when they first met. This was her final form. Or rather—her true one.

“You are absolutely stunning. I would ask you to marry me again, but I already did,” Roman sighed. To say that he was mesmerized would be an understatement. She laughed and raised herself on the tips of her toes to meet his kiss.

“Well, ask again if you must, but my answer will probably be yes, just so you know,” she smiled. She pulled away to look at his outfit. “You look absolutely amazing. They did such a good job matching us.”

“It was a nightmare letting them dress me. The stylist had to stand on a stool to put on my shirt. I’ll be glad to leave this place,” Roman complained.

“Not too fast. You owe me the night,” she purred.

“Do I? I don’t remember making any promises, but with how you look right now, I’m inclined to comply.”

“If you know what’s good for you,” she smirked.

They went to get a drink at the refreshment table. She kept complimenting his suit.

He wore a tailored deep black coat with a sumptuous finish that caught the light, fitted at the waist and flaring slightly at the hips. Beneath it, a crisp white linen shirt had billowing sleeves and a high ruffled collar. His black waistcoat featured intricate gold embroidery, complementing Jane's attire. The perfectly tailored trousers tapered at the ankles, revealing polished black leather shoes. He completed the look with a soft ivory silk cravat fastened by a delicate gold pin and a black masquerade mask adorned with a single feather, like Jane's.

Roman looked around the room at the glares directed at his fiancée. He noticed something quite particular: many of the women had teased, curly hair, clearly manipulated by heat to the point of frizz. They wore dark eye makeup and dark gowns. This style was not popular in the French court; women typically opted for bright colors. Dark colors were seen as too mature or even suggestive. So to see so many women in dark reds, greens, blacks, and blues was almost jarring.

That’s when he realized that Jane had become a bit of a muse. There would never be an admission as to who they were imitating. The thought nearly made him burst into laughter. And now she was wearing a color that was hard to produce: a pure gold dress—true to the color. Another peculiar choice for French society. Jane had left her mark.

“When is the food coming?” Caden interrupted, startling Jane as she forgot he was hovering around.

“Is that all you think about?” Roman laughed.

“I’m a growing boy. Ooo—hors d’oeuvres!” Caden trailed off, following one of the servers holding a tray of snacks.

After the arrival of guests, the opening ceremony started. The royal family was introduced with a live orchestra performance. After the opening ceremony, balls like these had a specific order: the first dance, dinner, special performances, more dancing, closing festivities, and departure. This would be a long night.

There would be no first dance without the King and Queen participating first. He pulled his much younger wife onto the dance floor. She wore a pristine all-white gown. Everything she wore was white, including her hair and the whites of her eyes. The King tried his best to match her, but the blueness of his veins stood out against the absence of color. Everything was so manufactured between the two of them, even down to the smiles they gave one another—a pretending love. A love that never was.

Everybody in this room should want to be them, to want what they had: as many children, as much money, as much power as they did. Roman looked at Jane as she watched the two of them, her expression indifferent but calm. He was standing next to the sun. He had something more valuable than what any monarchy could provide. A true love, an undefiled, uncultivated love. A love that money couldn’t buy. She caught his gaze. He held his hand out to her, and she took it without hesitation as they walked to join the dancing couple along with Arnaud and Charlotte.

The minuet, a slow and graceful dance characterized by its elegant movements and intricate footwork, was typically danced in 3/4 time. It involved a series of steps that included gliding movements, turns, and the signature minuet pose, where dancers would often bow or curtsy.

The most intimate part of the dance was when the couple circled each other, with one hand pressed against the other in the air. He always found the dance a bit silly, but not this time. Jane’s natural grace added beauty to the dance. The staring eventually got to her, and she decided she was ready to sit down. Soon after the first dance came dinner—a whole other beast.

Dinner was all about the King flexing his power over others. High-ranking nobles sat elevated in the center of the room. Anyone below the Duke and Duchess sat on the outskirts. Low-ranking nobles stood to eat. Special guests also stood to eat. The whole ordeal would have been unforgivable if not for the delicious food: stuffed lamb, roasted duck, Canard aux Cerises, Boeuf à la Mode, Poisson à la Sauce Duxelles, Soupe aux Choux, canapés, tarts, artisan breads dipped in butter, roasted vegetables of all kinds, fish, mussels, clams, oysters, lobster, mince pies, potato pies, quiches, mousse, cream, pastries of every variety, candied fruits with crackly coatings, marzipan. The list went on and on and on. Jane whispered to him how she’d rather eat alone with a spread like this, which made him laugh. Back on the ship, there were no manners besides keeping your food and hands to yourself. He’d seen her bite into the side of a chuck roast like a lion. He wasn’t much for manners himself; he found table manners taunting in a way. Food had to be eaten in a certain order with a certain utensil. Thankfully, with them placed on the outskirts of the room, there was nobody to witness him eat his slice of ham quiche in one singular bite, except for Jane of course. She had to swallow her food before she choked from laughing.

Nobles used toasts to shine the spotlight on their eloquence and wit—always circling back to the King and Queen. There had been five toasts that night, and soon it became rather pathetic. In the distance, Charlotte had to cover her mouth with a fan after the viscount stood to give a speech about France being the most powerful country and how good looking the King was— or something of the sort.

After dinner, there were performances. Ballet dancers entranced the crowd with their grace. A very young violinist by the name of Joseph Bologne stunned the crowd with his musicality, making his instrument create sounds beyond comprehension. Jane was particularly amazed by him. English circus performers showcased impressive skills, such as acrobatics, juggling, and contortion. They performed daring feats, captivating the audience with their physical abilities. Fire-breathing got the crowd rowdy and lively.

Magicians and illusionists interacted with the crowd, pulling doves from scarves and rabbits from hats. The performances were wrapped with plate-spinning dancers from Shanghai, who spun porcelain plates on ridiculously long sticks and walked on stilts, doing difficult stunts and synchronized dancing in colorful outfits with elaborate makeup.

More dancing ensued, this time with livelier dances like the gavotte. Dessert wines like Sauternes flowed as people became looser. Children were sent off to bed while the adults enjoyed the rest of the festivities. Parlor games were played during the intermission, like charades. Roman enjoyed a few rounds of the card game baccarat with Arnaud in a private salon near the ballroom, savoring a few smokes.

Jane was having a good time, and he was in no rush to ruin the fun. She had finally realized why they called Charlotte the life of the party. The two danced and drank repeatedly as the crowd became increasingly intoxicated. A fireworks show ended the night as the crowd slowly dissipated over the next few hours. With the King and Queen retiring to bed, there was no need to impress. People took champagne bottles for themselves. Roman had to search the room just to find Jane and Charlotte near the balcony, sharing a bottle of wine and grapes.

“Have you gotten it out of your system?” Roman stood a few feet away, watching the pair as they draped over each other.

“Just wait until the wedding,” Charlotte snickered.

“SMALL wedding,” Jane laughed. She reached her arms out for Roman, and he picked her up onto her feet. Arnaud was on his way to his wife, who was entering a zone of drunkenness that was inappropriate for court. But with most of the nobles gone, nobody really cared now. Jane was flirty, more handsy than usual. She had a light buzz but still had her wits about her.

“Did you have fun?” he whispered to her as he picked her up bridal style. She took the opportunity to kick off her heels and carry them.

Caden would stay the night along with Arnaud, Charlotte, and Eloise. Charlotte promised him a Versailles breakfast, and the young lad agreed—a bit drunk himself and cycling through sleep on one of the chairs near the dance floor.

“After everybody got drunk, absolutely. I danced circles around those old farts with Charlotte. Now my feet hurt,” Jane sighed.

“We can get you into a hot bath to help those feet, and you can tell me all about your night.”

“My night? What about your night? Did you like any of it?”

Roman set her down inside the carriage and stepped in foot first. “Maybe the food. I also won a gambling match with one of the viscounts from Italy. I won his gold watch. The old bloke was fuming.”

“Gambling? You really are a pirate, aren’t you?” Jane snickered.

The carriage dashed into the night with the horses rested and ready to sprint. Jane was already ripping at a piece of her costume and throwing it on the floor of the cart.

“This thing is so hot,” she grunted.

“It’s the wine. It’s a chilly night.

“ Help me take it off”, she whined. Roman obliged and loosened her corset for her.

“ Nono…I just need the skirt cage off “, she pleads.

“ I…I have to go under your dress and I can barely see anything.”

She rolls her eyes. “ What are you…scared something’s going to jump out and bite you? It’s not like you haven’t visited down there before. I don’t have an extra set of teeth—I promise.”

Roman chuckled at her bluntness. “ I don’t want to mess up such a beautiful dress. You know the stylists are really fickle about how you take off the dress. I could break something”

“ Roman. Take off the fucking cage.”

Taken aback by her tone he dives right into action and drops to his knees. “ Yes ma’am.”

On the floor, he pops under the skirt of her dress and feels along her skin. The smooth silk of her flesh is almost enough for him to forget the task until her hips wiggle when he stalls. She really wants it off. He feels up and over her hips where the buttons securing the contraption are held together. He blindly tugs and pulls away at the fabric until something snaps.

“ You got it”, her voice calls out in a dramatic hopeful tone. He backs away with the cage in his hands, pulling it from under her. The bottom of the dress deflates.

“ I mean I found something hard and smooth so I figured it had to be it.”

“ I knew you’d find it. You’re notoriously good at finding buttons. You may be the only man in Europe who actually can ”, she jokes suggestively. Roman chuckled quietly as he sat on his knees on the carriage floor. Her cage sat next to her and the clicking of horse hooves seemed to fill in the gaps of silence. Jane’s smile melts into something more assertive, more sultry.

With great attention to her expression, he testfully grabs onto one of her ankles and brings it to the side of his face, sniffing it before resting it on his shoulder

“ Did you put perfume here ?” He asks quietly. His voice swells with a daring tone. A hidden question really. Is he reading her correctly?

“ Yes”, she says in a quiet tone. A small smirk spreads on her painted lips.

“ Now, Why on earth would you do that?”, he tests.

“ Well it got your attention didn’t it ?”, she quips. A cheeky edge to her words. Her eyes— a challenge.

He says nothing, only takes the same leg on his shoulder and trails his fingers down the side of it in a slow manner. His eyes remain planted on her as he draws swirls up into her inner thigh. Her breath is slightly labored, the rise and fall of her breasts noticeable from the way the corset fabric sparkled in the low light.

Large and calloused hands massage her inner thigh. He can feel her muscles tense and release under his touch. He brushed the other thigh with the tips of his fingers, starting the process over and again. Working and winding her up as he watched her fingers dig into the cushion of the seat underneath her.

Slowly, he pulls down her undergarments and flings them behind him. The heat radiating from her skin met it’s peak here. She parts her legs further, a beckoning. An invitation to come closer.

His hand meet soft, wet, warm skin. He groans despite knowing it would be there. How could it not? It had been weeks since he last touched her. They had been busy and coming down on the high of finding the treasure. She was sopping. A true testament to how much her body missed him. They both groaned audibly when his thumb pressed that spot where she needed him most. She melts into his seat, head lulling back as she moans against each wet sweep of his thumb.

“ Were you like this…all night ?”

“ Yes”, she whines. Shifting in her seat, he closes the space between them until her butt is nearly touching his torso. Both of her legs rest on his shoulders as he firmly rubs her in circular motions.

“ Tell me…”

“ T-Tell you what?”, she stutters

“ What thought led to what I’m feeling underneath my fingertips right now”, he gruffs.

“ F-Fear”, she sighed breathlessly.

“ Of what?”

“ Fear that when you make me cum..it won’t be enough. It won’t be enough until I have all of you.”

“ You have me”, he urges.

“ Not in every way”, she gasped as his fingers speed up on her clit. It didn’t take much with her. Not with his skill.

“ Speak”, he commands. And he’s sure it feels like being doused in cold water with the way she jerks at the sound. Especially when all she wants to do is sink into the sofa and melt away. But now his breath was labored—heart racing as he anticipated the sound she would make.

“ I Need Your C— ,” and her sentence is cut short with an abrupt squeak as she cums against his fingers. He presses and rubs until her writhing stops . A restlessness still prevalent even after she’s gotten her fix.

“ You finish that sentence”, he leans in to kiss the sides of her neck as his hands trail up and down the sides of her. She’s hazy from the orgasm.

Shyly.. she continues in another way. “ What you’ve given me all this time. It was enough then…but not anymore”, she pants.

Roman needed no other explanation and he dare not make her second guess. Instead he sits back and pulls her to a straddle on top of him. She grabs his face and kisses him. The smokiness of his mouth makes her rut into his crotch feverently, nearly making him release into his pants. He has to stop her prematurely.

Kissing, tugging, pulling, gripping. The surprising sting of a bite to his chest. The tearing of fabric they’ll regret later. The panting across exposed skin. The drag of nails scraping across heated flesh. She made a mess of him to match her own. A whole hour swallowed by the lust of two.

When the carriage screeched to a stop they both paused to assess the damage. Roman’s top was destroyed. He noticed the way she glanced at her hands—likely wondering how she possessed the strength. He threw his coat over her shoulders as the help escorted them back up to their bedroom.

“ Hot water in the tub Joffrey”, he calls to the butler already waiting at the door.

Three servants take turns walking in and out the room to fill the tub awaiting in the other room. Jane watches quietly as she grips the oversized jacket around her. Her lips are swollen from him. Her biting the corners doesn't make it any better. It doesn’t make this any easier. Doesn’t give him any more composure .

Jane Pov

“ Will my bath slow the momentum ?”, she asks quietly. She doesn’t want the maids to hear.

“ Have I not proven my patience by now?”

“ Is it wrong to ask? Have you noticed you’re about to rip out of your pants?” Roman frowns at her in confusion. Her eyes trail down to his sizeable erection that jutted from his black dress trousers. His eyes meet it with surprise as if he forgot. So used to ignoring his body in respect of her boundaries. In respect of her limits.

“ I’ll take my bath cold…in the other room ”, he calls out to the servants in the bathroom.

With a kiss to her forehead, he leaves behind the servants. Maybe some distance would be for the best. The bath would give her time to think. The scented oils relaxed her but she still felt so empty. The desire to be filled, something foreign to her until now.

She took her hair down in the tub and pinned it up again, less uniform, uncaring if some strands got wet. She scrubbed her skin with something scented. She made quick work of it.

She dried off, creamed her skin, and took off her jewelry. She kept thinking about what to wear. What do people usually wear? Well …nothing by the end of it she supposed. But how to entice ? She knew nothing about seduction. So maybe nothing could be something ? She wiped the color from her lips from her mouth. No time to get rid of the eyes. She found a thick hair ribbon, she wrapped it around her neck and tied it into a bow. The dress that the maids brought up in pieces included the stockings that she rolled up her thighs. A once over in the mirror and she felt it was enough. Courtesan in a way.

She draped herself in her robe and waited. She didn’t send for him. He would come back when he was ready. It didn’t take long thankfully. She could hear him send away the butler for the night from behind the door. Her hands sweat as the doorknob turns.

He stands in the hallway. Brooding and wide, like when they first met. His hair wet and his skin coated with a light mist from his bath. No shirt, loose fitting cotton trousers. Every tattoo is even bolder than she remembered. His eyes were hungry but controlled as always. She stands carefully as he turns to close the door and lock it . By the time he turns back around she’s quickly slipped off her robe. He freezes in place, eyes darkening even in the light.

He doesn’t move to grab her. No throwing her down on the bed. Instead, he slowly walks over to the table at the far end of the room. A fire crackles next to it. He sits down at the chair, legs spread wide. He motions his finger for her. A quiet “stand in front of me”. Being gawked at all night did nothing for her. It didn’t move her. But under his gaze…she could barely take it. Hesitantly, she makes her way to him.

For a moment she’s stunned—nearly losing the steam to do this. To be this courageous, sexy, brave woman who takes charge. But when he finally speaks it’s simple. “Take down all your hair. Please”, he says. An authority in his voice, controlled, quiet. She reaches for her hair pins and lets her tresses down, loosening the curls with a shake of her hand. “ Perfect”, he whispers.

Going with her gut, instead of stepping closer she gets on her knees. Intrigued, his gaze tracked her movements as she began to crawl to him slowly. One hand extending out behind the other carefully and methodically. She reaches his knees and places her hands on the both of them. That cold bath did nothing for him clearly. His erection was jutting out of his pants like a sword.

“ Are sure ?”, he asks. She doesn’t answer, only slides her hands up his chest reassuringly. This is the man she loved. The man she was going to marry. This was safe. He was safe. He’d proven that long ago. She united the strings holding his cotton trousers. He lifted up when she pulled them down. His erection sprung out and hit his stomach.

She seized it in her hands and felt the pulse of him around his fingers. Roman had time to learn her. He studied the way she liked to be licked. The way he wanted his mouth slated against her cunt. The speed of his tongue. He knew how to make her fall apart in seconds. She had not learned him. Never tasted him in her mouth. Never felt the beat of his pulse on her tongue. She wanted to do this well.

His girth has always been impressive but not painfully thick. With time she could take the stretch of him without thought. His length, however, was a whole other feat. How on earth would all of it fit? She cut those thoughts off before she chickened out.

At least it was beautiful. Lengthy, curved upwards, a fleshy pink tip, dusky shaded skin, chiseled in thick veins, a heavy sack. Pearls of arousal glisten at the top of him. She swipes away at it with her tongue. He’s completely still, watching her closely, waiting for her to back out. But the alarms weren’t ringing yet. She needed to give him what he gave her. Or at least try her best to do so.

Boldly, she wrapped her lips around the head of him and looked up at him through her lashes. He’s biting his fist. She gives him kitten licks. He takes a deep inhale and grabs the arms of his chair with a vibe grip. She pulls back and softly strokes him with both hands.

“ I’ve never done this because I wanted to until now. So you’re going to have to tell me what you want. What you like and what you don’t”, she says quietly.

“ Well, you’ve got the first step down. You put your mouth around me. Don’t stop on my account”, he grunts. Jane resumes, taking him into her mouth.

“ Use your hands where your mouth can’t reach”, he says. A shaky edge to his tone. She listens, using the spit that rolled down his shaft beneath her hands.

She’s timid, careful not to hurt him. Not to squeeze him too hard. He’s so big that if she goes too far she gags a bit. That didn’t scare her knowing that she controlled the pace. The sound of him grunting was a motivator. Everytime she pressed her mouth further down his shaft, not only would her eyes water but her mouth would too. Her hands were drenched. She pulled away to get something to clean some of the mess up. He gently stops her.

“ You’re doing it perfectly, leave it ”, he says. His composure slipping through a clenched jaw. He didn’t want to cum but she sumized it would be easy to get him back up if he did.

So she goes back for more, inching further and further down his shaft. She made a proper mess of herself. She destroyed her eye makeup. Her nose was running, her mouth was watering like a spigot. He holds her hair for her but he keeps his hands clear from the back of her head.

She sort of liked the mess. The sound of her working him in her mouth, the choking, the sniffling, the sounds of his groans whenever her hand drifts to his sack. The sound he bit back when she massaged them. It was easy to get enthusiastic when she felt his composure slipping from him. When his groans turned into audible sighs when she sucked his head harder.

She pulls away to catch her breath, panting from the exertion of it. In some strange way she felt powerful. Which was funny considering that she was the one on her knees. But maybe it was the reassurance that she could please him successfully. That she was capable of giving back what she had received for so long.

“ Spit on it.”

“ spit on it ?”, She echoes.

“ Like it just pissed you off”, he dares.

Jane nearly laughs but he was clearly serious. And so she does. His hips shift as she works her hand over him before doing it again and licking it up. That earns a full out moan. She bobs up and down the length of him, getting as much in and she could comfortably allow. Bubbles form at the sides of her mouth. She wraps her mouth just around the engorged head and sucks firmly.

Instead of stroking him up and down she began to gently twist with each pump of her fist as her mouth suctioned around the head of him. Then ever so often she would twist her mouth as she came up. Roman, once so stoic and controlled, was hissing in agreement with her new found technique. The praise sent waves of arousal tingling on her breast, her cunt, and deep in her stomach.

“ God dammit…just like that. What a good girl you are. Are you my good girl ?”, he cooes.

“ —-Glaahhjksmm!—”, she talks around his cock as she pushes against the barrier of her reflex. Spit froths and flows as she gathers it around his sack and massages it in time with her strokes. A full on moan wrecks his throat from the vibration on her mouth. His eyes danced around the room and his head falls back.

And just as she’d been taught, she sucked it all up and spat it right back onto the head of his cock. A gut punching sounding groan falls from his lips. This time, instead of sucking, she begins blowing air around the cock in her mouth, gargling and gurgling against his skin as she pushed down down down down. His hips twist and bend. “ Alrightalrightaright wait... Fuuckkk. Stop”, he stutters. She pulls away quickly.

“ Did I knick you?” She panics.

“ No. But this will be over before it starts if you keep going dove. Fucking hell….”, he chuckles. She can see his brow broke out in the sweat earlier. She looks down at her hands. Her chin is drenched. Her makeup is sliding down her cheeks.

“ Maybe I should get cleaned up first”, she giggles. Roman looks at her, eyes full of admiration like they were when she came down the steps. To her shock he grabs her and kisses her, tongue and all. When he pulled away it stunned her.

“ Enjoy the taste ? ”, she chuckles .

“ I should ask you the same”, he teases. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a wet cotton rag, helping her to clean up her hands and mouth.

He places the rag on the table and abruptly picks her up. She squeals in surprise, wrapping her legs around waist.

Her back hits the bed. He climbs on it, going straight for her legs. Slowly, he peels her stockings off with his teeth. He’s sure to nip her ankles and the inside of her thigh. His beard a welcome sensory against the sensitivity of her skin.

He makes no introduction, only an immediate shot for her clit. He sucks her into his mouth and watches her thrash against him. Immediately sending her into sensory overload.

He laps at her with the tip of his tongue before running it over the entirety of her cunt. Pressing his entire mouth on it and sliding his lips across it like an open kiss. She can already feel her peak approaching as he hooks his arms under her thighs and pulls her closer. Her hands reach for his hair and tug aimlessly.

He makes a show of it, growling into her. Thumbing at her breasts. She’s about to cum already. Almost embarrassingly soon. But he had learned her for months now, an advantage that he took happily.

“ Are you in a rush?”, she whimpered.

“ I’m in no rush, your body on the other hand seems to be”, he mumbled against her skin. She fell apart on his mouth, back bowing against the bed. He left her no room to pull away, no room for reprieve as he sucked her through her orgasm and after. He made no move to pause until she cried out into the room, shouting expletives that were half gibberish.

He went back for more. She nearly protests this until she realizes just what she was up against. This generous foreplay wasn’t just for his pleasure or her own. It was to prepare her. She fought past the overstimulation and held herself to the mattress as he started all over again.

But Roman would take and take and take. What she would allow he would take for his own. For these matters he had no mercy. Enough was never enough. He would drink and never be full. With her second climax she dug her feet into his back, trembling against the intensity of it. That familiar haze washes over her, making her brain all muggy . Bringing a tingle to her lips and feet.

“ I know you have one more”, he rumbled against the side of her thigh.

“ Mmpphhmm”, she groans.

When his tongue dragged against her clit she flinched. His hands snaked around her waist as he swung his face in a nodding motion against her, lazily swiping his tongue up and down the entirety of her. Each pass, more sensitive than the other. His large hands rest at the bottom of her belly, pressing down each time her back tried to depart the bed. A reminder that she wasn’t going anywhere until she gave him exactly what he wanted.

Teasingly, the tip of his tongue would swirl around her clit, purposely missing where she wanted him most. Her hips followed his mouth, swirling and bucking towards him as pulled away further. His licks turned to gentle flicks, a glint of playfulness in his eyes as he watched her grow increasingly impatient. Suddenly, so responsive after claiming to be too sensitive.

“ Come on baby, right there”, she grabbed the backs of his hair with her fist and brought him to where she needed him. Still testing her patience, he kissed her skin gently instead. She threw her head back as she tried to push herself toward him.

“ Please …please”, she moaned.

And with that, he enclosed his mouth around her nerves and sucked hard. Instantly, she gasped as he punished her with fast hard licks, pressed firmly against her skin.

“ AAAH!!”, she cried. She came harshly against his mouth, throbbing against each pass of his tongue. He made her ride out her climax until the bitter end. Twitching—she pushed his forehead. He pulls away, kissing up stomach. He sucks bruises into her skin. The suction of his mouth pulls her nipples to pebbles, electrifying a path down her stomach.

“ Aren’t you going to unwrap me? I’m not fully undressed until you do”, she pants. She was tired from those series of mini climaxes that he inflicted upon her. She can feel the rumble from his chuckle vibrate against her chest. He kisses a path back up her chest. The scrape of his beard tickles her neck and he unties it with his mouth. His fingers reach down between her legs to feel her arousal.

Her heart races as he pulls her closer, adjusting his position between her legs. Involuntarily she stiffens. His fingers feel it along her muscles. He stops immediately to assess. “ Where are you right now ? Where did you go ?”

She blinks a few times before she answers. “ Habit. I’m sorry.”

“ Any moment. Even seconds from now or minutes or an hour from now. You can tell me to stop. We can start again when you want. We can try again on a different night. It’s your choice.” He grabs her face in his, his forehead against her own.

“ I know. I know, I want this now. I'm just anxious.”

“ It doesn't have to be perfect Jane," he says quietly. A thoughtful look spreads across his face. She had an idea in her head of what this would be. She would be responsive, she would look perfect, be perfect. But there was no audience. There was nothing to prove. This was for them and nobody else.

She nods quietly and reaches for him. She needed him close to drown out the panic and the noise. To feel his breath in her face, his warmth. He leans down, elbows on either side of her face. With one hand he reaches down and graces his fingers across her cunt, spreading around her arousal. When she relaxes he pushes in one finger. A small gasp leaves her lip but her composure remains.

He asks. “ Okay?”

“ Okay”, she nods.

He pumps it in slowly back and forth, gently sawing with the pressure. Roman is watchful, nearly nose to nose with her as he tests her. A second finger and she groans from the sensation. Her body could tell how long it’s been for her. She's pulsing around his digits as she involuntarily sucks him in. No pleasure was present quite yet. But that was to be expected. For now her focus was only on trying to stay calm.

“ I’ll let you. I’ll let you…”, she whispers to him. Her voice so fragile—in this moment she felt like she was made of glass. He felt it too. He stares at her for a moment, unsure if she’s sure. She nods silently. His fingers pull away and his right arm returns to the side of her head.

He uses his other hand, reaching in between them to center himself with her opening. Then she feels it, that pressure, the stretch. Her eyes widen as he surges forward gently. Jane’s hands fly to his shoulders as she feels a sound creeping up from behind her lips.

Determined to distract her, he grabs her face with soft hands. “ Hey…relax. Relax. Where are you right now? Are you with me ?”, he asks gently.

“ Yes I’m…yes I’m with yo—”, she loses control of her breathing as the air leaves her . She can feel all of him now. He’s sheathed inside of her and the fit is snug.

“ Am I causing you pain?”

“ No…yes…I mean no..I don’t fucking know”, she sputtered. The sensation was overwhelming. To be so filled, so stuffed. To feel the heat of him inside her. The tight fit despite her being the wettest she’s ever been……” You’re just so…big”, she sighed.

“ Your body will get used to it the more I move. We can try another—.”

“ NO …no, just give me a second”, she urged. So instead his mouth found hers as he waited for her body to relax. She was squeezing him so tight he wondered if he’d actually be able to move at all. Sly fingers slip back between them to swipe at her clit. Another wave of arousal seeps around him. He shudders from it. She sucks his tongue. He nips the side of her jaw.

“ Slowly…”, she rasps against his mouth. She can hear a decompressing sigh from him as his muscles shift and he pulls out and in, slowly. Methodically. The drag of him against her walls, his veins, his heat. Foreign, too foreign to derive pleasure so soon. Yet too comforting to hate.

She looked between them as he lifts up slightly, getting a full view of the way he appears and then disappears—coming out gleaming in her arousal. It was her body doing that. It was her body capable of that. It took a moment to register.

“ You’re still far away”, he pants. His composure bending against the pressure of his arousal. His tone swollen with need -velvety and full.

“ Maybe I’m just broken down there. I’m not exactly the type to finish during these endeavors”, she mutters. He doesn’t like that at all. She can tell by the way he tucks in his lips. He pauses for a moment, as he sits back on the heels of his feet. The head of him is just barely tucked into her body.

“ That wasn’t sex”, he says firmly. “ but this is…and it’s a head game. I mean your brain doesn’t even realize how close you are. I can feel it Jane”, he looked down at where they connect. His thumb rolls over her clit as he feels her contract around him. “How about this”. Roman searches the bed for the ribbon he pulled off her and holds it above her face. “ I’m going to put this over your eyes and we’ll see just how much you “don’t work”. With nothing to distract you, you have no choice but to feel”, he explains. Jane looks at the red ribbon. Who would have thought she’d be wearing it as an eye cover.

“ Okay”, she says. He placed the ribbon over her eyes, wrapping it twice around her head. Her fingers press gently against the silk when he’s finished.

Then he’s inside again. Behind the blackness of her lids, she imagines what it looks like. But with her mind racing and her sight missing, the feeling of him inside her is even more prominent. It quiets the noise of her mind as she listens to the soft grunts that escape him as he presses into her. Every little moan that leaves him raises the stakes of her arousal. She can hear how wet she is now and so can he. Her hands seek the wrists he balanced himself on. They wrap around them, feeling the veins in his skin. She can’t even enclose her fist around it. He was just that big. And strangely enough, that thought grew and grew into something more. A naughty thought that ignited all the other hidden ones.

His thrusts change and with a pass of his hips, they thrust upward and press. He brushes up against something startling. Again and again. Each pass becoming more and more sensitive. Her body learns to become reactive to his touch. The pleasure sneaks up on her and wraps itself around her like a thick smoke, clogging her mind. She envisions it as it invades her, fully claiming her. It arrives and her mouth wrenches open in a long, aching, desperate moan.

Encouraging murmurs fall from his mouth but they’re drowned out as small moans bursts from her mouth. Suddenly, she had no control over her volume, no control over what she said. It was as if this foreign pleasure that he promised her had already possessed her entirely.

“ Oh..OHH—fuck!”, she cried. Now she’s thankful for the ribbon. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to see the way one of her eyes uncontrollably rolled into the back of her head. He surges a bit deeper than before and she can barely control the squeeze of her toes. It’s too complicated to focus on her breathing so every few thrusts she decided it was easier to hold her breath.

“ Breath or I stop ”, he warns.

“ I can’t…pleaseee”, she croakes. Her nails begin to bite the skin on his wrists. That just makes him surge deeper.

“ You can’t cum if you pass out. I need you awake. I need to watch your face when you finally do ”, he pants.

She can feel his mouth on the side of her ankle and his thumb on her clit again. Something rushes through her, it’s so overpowering that it forces the air back into her lungs and then out again, Her body erupts in tingles from head to toe.

This release is deeper, more concentrated, more intense than she’s used to. She squeezes around him so harshly that he hisses as she cums. Her legs shake as he rubs her clit in deep circles, wringing every bit of her pleasure out. She shakes against him like she’d been left out to dry. For a moment she remembers that Roman is greedy. He has no mercy for pleasure and he would very much let it drown her in it if she allowed it.

“ Okayyyy. Okay! Fuckfuckfuck!”, she bursts as she pushes against his chest. He pulls out and gives her some reprieve as she scrambles for the ribbon covering her eyes. He gets to it first, pulling it off for her.

Her eyes are wide when the lights of the room come into view. He’s flustered, sweaty, hair wild all over his head. Suddenly he bursts into a deep chuckle, showing his pearly white teeth as he gazes down at her bewilderment.“ You’d think you saw a ghost”, he snickered.

Her body still tingled, ears still buzzed. She sits up and so does he. “ So I may or may not have overreacted before all of this”, she admits sheepishly. He laughs even harder. No seriously, if she would have known it would be this easy. If she’d known that it would feel like that, she would have done it sooner.

“ Come here. We’re not done… ”, Roman turns to lay on his side. She crawls to him and he pulls her back against his chest. His arm pushes behind her head for cushion while the other hitches her leg up. He slides in with an almost comical ease compared to only minutes ago. Yet, she was just as breathless. Still gasping at the feeling of him inside of her. She turns her head to watch him as he keeps a steady but firm pace. She has to shake off another climax from his expression alone. His eyes are desperate. She swore she could read every dirty thought on his face. She so badly wanted her to enjoy this and it was so evident just by the way his fingers wouldn’t leave her clit. Desperate to make her cum. She can’t help but to steal another kiss because of it.

He angles his hips and her head lulls back into his arm, her eyes rolling up into the ceiling. He was brushing up against that spot again and her volume control went out of the window. The pleads spill out of her endlessly, calling out for something she couldn’t put into words.

“ Right there?”

She nods frantically. “YESyesyesrightthere”, she groans. He leans down to the side of her breast and presses his mouth against her nipple. One of her hands tangles against the duvet and the other scratches the side of his chiseled stomach. The way his hips roll into her should be a crime. His precision— unmatched. When his mouth pops off her flesh she reaches back and feels his hair. He leans closer, pressing his mouth against her ear. A sweet torture, a whisper from his mouth only to her own ears.

“ Is that what you want?”, he grunts.

“ Yes I need it. I need it”, she moans drunkenly. Her brows furrow, mouth biting for the skin of her own lip. The hand under her leg abandons it for her neck. She keeps her leg thrown over his own. She’s wide open to the room. When his hand clasps around her neck, her head falls directly on his arm giving her a full view of his face. A natural surrender. She can’t help the smile that creeps up in between shouts of ecstasy. There’s no pressure in his hand. It just means something. She never felt the desire to be owned or found the appeal. But To be coveted. To trust enough. To admit the defeat of her own walls and hangups. To even allow to let his hand to stay there. To not want him to pull it away. He catches the glint in her eye and a wicked grin spreads across his mouth.

The speed of his thrusts increase and that earns him a nice squeak of surprise on her end. The hand around her neck trails to her jaw. He was especially deep now, so deep she could hardly take a full breath. His eyes darkened as he pressed his fat thumb past her swollen lips and pressed down on her tongue. Her mouth closed around his flesh like it fed her oxygen. A guttural, brutish sound left his mouth at the sight. She could see his jaw clench. A sigh of avidity flows from him. Her eyes rolls back as the climax sweeps her. “ You beautiful creature, my desires incarnate”, he seethes into her mouth. Her tongue slips into his. She tastes the brandy on his tongue and it surges the kiss deeper.

Still, he doesn’t eaves her no time to recuperate as he turns her onto her stomach. His hands find her ass and squeeze. His chest to her back, her head to the mattress, his mouth just above her ear. He feels entirely different inside of her from this angle. He feels wider, endless. She moans his name as inches in.

With the buffer between her ass and his stomach, depth and pace could be more forgiving. However, the angle was even more precise. The tip of his cock dragged against that spot in the most toe curling fashion. He was practically poking it with the way he angled himself into her. He barely pulls out as he rocks into her. Her eyes cross behind her closed lids.

The feeling is so intense, her hands shoot above her head, reaching out for something. His palms come down over the back of hers, holding them flat to the mattress. It feels like he’s molding himself to her like a second skin. He guides her hands underneath her chest, cocooning himself over her body as he gains momentum. The sound of skin slapping echoes across the room, blending with each gasp from her mouth, timed perfectly.

“ You’re sooooo deep”, she grunts against the mattress, muffled and all.

“ You want some out ?”

“ I don’t fucking know—-oh my godddd”, she whines and sputters and twists as he rocks into her. She likes the weight of him against her. She likes the feeling of his heart beat on her back as he ruts into her, grunting his praises. The slickness of their bodies against each other. Grunting his appreciation.

But the sensitivity grows and blooms deep in her stomach. Every sensory combines and jumbles into a looming monstrous feeling.

“ Is it broken?” He taunts.

“ No!”, she shouts.

“ but I thought you said it doesn’t work?”, his thrusts turn to daggers. An attempt at compliance that she gave freely. Rubbing her words in her face.

“ It worksitworksss”, she screeches. His words only riling her up. Only making this deliciously more underable. And those shouts she tried so hard to control finally rolled into screame.

It was sobering to realize just how easily he could reduce her to a screaming, squirming, crying, whining, shell of herself. How easily he could control her body and play it with such precision. He had broken her down into bits, put her together, pulled her apart and washed her away with pleasure. It was scary to know the sheer power of his hands, his mouth, his body —and know that he actively chose to only inflict pleasure with them.

On this very night she was ruined. It could only be him. Now her mind was racing but not the way it was before. Nothing feels this good, nothing should feel this good. And every thought of him that pops up just adds to the pleasure. This is what she wanted for the rest of her days—gentleness, the whisper of sweet nothings, hearty breakfasts, warm beds that smell like him, cigar smoke, late nights, expensive wines, non judgemental ears and mind bending pleasure. In every fucking position. Missionary first and whatever this is second.

“ YES…. YES PLEASE ROMAN. PLEASEEE!!”, she bellowed from her stomach. She spat the words from her mouth like they were poisonous. Like the last words of a drowning person. Deep in her gut she felt the wraith of his passion. A transformative love that grabbed her soul and wrung it dry. Was it pleasure or torture? Could pleasure be torture? Was it natural to feel so much at once —to be loved to the point of insanity ? Because she already came and he was still going. Not even a shudder from his lips or a falter in his hips when she met her climax.

“ ITS SO MUCH!”, she yells .She’s soaked herself and him completely. A new wave of arousal making it’s appearance heard loud and clear. She didn’t think it possible to be aroused so heavily. To be throbbing with pleasure and still want more. To be so unraveled.

She wonders if she has the same effect. His mouth hung open just above the side of her face, brows furrowed, grunting with each thrust. And there was no shame, he didn’t hide his pleasure. His face broke up in the way hers did and her heart sang. She felt the firmness of his muscles on her back and ass, the sweat of him seeping onto her skin, the strength of his arm encompassing her, the powder of his hips. He was perfect…absolutely perfect.

“ Do you feel it my love ?I kept my promise.”

“ FUCKK”, she screeches, voice cracking from the exertion of release after release.

“ I know. I know.”, he whispers. And her emotions meet a peak. Should she be embarrassed to cry? Because she was about to. Howling, sighing, reasoning, praising him. In awe of his beauty, of his strength, of his love.

He was killing something inside of her. Something rotten that had taken root and burrowed itself deep within her being. In the fibers, tissues, blood, and bone of her existence. A spoiled bit that inflicted her mind with fear, desperation, sorrow. It had convinced her she would never be loved. That she would never know pleasure. That she would be left unsated, unhappy and unwanted. That she was nothing. He dug for that bit, seized it, squeezed it, and obliterated it with every swell of pleasure that left her trembling. He washed it away with whispers of ‘I love you’ and ‘you’re beautiful’. As he leaned over her, their eyes connected as her head turns. To hold his gaze only resulted in another wave of gut wrenching ecstasy.

I will take your darkness and turn it sweet. This I vow to you.

She remembers. She remembers those words. And Should could feel the orgasm building from her toes all the way to the nerves under her fucking teeth. “Roman….”, she pleads.

“ Give it to me.”

“It’s so much”, she warned weakly. Slightly afraid from the strength of the release she was harboring. A load too big to carry on her own.

“ I have you.” Roman liked to watch her fall apart. To deploy into the madness of climax. He liked the grit of an orgasm. Not being able to control the eyes or the face. The contortion of the body. Seeing the most primal, stripped down, raw version of someone. She could hardly catch her breath. There was tightness in her chest like she had been running. One of his hands slipped down between herself and the mattress to reach her mound. With just a few swift and firm circles against her clit , she was bursting at the seams.

She came so hard she burst into a hiccup of tears, shaking against the wrath of her orgasm like a leaf in the wind. Her ears rang, white washes over her vision like the sun came out in the middle of the bedroom. He kept his face pressed to hers. He pulled out every bit of her orgasm and rode her wave until the very end. When she finally relaxed into the mattress, nerves shot to hell, he allowed his climax. When he fills her up he shouts. He grinds until he’s twitching—his body yielding him to stop. He trembled as he pulled away.

She turns onto her back and he falls on top of her, careful not to crush her— though she doesn’t mind. They pant out into the room as they catch their breaths. He leans to wipe her face with the back of his hand.

With a voice raspy from the screaming she clears her throat…the first to break the ice. “ Yes again, to the marriage thing by the way.”

If this would be marriage. She could get used to this.

Roman Pov

The next few days were spent giving Jane many more firsts. They went horseback riding and hunting. He sat and watched Arnaud teach her Croquet. Jane was pretty good and became competitive over time. They played card games, went sightseeing and even attended Ballets.

The trip extended itself due to Charlotte wanting to help plan the wedding. In the Palais Royal, a few hundred meters from the property, sat its own chapel. It was an old building, but it was beautiful and surprisingly small compared to the rest of the estate. Jane had expressed numerous times that she wanted to get married soon, surrounded by the friends she’d made along the way. No extravagance, no dramatic entrances, no showboating. Roman obliged without any issue whatsoever. So as he stood at the altar in front of the minister, he wondered if this was enough—if the simplicity of this would be enough for her to remember fondly. Eloise wore a white poofy dress with shiny tap shoes, throwing white flowers down the aisle. She was hopping and skipping, eventually throwing the flowers on guests by accident, of course. Caden was the ring bearer, with much persuasion and bribes on his part.

When he saw her appear at the entrance of the chapel with Earl beside her, all doubt was washed away. Here Jane was in a simple white slip gown, hair down, holding a bouquet of white chrysanthemums that Eloise had picked for her in the garden.

She’d been crying, he could tell. But her smile was radiant. It was probably nerves—the same nerves he’d been feeling the night before and just moments prior. The hairstylist Mary, stylist Guston, Beatrice, Charlotte, and Arnaud were welcomed guests. Rory, Adhar, Cortez, and a dozen other pirates filled the rest of the seats. It was quite a sight seeing the filthy men cleaned up in fancy clothes for the event. It only made sense for Dr. Earl to walk her down the aisle. He cleaned her wounds, nursed her to health, and looked after her in her weakest moments. He’d taken care of everyone on that ship at one moment or another. In some strange way, he was a father to many. His quiet knowledge had been a lifeline at times.

When he took her hand in his as they exchanged vows, he looked deeply into her twinkling eyes. He could see their whole future in them. She’d never looked more beautiful than she did right now. Her thumb swept over the back of his hand when she spoke. He wished he could remember all that was said, but all he could focus on was how beautiful she was and how lucky he was. He stole kisses when he wasn’t supposed to, long before the minister could pronounce them husband and wife.

The reception was held in the orangery, filled with tables, food, cakes, and flowers. He struggled to pull away after the first dance, holding her in his arms, looking into her eyes, whispering things that made her laugh. He lost track of time.

Caden danced with Eloise, twirling her around as she squealed with joy. Rory asked Jane to dance, and she obliged. Adhar raided the dessert bar. Cortez had an intense conversation with Arnaud about his travels east. Charlotte and Earl spoke in German, and it seemed like a comfort for her to finally communicate that way, considering that her mother was German-born. Beatrice, Mary, and Guston enjoyed a drink. Roman was okay with just watching—just taking in all the amazing people he’d come to know. Jane and him had a community that was budding and growing. Now it was only a matter of time before they could give that community it’s own name.

On the high of post-marital bliss, the lordship announcement came late at night at the end of the week. A semi-vacant estate had been cleaned, prepared, and was being filled with help. It was located in the French countryside, overlooking a cliff leading down to the beach.

And after another extended week of waiting, the time finally came. Roman decided it would be better if they arrived first. Everyone else could come later, but this experience would be shared between the two of them first. Jane obliged, and they set out on a three-hour carriage ride with their belongings.

The French countryside alpes maritime offered greenery, peaks and valleys, cobblestone markets, and flower fields. It was comforting and quiet as they inched closer to the property. Jane was anxious, so he held her hand in his as they watched the scenery. A mile from their property, they approached green pastures that expanded for acres. Trees, flower fields, and fresh air with subtle hints of salt characterized the area.

The building itself was Georgian style, with a light brown brick surrounding the entirety of the home. It was characterized by its warm, buttery yellow façade, complemented by crisp white trim around the windows and doors. The exterior had a smooth finish, giving it a refined yet welcoming appearance. The roof featured dark slate tiles, contrasting beautifully with the lighter tones of the walls.

Pebbles rumbled and scratched against the wheels of the carriage as they came to a halt. Fifteen servants stood at the stairs. Tall, multi-paned windows allowed abundant light into the interior, framed by decorative white shutters. The entrance boasted a grand door, framed by a small portico supported by slender columns, creating a stately focal point.

The estate was set amidst lush, landscaped gardens that enhanced its beauty. The grounds were meticulously maintained, with vibrant flower beds filled with seasonal blooms, neatly trimmed hedges, and a variety of trees providing shade and privacy. A winding gravel path led up to the entrance, flanked by ornamental shrubs and colorful blossoms.

Two primary servants, a male and a female, stood to the left of the property. The pair seemed to be the head footman and the head housemaid. They greeted the couple, referring to Roman as Lord Ramlal and Jane as Lady Ramlal. Jane squeezed his hand as they approached the steps.

The interior featured high ceilings adorned with intricate cornices and decorative plasterwork, typical of Regency design. Large windows allow natural light to flood the spaces, framed by heavy drapes in rich fabrics that added warmth and texture. The color palette was warm and inviting, with soft creams, muted greens, and touches of gold. Floral-patterned wallpaper in the drawing room featured delicate designs that added a touch of refinement without overwhelming the senses. The dining room sported a richer hue, a deep navy, complemented by gilded accents.

There were two wings of the home, which housed additional bedrooms and private spaces. A staggering 9 bedrooms, each thoughtfully decorated to provide a unique yet cohesive aesthetic, along with eight well-appointed bathrooms featuring elegant fixtures that combined functionality and style. There was also a library and a study, serving as quiet retreats for reading or work.

The floors throughout the estate were a mix of polished hardwood. In common areas, rich rugs defined seating arrangements and added a layer of comfort, while the staircase featured a beautifully crafted wooden banister that was both sturdy and ornate.

The furniture was a tasteful mix of Regency-era pieces and more contemporary selections. Plush sofas and armchairs, upholstered in luxurious fabrics, invited relaxation, while mahogany tables and sideboards showcased intricate craftsmanship. Decorative accents, such as vases and paintings, added character to the rooms. The house felt lived in.

There were drawing rooms, two dining rooms—one for guests and one for more intimate parties—a small dancing room, servants' quarters, and multiple kitchens for staff and the family. It was almost too much to take in. Jane looked overwhelmed, and Roman was absorbing the information from the head maid.

When they were left to their own devices inside the piano room, the silence was deafening. This was it—the real beginning of their story—a long one he hoped. This house would soon fill with countless memories, its own smell, and the sound of happiness. They would bring her own touch to it.

Their respective wedding guests all piled into carriages to visit the property. The sound of their voices was nothing short of echoes of support and excitement. Caden chose his bedroom like an excited small child. While still wanting to be a pirate so badly, he promised to come and visit often. Being so young, he was still figuring things out. There would always be a home for him if he changed his mind.

Later in the day, they toured the town. It was practically barren, waiting to be filled with the lives of more residents. About twenty people lived there now, and most of them were from humble means. Roman introduced himself as he passed them. Jane, being a bit more shy, stayed behind in the carriage and waved. In his words, he promised to bring life back to the town—more jobs, better food. In the coming weeks, he had his work cut out for him.

But perhaps the best part of the entire estate was that just 800 meters from the back of the house sat a cliff overlooking the ocean. Stone steps lead down to the pebbled shore—a perfect spot for his crew to stop and visit.

The boat that carried them from the dragon's mouth sat in the distance. Roman and Jane walked down the steps followed by Ahdar, Cortez, Rory, and Caden. The rest of the crew waved from from the sides of the ship in the distance.

“It’s blue! They painted it blue!?”, Jane gasped.

A whoosh of salty wind burned their cheeks as they watched Jane. She got closer to the ship. At the front of the boat was a blue-carved figurehead—a mermaid. Jane squinted as her bare feet sloshed through the pebbled water. She looked up at the ship, and then her eyes widened. In her image—her face—was carved into the mermaid.

“’T’was Roman’s idea if you hate it,” Adhar blurted.

Jane was in shock, her mouth hanging open as she stared up at the giant statue of herself. Then her hands found her mouth, and her eyes teared up.

“It’s good luck—a mermaid in your likeness to bring us luck and protect us. She even wears your talisman around her neck. See?” Rory pointed at the mermaid's necklace. There it was—somehow carved in and bolted into the statue was her talisman. A huge smile spread across her face. She gushed about how much she loved it.

On the side of the ship, a blue Bakunawa was carved, chasing a fish. The god itself—a representation of the trials they’d all been through. Through its mercy, they all lived another day. Officially called the Blue Bakunawa, it would sail the seas as the largest pirate vessel ever—a giant among ants. Blessed by Lady Jane Ramlal. The woman of Ramlal Manor. Lady Jane, of the Blue Bakunawa. The best thing that had ever happened to anyone aboard the Black Pearl. Imprinted on the black hearts of many pirates.

The goodbyes were teary. Jane didn’t want Caden to go. He unexpectedly got teary, too. Roman surprised him at the last minute by executing one of his final authorities as captain to appoint him an official crew member. Caden was a pirate. The young boy screamed with joy. His crewmates cheered.

The sun hid itself behind the horizon, going to sleep once more. It was getting late now. Roman took his pirate hat from his head and gently placed it on Adhar. For a moment, the young man did not register. And then he did.

Constant echoes of ‘Really, Captain?!’and ‘Are you sure, Captain?’ fell from his mouth. Fear and excitement clashed.

“You’ve served me well. I hope you find that girl in your journey east. I wish you all the luck. And when you get her back, bring her back here. We would love to meet her,” Roman chuckled. Adhar, still in shock, looked nothing short of a child as he nodded with exaggeration.

Rory picked Jane up and spun her around, as always. Sentimentally, he touched foreheads with Roman—a silent goodbye to two partners. Rory was his right hand, the man who did the hard jobs. A trusted friend.

Cortez and Adhar’s farewells were also surprisingly teary. Roman teased them for it. But then Jane lost it when Adhar hugged her. Understandably, this was hard. Adhar was yet another friend she’d come to know. He taught her sword fighting. They talked about London on numerous occasions and kept her company.

“I’m going to miss you. Write to me,” she sniffled.

“I will. I’ll be back soon, I promise. This time next year we’ll all come back. I’ll even drag William with me if I have to,” Adhar smile.

Roman grinned. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me and for her. You’ll make a great captain.” Adhar clapped a hand over Roman’s shoulder in appreciation.

Roman went on to thank Cortez for being such a fantastic helmsman. He steered the ship with iron hands and a remarkable knowledge of the sea and the monsters they faced. He was valued beyond measure. He got them back in one piece.

“A’right you mangy mutts. New change of plans. You’ll answer to Adhar now. I expect your presence at my dinner table in one year’s time. I order you lot to stay alive until then. Is that clear, you scallywags?!”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” the crew replied in unison. Their stances were rigid as they gave him a pirate salute—the swing of a palm towards the forehead. A final sign of respect.

Hundreds of hands and hats wagged and waved on the side of the Blue Bakunawa as the ship set sail once more. Roman and Jane waved their goodbyes as they watched their friends become smaller, and smaller, and smaller...and smaller.

“And then there were two,” Jane sniffled. She looked up at her husband with joyful, teary eyes, parting ways with the life of a pirate—a crew that had saved her long enough for her to find herself again.

“Two indeed. We have work to do, darling,” Roman quipped, giving her a swift kiss.

“You know what?”

“Mmm?”

“I think I know what my final wish will be,” she urged.

His eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked down at her determined face. “What is it?”

She sighed. “You said to use the wish on myself, but this is something I want. I want this now more than ever.”

“Okay...” he replied, waiting patiently. Her eyes closed as she leaned back into his chest.

“Uh... Dragon?” she called out.

A few moments later, a thunderous and regal voice responded. “What, child?”

“I’m ready to give you my last wish,” Jane blurted.

“...Go on,” said the dragon.

“I wish for our town—the town that Roman and I will build—to be a sanctuary for all misfits. For every ‘other.’ For every unprotected, unrepresented, undervalued person. A town that will share a real community. A town that does not steal from one another. A town that protects its women and children. A town of men with compassion and honor. A town with resources. Nobody will be needy. No one will want for anything. A town that is protected from hatred, prejudice, and disdain. Let this town grow in number and let us have enough housing to accommodate everyone. Let it attract those with open hearts. Allow this town to be a safe haven for all who may seek it. Grant good health to all those who live in this town. And most of all—let there be no evil force strong enough to penetrate it. Let this town be self-sustainable, resilient, and content,” she said.

When the dragon did not answer, she wondered if she had botched her wish. Roman could since her becoming nervous. She wanted quite a few things—surely it couldn’t count as one wish. Could it?

“It is done... goodbye,” said the ominous voice. It echoed and trickled away in the wind, just as Jane’s wish did. Now all that was left to do was watch it come to fruition.

Jane POV

Six months into building their town, Jane had realized a few things. She loved being a wife. She loved the flowers at the end of the week. She loved the candlelit dinners. She loved the authority; people called her Lady Jane or Seigneuress Ramlal. She loved wearing her ring on her finger. She loved the fact that Roman carried her last name. She loved it all.

She loved carpentry. Roman had built a wheat mill with his bare hands, along with the help of 20 other men. She had no idea that he had a background in carpentry and construction. He taught her the basics, allowing her to help along the way.

She fucking loved sex. She loved it so much it usually crossed her mind at least once a day. It was kind of ridiculous. Roman certainly didn’t mind. Her needs were met almost always on demand. It had become well known that all servants were to stay on their wing after 11 o’clock at night.

And last, she loved the friendships she was building. Not just any friendships—girl friendships! Mary was a frequent visitor, along with Charlotte. Three girls, cut from the same cloth, living a life they could be proud of. She never realized just how much they had in common, sharing stories by the fireplace over a bottle of wine, going on long walks on the estate until Ramlal Manor was the size of a dot, and sitting in the grass watching the horses graze. She had never felt the warmth of female friendship until now. Sure she had friends back in London but everybody had to work. There was no time to really bond. Now, She could talk about anything—no judgment. She told stories in detail, stories that would be far too painful for Roman to hear. They did the same, sharing memories—good and bad. There was no shame, only laughter and "me too's." It was comforting and recharging. She loved friendship.

People were coming to the town in droves. More buildings were being bult: farms, businesses, houses, apartments, theaters, taverns and more. The economy was growing and bursting. People needed jobs, and there were plenty to go around.

With much contemplation, she started writing to Aunt Jillian in Westminster, England. Jillian was one of the few relatives she had left. Most of her family in the islands had passed away. They exchanged letters over the span of four months. She wrote about Roman and how they met. She told the story of their love and the people she had come to know. She mentioned nothing of the dragons, monsters, or mysterious island. For now, it was all just "inheritance." She sent a sizable amount of money and planned to visit her family in the next few weeks to discuss relocating to a separate guest property on the estate. It was a relationship she was afraid to pursue, but Roman encouraged it when she brought it up over dinner. Jillian expressed how proud she was of her niece and was saddened that she hadn’t reached out sooner—a reminder to how one’s own suffering can cut them off from the world.

Money had the power to fuel generosity. Now, Jane could help people in ways that she couldn’t before. She couldn’t deny that it was somewhat self-serving; every donation felt like it healed something inside her. She thought back to all the times she wished someone would have come to her aid, all those nights she spent hungry, wondering if things would ever get better. She could be that glimmer of hope for someone.

She started sending money and letters to her old roommates in London with whom she had shared an apartment. It took weeks for them to respond out of skepticism. When they finally wrote back, they were convinced it was some scam and started asking her questions that only the "real Jane" could answer. She responded with precision. The next letter detailed their surprise and shock; they thought she was dead. A few days later, the eight of them were reunited as she convinced them to possibly move to her budding town. They all agreed to make the transition.

Roman had his own hobbies. He loved hunting with Arnaud and his gentleman friends. He enjoyed communing with his town members and made friends with the hardworking men at the mill. He loved reading in his office though Jane loved to interrupt him so that he could fulfill his “husbandly duties”. Roman tried his hand at growing his own tobacco to pair with his pipe collection, and it was a success; he raved about it all day long. Things were coming together well. They grew just as much as individuals as they would together.

While they sat in their dining room, Jane looked up at the portrait that Arnaud had painted of them. She loved it and often stopped to admire it as she passed through the house. As her fork pushed around her dinner, Roman noticed her distracted demeanor. “What’s on your mind? Does the food displease you?”

“No—no. It’s great. I’m just not as hungry.”

“What’s wrong?”

Jane paused for a moment. Was this really a good time? As understanding as he was, sometimes men got weird about these topics. He hadn’t brought it up, so she was taking a leap. “People around town have been asking me when I’m going to have a baby,” she blurted.

Roman paused mid-chew as he studied her face, a mix of light concern and surprise. She wanted to sink back into her seat. “Has this upset you? Who was it? I will have a talk with the—”

“No, no. I’m not upset at all. Besides, you know how middle-aged women can be sometimes. It’s natural for them to ask”, Jane insists.

“It does not have to be natural if you do not wish it,” he explained.

“I know—I understand. I think our life feels pretty full with just the two of us. I’m fulfilled. I’m happy with you all to myself. However, Eloise has changed my mind on a lot of things. She is very loved. I worry that my past would inhibit me from being a good mother.”

“I think if you care so deeply about being a good mother, then that’s usually a good indicator that you would indeed be a good mother,” Roman chuckled. Jane smiled.

“Well... what do you think? Should we?”

“I’m okay if we do. I’m okay if we don’t. After finding you, I feel no need to push my luck. If the innocence of a child is bestowed upon us, I will be most thankful for the privilege.”

“I think we should enjoy each other a bit longer. Maybe I’m selfish, but we’re due a few more years of just being husband and wife. Maybe it’s not in the cards. We’ve had a few accidents,” she shrugged.

“Is it an accident if you beg for it?” Roman scoffed. Jane laughed; he certainly had a point.

“Well… if it was going to happen, it would have happened by now.”

“You and I both know that a few accidents do not guarantee pregnancy. It takes consistency. If we really tried, it would be a everyday all day affair. The whole thing is very meticulous.”

“Have you not been meticulous?” she smirked.

“Negative. I can show you meticulous,” he warned. She shook her head playfully.

“How do you know all this anyway?” Jane squinted.

“I have plenty of fathers for friends. They give me unwarranted advice too. It’s not just you,” he snorted.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Roman pulled her chair closer to his. “Whatever future is ahead of us is a future fulfilled. I could ask for no more. I am incredibly lucky to have you.”

“And I you. I won’t push my luck. If it happens, it happens. If not, there is no loss. When we’re really ready, we will know,” she hummed.

“No loss whatsoever,” he agreed, placing a kiss on her temple.

A tap at the window alerted them. The two fell quiet, waiting for the sound again. Two more taps, and they stood up from the table. Roman walked over to the window and opened it. Jane followed closely behind as a cold draft wafted into the room. A tiny fluttering hoot called from the darkness, and the patter of tiny feet slapped against the balcony railing.

The hoot of two doves perched on the balcony called for their attention. They walked into the light, eyeing the couple.

Jane swooned. “Aww, what on earth are two doves doing all the way out here? Isn’t this a bit too close to the sea?”

“You know, I asked myself the same thing once, but then something really amazing happened,” Roman grinned.

“Let’s not question it then,” Jane smiled warmly.

The End.

Authors note: Well, there ya have it ! I would like to take this time to thank @sortudademais @2-muchsauce @joannasteez @thesamoanqueen @harmshake @fuffduff and many more for being so kind and making my writing experience such a pleasurable journey on this app. If you’ve sent me a kind message or interacted with this story, I Thankyou from the bottom of my heart. I cared so much about these characters. I hope I’ve done them justice.

Epilogue may be pending if I have something else to say but for the most part every end has been tied up. My next work in progress will feature Jey USO and it will be a surfer story so stay tuned for that. Thank you for reading. Reblogs always help but most importantly, tell me what you thought of the story if you’d like. It really makes writing all the more worth it. Bye for now! ❤️

#roman reigns #wwe #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x reader #the tribal chief #wwe smackdown #roman reigns au #the head of the table #lotbb

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bijouxcarys · 3 months ago

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

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: My favourite chapter thus far. Really hope you enjoy this one... I feel like it's been a long-time coming lol. Make sure to let me know your thoughts, etc... Any questions are greatly appreciated! I like interacting with you all, even if I do take a minute to reply hehe. Enjoy!

Tags: @trippinsorrows @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup

(let me know if you want to be tagged in future Roman fics)

Nate stood at the base of her Tribeca high-rise, the cool evening breeze doing little to soothe the heat around her neck. Pure tension. Stress. She was a tough cookie, sure, but the constant vigilance required in the Volkov family took its toll.

Tonight, she needed a break, a moment to herself before she had to put on her mask again at the auction this weekend. She craved the solace her apartment usually provided, a minimalistic refuge from… well, from everything else.

The lobby was quiet, the only sound being her heels echoing against the floor. Acknowledging the doorman with a curt nod, heading towards the elevators near the back. It was always in her best interest to not form any kind of relationship with the staff in the building. This was her time to be alone. The more obscure she was, the better.

Then again, forming a connection with someone like Natalka Volkov was synonymous with signing off on your own death warrant.

Even though the apartment was technically hers, and under her name legally, it was still a Volkov property in essence, acquired only through Dimitri’s permission when she turned 21. And when a property is associated with the most powerful mob boss in New York City… personal touches are out of the question.

Don’t leave anything that could help anyone trace it back to you.

Don’t let yourself be known.

Don’t give it away.

Don’t… be your own person.

Years of meticulous planning and cautious maneuvering, however, had taught Nate how to live under the radar of her family’s scrutiny.

She was acutely aware that the Volkovs had co-opted the building’s security, ensuring they had constant access to CCTV footage and details of all residents. But Nate was no amateur. She’d grown up in this life, for God’s sake. She knew how to navigate such… constraints.

At one point, she managed to reroute the security cameras in her apartment, looping the same few hours of footage. But she eventually had to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t foolproof, and someone would figure out what she was doing. So she ended up enlisting the help of two people who knew her deal, knew her family, and knew her. A quick word to her close friend, Lana, and her husband, and she was in business.

They had painstakingly compiled a convincing collection of footage from her apartment at various times of the day, creating a realistic feed to fool even the most watchful eye. Boom. Problem solved.

As Nate stepped out of the elevator and made her way down the hallway, an unease instantly settled in the pit of her stomach when she clocked the view of the door to her penthouse apartment.

It was ajar.

Her senses sharpened immediately, and she paused. Of course, the one moment I get to just chill the fuck out for a minute, and this shit happens…

She reached into her black jeans, fingers wrapping around the handle of her pocket knife. Flipping it open with precise motion, she held it behind her back as she cautiously approached the door.

Step 1: Analyse the break-in.

Upon initial inspection, it was clear that whoever had made their way into her apartment knew how to pick a lock. And well. Nate had never seen such a clean pick before. Not only that, but a small nudge with her foot revealed the chain behind the door had been cut. A sleek, sharp, precise job. Right down the middle.

Step 2: Touch as little as possible upon entry.

She slipped inside, refraining from opening the door entirely, and scanned the apartment with her eyes.

Step 3: Figure out the nature of the intrusion.

Everything was in place. No sign of struggle, or theft. The PS5 under the 52” TV mounted on the wall in the living room was in the same place as she left it. The priceless family heirlooms dotted around on shelves and walls in the hallways were untouched. Almost like… nobody had been there at all.

The silence was unnerving. Each second stretched out.

Step 4: There isn’t a step fucking 4, what is this, an instruction class?

Thanks, Dad, that one was really helpful…

“Whoever is in here, make yourself known in the next 5 seconds, or I swear to God I’ll cut out your fucking tongue!” she took the risk of calling out, stripping her voice of emotion and taking on the well-rehearsed tone of Dimitri.

The apartment, however, remained silent, tension thickening with every breath.

It all came to a head when Nate stepped through into the kitchen, her heart jolting, and damn near giving her a heart attack.

“What the fuck?!”

Rhea turned slowly, her lips curling into a little smirk. “Seriously?” she glanced down. “A fucking pocket knife?”

“Who are you, the fucking boogeyman—why’d you have to be so fucking creepy?!” Nate’s voice came out sharper than she intended as she slammed the knife down on the kitchen island.

“I needed to see you.”

“What, and you couldn’t just text me? You had to break into my apartment like a fucking serial killer?”

“Do serial killers break into people’s apartments?” Rhea raised an eyebrow, turning fully on her heel with her hands tucked into her front pockets.

“Wh—I don’t bloody know, Rhea, why are you here? And how did you know I was gonna be here?” Nate sighed, taking a deep breath from the scare.

Rhea’s smirk widened. “Nate… it may have been a long time, but I still know you better than you know yourself.” She began to move around the room, her gaze sweeping over the minimalistic decor. “You always did need your space from time to time… You’ve always been a recluse.” She paused at the counter beside the oven, spinning and leaning back against it. Her arms folded, and her perfect brows narrowed slightly.

“What I didn’t peg you as, though, was a fucking traitor.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly as Nate felt the meaning behind Rhea’s words sink in. “Rhea, I d–”

“I don’t need any bullshit right now, Volkov,” she snapped icily. “My right-hand, my confidante, my best friend, is dead because of someone in that bloody warehouse.”

Rhea was never one to openly communicate such raw emotion. Vulnerability wasn’t her forte, as some would say. Nate was potentially one of the few people in Rhea’s life that had seen it, which also meant she knew when she was withholding it. And the way Rhea’s mouth twitched and her nostrils flared a fraction… God, it was chilling.

“It’s torn us apart,” the Australian continued. “Finn, JD… they’ve been going off at night. Come back in the morning smashed out their gourds. Dom Dom’s become a-a fuckin’... I don’t know, a child. Disinterested in figuring this shit out, avoiding any confrontation.”

Nate pulled her mouth into a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, well, Mysterio’s never had balls big enough for that, has h–”

“Don’t you start on my Dom, alright?” Rhea’s blue eyes locked onto Nate’s; a kind of warning sign to shut the fuck up… Mami is not in the mood, it seems…

“Rhea, I had nothing to do with Damian’s death,” she said sternly.

The stare-off was intense. Long. It wasn’t in the books to be blamed for Damian’s death, let alone by Rhea Ripley herself.

“I… am not ruling out the possibility that it was your family,” she said finally. “If I find out it was you,” her jaw tightened, “or if you had… any part in this, I swear…”

“You swear you’ll do what?” Nate’s response was automatic, a defensive reflex. She squared up, straightening her posture and lifting her chin in provocation.

Rhea’s eyes hardened, mirroring Nate’s stance. “I will make sure, on the soul of Priest, that you… and everyone you have ever cared about pays.” She placed her hands on the kitchen island and leaned in. “I won’t stop until I’ve torn your world to pieces. Starting with little Katerina.”

Nate clenched her jaw, swallowing harshly as she felt her own muscles twitch—telling her, commanding her, to raise her hand, to slap Rhea into next week. But she remained still.

“Very scary, Rhea,” she managed to calmly utter. “But it wasn’t us. We’re not that stupid.”

Rhea’s gaze bored into her, searching for any hint of deception. Slowly, she seemed to relax, though the mistrust didn’t completely leave her eyes. “Alright, Nate. I’ll take your word for now. But know this,” she pointed her index and middle finger towards her face. “I’ll be watching.”

“Good,” Nate replied, accompanied with a sour smile. “Now can you get the fuck out of my apartment?”

The eradicator’s smirk returned as she headed for the door. “You know, I always liked that spunk, Natalka,” she commented, winking at Nate over her shoulder.

Despite herself, Nate felt a small smile tugging at her lips. But she was very swift to push it back into her face, running her tongue over her teeth.

Complicated histories induce complicated feelings.

Just before Rhea left entirely, Nate did call after her with a slightly softer resolve. “I really am sorry… about Damian.”

Rhea paused at the doorway, her back to Nate. She didn’t turn around, but she nodded slightly. “Thanks,” she murmured, and then she was gone.

Rubbing her temples, she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to keep her wits about her, stay sharp, dump the self-pity she had a history of wallowing in.

Besides, she had other things to worry about. Other things she needed to put her energy into. Sure, it stung to be suspected of such betrayal, especially by someone she had such a rich history with, but she really did need to focus. Review plans for the auction. Make a headstart on bringing justice for her mother.

Look into the man she swore to bring down.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

There was a promise of rain in the Manhattan sky as Nate sat in tense silence, eyes fixed on the cityscape gliding past the window of the SUV. Boris was seated next to her, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored suit, and casting her sidelong glances every now and then. His attempts at small talk had been met with cold indifference, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

“Prekrasnoye plat’ye,” he hummed with a slight lean. “Brings out your eyes.”

Nate didn’t bother to reply, only to deposit a glance of her own down at her dress. Her mind was elsewhere. She knew this auction was important, but it really was just another chore for her. Dimitri’s reiteration of his orders before Boris arrived at the house were clear—acquire the weapons, keep an eye on Boris, and most importantly, don’t cause a scene. That little defiant streak in her bristled at the final order. Wanted to defy the notion of not causing a scene. But it wasn’t an option—not when there were such tensions mounting between her family, The Judgement Day, and The Bloodline. It kept repeating in her head: let Reigns announce we took the shipment. He knows they did it, and they’ll pay for it…

The car came to a halt outside Grand Central Terminal. Boris was quick to step out, offering Nate his hand. She ignored it, slipping out of the road-side of the vehicle and adjusting the deep green silk dress that clung to her curves. The slit running up her thigh allowed for much easier movement, though she hated how it made her feel like a display item at one of these auctions.

“Natalka?” Boris said, an edge of impatience creeping into his voice.

Nodding curtly, Nate followed him through the grand entrance of the terminal. The main concourse was as busy as ever, but their destination was far from the prying eyes of tourists and commuters. They made their way to a hidden entrance near The Campbell Bar, a restored 1920s-era cocktail lounge that served as a front for tonight’s event.

The bar’s luxurious interior—dark wood panelling, vintage leather chairs, and dim lighting—set the tone for the evening. They were greeted by a tall, stern-looking man who eyed them both before nodding and stepping aside to reveal a stairwell leading down to the auction room.

The room below was a stark contrast to the opulence above. It was an intimate, dimly lit space, with the rich and powerful of New York’s underworld already seated around a series of tables, discussing the illicit goods that would soon be up for bid.

Nate’s eyes swept across the room, assessing each figure. She recognised some of them—arms dealers, drug lords, and corrupt politicians. Others were new faces, potential threats she needed to keep in mind.

Boris loved to play up to the people—to play the part of the doting gentleman. He guided Nate to their reserved seats right near the front. Eyes landed on her as they passed through the crowd, men noting her presence, women sizing her up. But she was used to this—the scrutiny, the judgement. It all slid off her like water off a duck’s back.

The auctioneer, a slim man with slicked-back hair and a sharp suit, took his place on the small stage at the front of the room, tapping the microphone to get everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began with a smoothly practised cadence, “we have some exceptional items up for bid tonight. But first, let’s start with something a little closer to home…”

The first few items were standard fare—high-end jewellery, rare art pieces, a couple of luxury vehicles. All of them stolen goods with tampered mileage and licence plates, of course. Nothing that caught Nate’s interest. She waited patiently, though, knowing the real reason for their presence was still to come.

Finally, the auctioneer reached the point of the evening that had everyone leaning forward in their seats.

“And now, for those of you with more… unique tastes,” he said with a knowing smile, “we present a collection of belt-buckle knives and sword canes, custom-made and perfect for those unexpected moments when a more subtle touch is required.”

Nate felt Boris shift next to her, a greedy glint in his eyes. This was what they were here for. She watched as the auctioneer’s assistants brought out the weapons, displaying them with care. The room buzzed with mumbles and murmurs as the bidding began.

Her mind was sharp, calculating each move. She noted who was bidding, how high they were willing to go, and when it seemed as if the bid couldn’t go higher, that was when they’d sweep in. Whenever Boris raised his paddle to bid, she shot him a quick glance, subtly signalling her validation. He nodded, understanding her cue. They usually had limits, but that wasn’t the case tonight. Dimitri wanted those knives, and he would get them.

As the bids climbed higher, nearing six digits, Nate took a moment to survey the room again. She wanted to know who had given up on their bids and who still had the money to continue. But that’s when she saw it. Noticed it. The familiar face in the crowd—tall, imposing, and stood towards the back. In the shadows.

Roman Reigns.

Her heart skipped a beat, her crossed legs stiffening under the mask of her dress. What the hell is he doing here?

The golden-green of her eyes shot through the darkness in which he presided, when his own gaze landed on her, the recognition in them too stark not to notice. He knew the Volkovs would be there. Had to—why else wouldn’t he react similarly to how she was? Or maybe he was and he was just fucking good at hiding it. At least she was wearing a dress to cover up how tense her muscles became.

“195,000!”

As the bidding war intensified, Nate’s focus snapped back to the auction. Boris was still in the game, thank God, his hand raised as the numbers climbed higher and higher. But her mind was now divided, half on the auction, and half on Roman.

“205,000!”

Why is he here? What is he after? Why isn’t he bidding?

“Sold! For $230,000 to bidder number 13!”

Boris won the bid just as Nate’s thoughts began to spiral. The gavel came down with a resounding thud, and a smattering of spiteful applause broke out in the room. Boris turned to her with a smug grin, clearly pleased with himself.

“See? Easy,” he whispered, leaning in a little too close for comfort.

Nate forced a little smile, but she was already thinking ahead. The auction wasn’t over, but her attention was no longer on the weapons they’d just won for Dimitri. She needed to know what Roman was doing there, and more importantly, if it had anything to do with the shipment.

As the next item was brought to the stage, she glanced back to where Roman had been standing, but he was gone. Her pulse quickened. The unease settled in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t even care about the additional illicit items that were put up for bid. Boris was completely oblivious to her almost frantic scan of the room, probably taking a moment to stroke his own ego at the win. Even if it was a given, and money bore no issue.

Suddenly, the lights flickered—a brief pulse of darkness that sent a murmur through the crowd. Nate stiffened once again, her instincts screaming at her that something was seriously wrong.

And then it happened.

The room plunged into darkness, the auctioneer’s voice cutting off mid-sentence. The dim emergency lights kicked on, casting an eerie red glow over the room. People began shifting uneasily in their seats, some even rising to leave.

“Uh—apologies, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer tried to project his voice over the switched-off microphone. He leaned back to talk to someone, presumably asking what the fuck was going on. “It seems there’s been a bit of a technical difficulty, just bear with us…”

“Stay here,” Nate hissed at Boris, already pushing up from her chair.

“But—” Boris began, but Nate was already moving, slipping through the crowd during their none-the-wiser confusion. Some people were clogged near the exit, their natural instincts telling them they had to leave, but Nate wasn’t heading that way.

“You!” Nate spun to see another man in a perfect suit. “You’ve been here before, right?”

She raised an eyebrow, and nodded slowly. “Yeah…”

“You know where the fuse box is? I gotta keep everyone under control.”

“What do I look like, a janitor?”

“Will you just go check on it?”

Nate sighed, realising that doing this simple, tedious favour for a stranger would be synonymous with Dimitri’s order of not causing a scene.

“Yeah, I’ll handle it.”

She did, in fact, know exactly where the fuse box was. It wasn’t too many years ago where she was instructed to switch the damn thing off in order to secure an item without bidding for it. Play the role of a ditsy woman who didn’t know any better once someone saw her standing near it.

As she navigated the darkened corridors towards the fuse box, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Being alone down here, in such strange circumstances. None of it just seemed right to her.

She turned a corner and nearly collided with someone in the narrow hallway. As the faint, red emergency lights flickered, she found herself face-to-face with none other than the exact man she was so unnerved seeing earlier on.

They froze, staring at each other for a moment that felt like an eternity. Neither of them had met in person before, but they knew each other by reputation. God, did they know of each other… Roman’s family may have been less familiar with the Volkov family, minus Tamina who literally knew everything, but he knew as much as he needed to. Research and all.

For Nate, the anger was instant. Being this close to the man responsible for not only Damian’s death, but for her family missing out on a prime shipment of goods. Words evaded her momentarily, and she took an instinctual step backwards.

“What are you doing here?” Nate snapped sharply.

He smirked a little, rocking back on his heels. “Thought I’d check out this wonderful place y’all got here—”

“Don’t bullshit me, Reigns, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Whatever was left of the smile on Roman’s face instantly faltered, and his eyes became icy, cold, narrowed with frustration. “Listen, Princess, I ain’t here to pull shit… Unlike your family, I have some con—”

“Unlike my family?” Nate huffed, pointing to herself. “What, the family that your family fucked over?”

“Think I’m just gon’ spill my business to you, Volkov?” He let out a rueful chuckle, running his hand over his beard.

“Yes, actually,” Nate folded her arms, pursing her lips. “When it involves getting screwed by some sloppy amateurs, yeah…” She squinted her eyes slightly up at the over 6ft Samoan. “...I think you should spill your business.”

Roman’s eyebrows raised a little, slightly taken aback at how bold this… little girl in front of him seemed to be. How she just carelessly called The Bloodline sloppy amateurs. Impressed wouldn’t be the correct word here, but the correct one was floating nearby it. It still pissed him off to no end that she thought she could speak to him like that.

“You got some fuckin’ nerve,” he grumbled, jaw clenching.

Nate smirked, amused at the fact she clearly managed to creep under his skin, even if only a little bit. “Y’know, people speak, Reigns. I’ve heard a lot about you, and not only from my father.”

Tilting his head to the side, Roman gauged her tone. Smug. Provocative in all the wrong ways. “Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean, Princess?”

“It means I didn’t expect to be able to anger you so easily, Mr Head of the Table…” The smirk on her face turned pitiful. It almost bordered on a pout, mocking his very existence through the red hue of the corridor.

She watched with great interest as his features twisted, neck craning through an attempt to subdue the inevitable outburst that bubbled up within his chest. He couldn’t make a move on her. Couldn’t bash her pretty little head against the breeze block wall inches to their left. It would be the stupidest decision he’d ever make. He would be dealt with… irreparably.

She chuckled, stepping back again to lean against the wall opposite him. “So let’s cut the shit,” she started, her face dropping neutrally. “I think we both know why you’re really at an underground auction. And it’s not to admire the architecture.”

Okay, she’s good, she’s good… Roman found himself stunned—for a microsecond, but it still happened nonetheless. The last thing he expected was to confront Natalka Volkov tonight; Tamina was very thorough with what the best cause of action would be. As much as he desperately wanted to take the abduction route, to use Dimitri Volkov’s precious daughter as a pawn to get his half of the shipment back… He had to trust that Tamina knew enough about the Volkovs to know that taking Natalka hostage would be the least helpful solution.

He just didn’t expect the girl to square up to him verbally.

But as encumbered as his thoughts were in that moment, they were fleeting, and he was able to respond almost immediately.

“Damn right it ain’t to admire the architecture—I came to take back what’s mine.”

“And what exactly is it that you claim is yours?”

Seriously? “You gon’ ask me that? You really gon’ stand there in front of me, and ask me a dumb fuckin’ question when you know exactly what I’m talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Well, maybe you should tell me what you’re talking ab–”

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout my half of that damn shipment!” He hissed through gritted teeth.

Nate scrunched her brows up, pushing herself up from the wall. “Oh, the shipment that you took?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Volkov, if I had that shit, do you really think I’d be stood here talkin’ to your ass right now?”

“And if I had it, do you think I’d be down here, looking for a fucking fuse box so I can get the fuck out of here, let alone talking to you?”

“Oh, so it’s just a coincidence that you’re here with your fiancé, at a fuckin’ auction, right after a whole ass shipment disappears—you people really need to work on your stories, ‘cus they suck.”

“You people? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you people,” he finally took a hefty step towards her, “you, your daddy, your uncles, and whoever else the Russians fuck with these days.”

Nate refused to back down. She wasn’t about to be ridiculed, talked down to, accused, by someone like Roman fucking Reigns.

“Okay, big man, let’s say we did take the shipment and kill off The Judgement Day’s VP—we didn’t—but let’s just say we did for a second…” her voice dropped to a confident, patronising hum. “The last thing I’d be doing is wandering around New York with little to no protection, present at an auction if a shipment of weapons we stole was being put up.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Ugh,” she groaned, running her hand over her face. “My dad wanted this collection of knives, Reigns, we aren’t here to sell a shipment of heavy-duty weaponry. Y’know… the weapons you stole.” She added through a mumble.

“We didn’t steal shit, Volkov,” he barked.

“Well if you didn’t, then who the fuck did?!” Nate flung her arms up. “It sure as fuck wasn’t us, it had to have been you!” Alright, rein it in a little, Nate, don’t let your emotions get the better of you…

Roman’s fists clenched at his sides, rolling his shoulders. “You really expect me to believe you had nothin’ to do with it?”

“We’re not that stupid.” Four words, each punctuated like a stab in the ribs. “I cannot think of a single reason why we would ambush our own shipment and take out an ally.”

Roman then took a smaller step towards Nate, the space between them shrinking to almost nothing. “Maybe you wanted more than what was agreed.”

Nate’s heart pounded in her chest. “Maybe you were looking for an excuse to clean house. Blame us, take over… Call it retribution.”

The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t born of hostility. It was the silence of two people realising that the pieces of the puzzle they’d been trying to force together didn’t fit, no matter how hard they pushed. Nate’s gaze faltered for a fraction of a second, a moment of hesitation that she immediately regretted.

Finally, needing to break the tension and get away from the confusing mess of thoughts swirling around in her head, Nate took a step back. “I’m checking the fuse box,” she said, the words coming out sharper than the words that started the conversation. “If you want to keep playing detective, be my fucking guest, Reigns.”

She turned on her heel without waiting for a response, leaving Roman alone with his own puzzled thoughts on who was to blame.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Roman was expecting—no, hoping—to come home to a silent house. Too much had happened over the past few hours, he really needed time to just… exist. Try to regain composure, a semblance of cognitive power, to figure out what the fuck he was going to do.

It wasn’t that he believed Natalka Volkov when she insisted her family had nothing to do with Priest’s assassination, or the disappearing shipment. As she loved to remind him, one could not be so stupid. But he’d be a liar if he said some of her points didn’t… make sense.

When Roman stepped inside, he was met with the muffled sound of voices coming from the living room. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before heading in. The sight that greeted him wasn’t what he wanted after the night he’d had. Tamina was in the kitchen, packing up her laptop, looking more frustrated than he’d ever seen her.

“You’re still here?” he asked, the edge in his voice suggesting it was more of a lament than a question.

Tamina looked up with tired eyes. “It’s like tryin’ to find a needle in a stack of fucking needles.” She closed her laptop with a soft thud, rubbing her temples. “Closest I got is a fucking liquor store’s CCTV across from the Volkov’s warehouse in Queens. Not much to go on, though.”

Roman sighed, running a hand over his face. “I appreciate it… but if there’s nothin’ solid, we’ll just… regroup tomorrow or somethin’.”

She gave him a curt nod, gathering her things. “Alright. Just don’t do anything rash, we still don’t know who’s pullin’ the strings here.”

“I know,” Roman muttered, though his thoughts were already a tangled mess of plans, suspicions, and dead ends. “Thanks, ‘Mina.”

Just as Tamina was packing up, the unmistakable sound of boisterous laughter erupted from the next room. Roman’s shoulders slumped in exasperation. Of course, they’re still here too…

He found them sprawled out on his sectional, their energy levels somehow still through the roof, even at this hour. Jey was flipping through channels like he was searching for something he’d never find, while Jimmy was narrating some ridiculous plan about how they should handle the Volkovs.

“Bruh, I’m tellin’ you, we gotta roll up on ‘em, catch ‘em slippin’!” Jimmy grinned, throwing an uppercut in the air.

Roman leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, exhaustion dripping from every pore. “Y’all ever go home?” he grumbled, though it was clear the question was nothing short of rhetorical.

“Home? Uce, you know this is home,” Jey replied with a wide grin, finally landing on some late-night talk show that neither of them would actually watch.

Roman gave him a flat look. “Funny. Real funny.” He walked further into the room, lowering himself onto the opposite end of the couch with a weary grunt.

“You find out what went down at that auction?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Roman resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing his attempt to deter wouldn’t be enough.

“Come on, man, you know we gotta know!” Jimmy chimed in, sitting up and looking at his cousin eagerly. “We can help, you know we got your back.”

Roman huffed heavily, rubbing at the back of his neck. He knew they meant well, but right now, their relentless energy level was the last thing he needed.

“Fine,” he relented sharply. “Natalka Volkov swears they didn’t take the shipment–”

“Damn, you actually talked to he–”

“She claims they’re just as in the dark as we are. And she was pretty damn convincing…”

Jey whistled low, exchanging a look with Jimmy. “So what, you think someone else is playin’ both sides?”

“Could be,” Roman replied, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. “But I don’t trust her. Could just be another angle she’s working.”

Jimmy leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Man, we should just storm their warehouse, make ‘em talk. They can’t hide from us. You need–”

“What I need is quiet. Not a couple of hyperactive idiots who think they can solve everything with some half-baked, adrenaline-fuelled idea.”

“Okay, but hear me out–”

Roman cut him off with a sharp glare. “Enough.”

The room went silent, the energy dampening as Roman’s tone shifted from annoyed to outright deadly. “You think I haven’t thought of it all already? You think I’m playin’ with some amateurs here?”

“Chill, Uce,” Jey said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We just tryna help.”

“I don’t need help. I need you both to leave,” Roman snapped, the fatigue in his voice barely masking the anger simmering underneath. “Now.”

The Usos exchanged another look, this one less amused. They could tell Roman was done, and for once, they didn’t push back.

“Alright, alright, we’re gone,” Jimmy said, getting up. “But just say the word, and we’re there.”

“Yeah,” Jey added, grabbing his phone from the table and patting Roman on the shoulder. “We got your back, Uce.”

Roman didn’t respond, just watched as they finally made their way to the door, their presence a lingering buzz in his already overworked mind.

As the door clicked shut behind them, he let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. The silence in the house settled around him like a blanket, but instead of comfort, all he felt was the weight of everything that happened—and everything that still needed to be done.

Finally, he allowed himself to sink into the couch, closing his eyes, trying to shut out the world for just a few minutes. But even in the quiet, all he could think about was how… wrong everything felt. He wasn’t sure who was telling the truth, wasn’t sure who was lying to his face, or who might already have a knife aimed at his back.

He just knew he was too damn tired to figure it out tonight.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d sort this shit out. But tonight… The man just needed a few hours of sleep.

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harknessxo · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter XIV ✦ Don’t You Give Me Up

Paring; Rhea Ripley x Roman Reigns

Summary: Rhea is recovering.

Warnings; fluff and maybe a bit of angst?

Word Count: 5.8k

Playlist

Masterlist

A/n: I got death threats for that last chapter so this chapter is hopefully a peace offering 😅

Time has passed and yet, Liv was still processing everything that had occurred as she sat in the hospital bed with a cast on her leg.

All she could hear from outside her room were a few people arguing- all that she could make out were Raquel, Roman, and Damian’s voices. She only curled up, trying to ignore the conversation, though she could still hear a bit of what was going on.

“I was right there- I could’ve stopped her—“

“Roman, for fuck’s sake, she could’ve went anyways. Even if you, me, or Damian tried to stop her, she still would’ve gone to save Liv. This is Rhea that we’re talking about.”

“Look Reigns, Raquel’s right. That’s the way Rhea is. Same deal with me, Finn, and Dom. She’s exactly like that with the people she cares about.”

She had no other choice than to listen on until the voices slowly faded. After a while, she suddenly heard a knock on her door. Blinking, she lifted her head and wondered who it was. While visiting hours weren’t exactly over, she didn’t think anyone would come and see her at this time. Sure, maybe Bianca, Becky, or even Raquel, but she didn’t expect anyone to see her still.

She sat up on the bed before she then heard the door open and upon looking who came in, it was Dom.

“Dom?” She blurted out, a bit surprised that Dom out of all people would come and see her.

“Hey- I didn’t think anyone came to check on you, so I figured I would.”

“Oh…” She only said as Dom closed the door while he took a seat near her.

“So… how are you?”

“I’m… fine, I guess.” She only said as she looked down at her leg. “I’m gonna be out for another week. The damage wasn’t that much on my leg, but they wanted me out for a bit… again.”

“Well, if it makes you any better… I’m not sure if you even want to know, Rhea’s recovering as we speak. But… the doctors don’t know when she’s going to wake up.” Dom told her. This caught her attention as she raised her head at him.

“Wait, what do you mean…?”

“She… she was almost admitted to the ICU. Her breathing was compromised.” He explained to her as Liv listened. “But they managed to save her. It could take a day or even a few until she wakes up though. She took a lot of smoke inhalation and didn’t take a moment to breathe oxygen for an extended period of time, so it might take a while until she wakes up. But she’s okay right now.”

Liv gazed at him as he said this. She then looked down at her lap, guilt invading her senses as she exhaled. “It was all my fault…”

“Liv, come on…”

“It was.” She choked out. “She used to feel weak because I was around. That’s why she left me.”

“Liv… she would’ve done the same for anyone she cares about.” Dom told her. “She would’ve done anything to make sure that you live. She’s like that with everyone she cares about. Me, Damian, Finn… hell, even Raquel. It’s always been like that. She’s always been this way. You know that. You also know her better than anyone.”

At this rate, tears ran down her cheeks as Dom said all of this. She wiped them away as she sniffled. “I loved her so much.”

“I know. Me too.” Dom mumbled, giving her a sympathetic look. “And she loved us.”

The two remained silent for a bit as she wiped her tears away, taking a small breath as she calmed down for a bit while she looked down once again. “Well… at least you still have a chance.” She told him. “I mean, I’m sure you’re a great guy and that she’s definitely into you. I just hope that you care for her as much as I did…”

“Yeah well, about that…” Dom began as he looked down at his hands before he spoke. “You’re telling that to the wrong person.”

At that, Liv paused as she blinked in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“You should tell that to Roman when you see him.” He told her as he shared a look with her.

“Hold on- wait, wait, wait.” Liv immediately paused him as she gave Dom a look. “Roman?”

“Yep.”

“THE Roman Reigns? As in the three-year champ Roman?”

“Yep.”

“… holy shit, so Raquel was right.” Liv leaned back on her pillow in shock. “How long has it been going on…?”

“Well… for a while. Ever since they made the deal between Judgement Day and the Bloodline.” Dom explained while he shifted in his seat. At that, Liv looked at him in shock.

“Oh damn. I’m so sorry- I didn’t know—“

“Oh, no, it’s okay. Rhea and I are cool now.” He quickly told and reassured the blonde. “Well, even after everything that went down, we still ended things on good terms. I mean… as long as she’s happy, I’m happy too. And plus, I’m starting to think that she’s probably in love with him now, even if she denies it.”

“… so she’s in denial about it?”

“Yeah. She is.”

“Well, fuck.” She almost scoffed while rubbing her face. “And him?”

“Well, if you ever get the chance to do so- that is, if you haven’t already-, just look at the way that he looks at her. Trust me, it’ll tell you everything that you need to know about how he feels.”

“So you’re telling me that the Tribal Chief is head over heels for Rhea?”

“Yep. He is.” Dom gave a nod, all the while Liv rubbed her head, completely stunned by the information that she was told.

“… I missed out on a lot, holy shit.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you’re in rehab for too long. No offense, by the way.”

“Okay, first of all, you know who to blame for sending me to rehab again,” She scoffed at him while he only raised his hands in defense. “And two, I need to catch up because this is way too much information for me to consume.”

“Well, I might stick around here for a little bit.” He said as he looked at the time on his phone. “And plus, it wouldn’t hurt to interact?”

Liv seemed to ponder over the idea before she considered it. “Eh, sure, hit me. I’m not sleepy yet, so you can stay for as long as you like and chat.”

“Okay then, what do you want to know first?”

It was already past midnight as Raquel was beginning to feel sleepy. She volunteered to take a ride along with Damian and Finn back to the hotel after visiting Rhea at her room for the last time that night. However, there was a small change of plans when Damian was on a phone call before he hung up and approached her.

“Hey, I’ll see you guys in the morning probably.” He told Finn and Raquel. “We have a small issue.”

“What’s wrong?” Finn asked as they both faced Damian.

“It’s Roman. He doesn’t want to leave. Solo and Jimmy are trying to convince him to go back to the hotel and get some rest, but he doesn’t want to. They want me to talk to him.”

“What? Where is he right now?” Raquel asked.

“Rhea’s room. Apparently he wanted to stay to make sure that she’s alright.”

“Oh you’ve got to be… can I go and talk some sense into him too?” Raquel asked as she huffed while Damian raised a hand up.

“By all means, be my guest.”

“Good. Let’s go. Finn, can you wait for us or are you coming?”

“I’ll come too.” Finn nodded as the three decided to head to where Rhea’s room was at. Standing outside were both Jimmy and Solo as they spoke to each other before they noticed the other three.

“Alright man, look… he’s our cousin and all, but someone needs to talk some sense into him.” Jimmy told them as he sighed. “He thinks that she’s gonna die any second and he looks worried sick.”

“Even Nia’s on her way here to talk him out.” Solo commented. At that, everyone’s expressions changed.

“Nia? Seriously?”

“Yeah, she called and asked me about him.” Solo told them.

“Well, how bad is it? Is he actually refusing to leave?”

“He’s threatening to fight me if we don’t step back.” Jimmy said as he sighed deeply. “That’s how bad it is…”

“Well, here’s what we can do.” Damian said. “I’ll go talk to him. Raquel, when Nia arrives, you talk to her, then you have her come in and see if we can get Roman out. I would rather prefer you talking to Nia first especially after the shit that she almost pulled at Crown Jewel.”

“Don’t worry, I can handle her. I’ve handled her before, I can definitely handle her again.” Raquel reassured the group before she turned to Solo. “How far is she right now?”

“She just texted, she’s parking right now.” He told her as he looked down at his phone while she nodded.

“Okay, I’ll be down to talk to her. Be right back.” She rushed off while Damian turned to Solo, Jimmy, and Finn.

“Just stay here-or if you guys want, just meet us back at the parking lot. I’ll handle this.” He then turned to the door as he went ahead and opened it before he walked in. When he did, that was when he saw Rhea who was still unconscious, yet slowly recovering, laying on the hospital bed with an IV and an oxygen mask on her mouth. Beside her sat Roman, with his hand holding hers as he looked like he was going to sleep any second now.

Damian didn’t say a word as he closed the door behind him slowly. He then stood there, watching as the other male still held Rhea’s hand, his thumb caressing her knuckles.

“I should’ve stopped her.” He said; sensing Damian’s presence inside the room, which really didn’t surprise him. “If only I didn’t ignore her that much…”

“… none of us would’ve been able to stop her, Reigns.” Damian told him as he took a seat. “Not even I would’ve been able to, at least. But she’s fine now. It’s all over. She’s gonna be okay, all she has to do now is recover and wake up.”

“She almost died, Priest.” Roman immediately said to him, his voice only slightly louder before he spoke normally. “She almost died on my watch. If Dom and I didn’t find her and Liv on time, she…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence as he rubbed his face, trying to hold back his urge to cry while letting out a sharp exhale. “I know you told me to keep my distance from her, and I know that she wants some space right now, but…”

“You love her.” Damian quickly said, his voice understanding rather than sharp and serious like certain times. “You do care about her. A lot.” He shifted in his seat so he could turn his body completely to face him. “Look… all I want is the best for her. But of course, I’ll admit, you both need to talk things through at some point. And if I’m being honest here, if I were you, when Rhea gets out of this… don’t wait any longer. Talk to her.”

Roman remained unspoken as he looked down, still holding Rhea’s hand as both him and Damian looked at her unconscious form. The two of them hoped that she would wake up sooner than anticipated. Damian sighed before he walked out of the room to see if Nia had arrived yet.

Roman took the opportunity to finally let the tears fall. Her weakened state hurt him more than any punch he had taken in the ring. He squeezed her hand before he began to speak.

“Why would you put yourself at risk? We could have lost you- I could have lost you. What if I never got to tell you that…I love you? I’ve fallen head over heels for you and the only thing you've done is push me away. I know you’re scared and so was I but life is way too short and today proved that. Please come back to me Rhea, please.” Roman stood up and brushed a hair away from her face before placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Meanwhile, outside of the room, Raquel and Nia were seen walking down the hallway and on their way to said room. “I woke up with Solo frantically texting me- you’re telling me Roman is refusing to leave?” The irresistible force asked frantically. “That’s nothing like him, there’s no way—“

“Nia, he even threatened to fight Jimmy.” Raquel immediately told her.

“What?” Nia scoffed. “Please, this has to be a joke.”

“Well, you might as well look for yourself.” The other woman rolled her eyes, urging Nia to follow her until they were both outside the room. When they did, they paused by the glass that separated the hallway and the room as they both looked inside the room and through the open binds. The last thing that Nia would expect to see was her cousin, out of all people, sitting beside an unconscious Rhea who laid in the hospital bed all the while he held her hand and tried his best to hold back anymore tears.

“What… no, this isn’t like him.” Nia mumbled as she stood and watched.

“Nia…”

“Raquel, this isn’t like him.” She told her in a low voice. “The only times he’s ever cried was when we were all kids, when he fought Jey in that Hell of a Cell match, and when…” She tried to count the many times that she had seen her own cousin cry in the back of her mind. Still in disbelief at the sight before her.

“Look. Right now, he’s refusing to leave, okay?” Raquel told her. “Jimmy already tried, Solo already tried, and Damian was trying, but we highly doubt that Roman will be willing to come out anytime soon. He needs to rest, he looks tired, he can worry about Rhea tomorrow.” She turned to face her. “If it was under different circumstances… I would’ve called Jey instead, but you guys know how tense things are with him. So please, I need you to go in there and talk to him. You’re his family.”

Nia sighed deeply as she crossed her arms, both women looking inside the room. “I just… I never thought someone like Rhea would make him like… this.”

“He cares about her. A lot.” Raquel mumbled. At that, Nia wanted to scoff.

“No wonder he decided to tell me to shut up back at Crown Jewel…”

“Well… you had it coming, Nia.” Raquel looked at her. “I mean, exposing them just like that? In front of everyone?”

“Okay, look, we can discuss my poor choice in judgment at a later time. Right now, we need to get Roman back home.” Nia then went as she knocked on the door. The two women then walked in which made Roman look up.

“Roman, come on, you need some rest.”

“No, Nia, for the last time- you guys are not gonna make me leave—“

“Rhea’s going to be fine. She’ll wake up tomorrow. I bet she would want you to get your ass out of this hospital and sleep. You look like absolute crap right now, and believe me, if the fans see you like this, it’s gonna be the end of you. Trust me.” Even if she didn’t know if that was what Rhea would’ve wanted, Nia still said anything just so she could convince her cousin to leave.

“Look, Nia. I don’t give a damn what other people think right now--”

“Either you leave now or I’ll drag your ass out. And trust me, you do not want me causing scene.”

Taking a moment to breathe deeply just so he wouldn’t lose his patience with his own cousin, Roman slowly stood as the three watched, with Nia urging him to leave the room while Raquel watched. Everyone wore surprised looks on their faces with the way that Nia was just able to convince Roman, and before she went to follow her cousin outside, she turned to face them.

“Thanks… for uh, helping.” Raquel was the first to speak, almost sounding hesitant in thanking the person who cost her a title opportunity against Rhea.

“No. Thank you for letting me know.” Nia simply said, her voice genuine for the first time since Raquel has spoken to her. She then walked away, following her cousin out the hospital.

“Well… guess we can go now too, right?” Damian asked as Raquel nodded.

“I told Dr. Hahn to call one of us if they see any sign of Rhea waking up before we come back tomorrow.”

“You think she’s gonna wake up before we even get here?”

“Come on, you know Rhea. If she survived Nia’s attack, she’ll survive this. She’s strong, she’s gonna pull through.” The two then went outside to meet Jimmy, Solo, and Finn and decided to wait until Dom also went out and joined the group. Solo and Jimmy went with Nia and Roman while the others went in the Judgement Day’s rental car as they drove off.

9:00 AM

Her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing and vibrating for the past twenty minutes as Raquel grumbled in her sleep. Stirring, she slowly turned to snatch her phone from the lamp table and opened her eyes, noticing that Rhea’s doctor was the one calling her. At that, she immediately sat up and answered.

“Hello…?”

“Hi, Miss Rodriguez, I hope I didn’t wake you up.” Dr. Hahn said as Raquel shook her head, attempting to wake herself up.

“No, no you didn’t… is everything alright?”

“Well, I have great news for you. Miss Ripley is now awake.”

Raquel immediately rose up at this, not minding that her hair was a mess at the moment. “She is? Is she okay? How is—?”

“She’s looking fine for now, we have our nurses and interns taking her vitals and all. We do advise you and any other visitor to come here, she’s been asking for you as well as a few others.”

“Okay- okay, I-I’ll be on my way.” She quickly hung up before she immediately stood and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and fix her hair quickly. She didn’t even care much about changing her clothes as she just grabbed a sweater from her suitcase and put it on. She grabbed her keys, phone, and purse before she rushed out from the room in a hurry, deciding to go and wake the others up just to let them know that Rhea was finally awake.

Knowing how concerned a certain someone was, she decided to head to his room first. Rather than knocking or just texting/calling him first, she resorted to banging her fist against the door repeatedly. “Roman! Roman, get up, quick!”

Before she could continue banging on the door, he opened it immediately. He was already getting prepared for the day as he looked at her incredulously. “Raquel what the fuck–“

“There’s no time, stop whatever you’re doing. Rhea woke up just now.”

At this, Roman looked at her for a moment. “… she did?”

“Yes, I just got the call, they’re gonna probably call you guys as well and—“ Before she could finish her sentence he suddenly walked past her immediately. “What– hey! Wait for us, damn it!”

She then grumbled before she proceeded to wake the others, going to Damian’s room next as she banged her fists on the door. “Priest, levántate!”

She heard some shuffling inside followed by Damian’s voice. “Raquel, what… take it easy, man, I just woke up—”

“Levántate, pues! The hospital called just now! Rhea woke up!”

“WHAT?” Suddenly, she heard footsteps followed by the door opening as she saw Damian with a shocked look on his face. “Tell me you’re not joking.”

“Why would I? Also- why the hell are you na—“

“Meet me downstairs!” He closed the door shut on her face as she blinked and took a step back. Shaking her head, she decided to ignore the fact that Damian was covering himself with a blanket before she went to wake the others up.

9:15 AM

“Miss Morgan, please you need to stay put—“ One of the nurses tried to encourage her but Liv shook her head, grabbing the crutches that one of the other nurses provided her.

“I know I need to rest- but I just need to see Rhea— is she really awake?”

“Yes ma’am—“

“Then tell me which room she’s in, please.”

“Room 204—“

“Great, thanks!” Quickly, Liv managed to find her balance while she began to make her way out of her room. On her way out, she saw Raquel, Damian, Finn, Dom, Solo, Roman, and Jimmy walking inside the hospital as they also noticed her.

“Liv, why are you up? You’re supposed to be resting—“ Raquel asked as she approached her.

“Guys, I’m fine, I just need to see Rhea—“

“Well, let’s go, come on.” Damian urged, all of them heading to the elevator to go straight to the second floor, right where Rhea’s room would be located. Liv attempted to catch up to them due to her being in crutches, though Raquel and Dom were the ones helping her until they arrived at the elevator. Upon their arrival to the second floor, they all immediately went out, with almost everyone staring at them as they walked by (mostly at Raquel due to her state and the fact that she had mismatched shoes on, but she didn’t care, she was in a hurry), they tried to find Rhea’s room.

However, when they did, they saw Dr. Hahn speaking to a nurse outside of Rhea’s room, which made them pause in their steps.

“Why do I have a bad feeling…?”

“Jimmy shut up, Rhea’s fine.” Dom quickly told him. “They’re probably talking about her vitals or… something like that.”

Everyone’s gaze turned to him as they all gave him a look. “Dom since when you’re a doctor?”

“I don’t know- I’m just saying—“

“Ah, you’re all here.” They heard Dr. Hahn’s voice as they turned to see her approach them along with the nurse. “And right on time, actually. Miss Ripley has been asking for all of you.”

“Doc, is she alright? How is she?” Roman was the first to ask.

“She’s completely stabilized and her vitals are looking in good shape.” The doctor explained to them. “She’s going to need to be in oxygen still only for a few hours. The heavy amount of smoke inhalation did compromise her airway yesterday and almost affected her lungs, but right now she’s regaining that at a steady pace. I’d say that at around 1:30 PM, she should be good to remove the oxygen mask that she has and she will no longer need to use it.”

“C-can we see her?” Liv asked, almost limping though she supported herself with her crutches. “We know there’s a limit for three to four people in one room during visiting hours here but—“

“—because she’s been asking about all of you, we can make cases like these as an exception and have you all come in and see her.” The doctor reassured them as she smiled. “I’ll speak to my boss and let him know just so he’s aware, but right now you’re all okay to come in.”

“Thank you.” They all shared a look as the doctor allowed them to approach the door. Raquel placed her hand on the doorknob as she first gave the door a gentle knock before she opened it. They all looked inside and right there, in the hospital bed, Rhea sat, holding an oxygen mask to her face as she inhaled and exhaled, now completely conscious and awake. When she looked at them, she removed her oxygen mask momentarily as she looked at them while they gazed back at her.

“Guys—“

“¡Hija de tu putisima madre!” Raquel suddenly said out as she approached her side. Some of them thought that she was going to beat her up as they tried to stop her but instead, she only started to yell at her. “¡¿Acaso crees que eres inmortal, chingona?!”

“Oh boy, here we go…” Damian mumbled as he scratched the back of his head.

“What is she saying…?”

“Jimmy, not now.”

“Raquel, please—“ Rhea sighed as she leaned her head back but Raquel wasn’t having it.

“Nos tenía estresados a todos, Rhea. ¡Todos!” She snapped at her. “Si sabías que podíamos ayudarte a rescatar a Liv, por que no nos dijiste?!”

“Raquel, I had it all under control, I’m fine now! I’m not dead—“

“Pues casi estabas por morir, estúpida.” Raquel said sternly. “Te juro que la próxima vez que trates de matarte y si sobrevives, te voy a dar en la madre y…” She pointed a finger at her but then trailed off, Rhea noticing how her eyes were starting to glisten with tears and how her voice cracked in the end.

“Raq…” Rhea mumbled whilst Raquel tried her best not to break down right then and there. At that, she sighed, placing her oxygen mask to the side of the bed before she extended her arms to her. “Come here, you big baby.”

“Pinche estúpida…” Raquel choked out before she gave her a hug. She then sniffled and sobbed on her shoulder while Rhea embraced her and rubbed her back. “I thought we lost you…”

“I’m fine, Raq. See? I’m here.” Rhea reassured her. From Raquel’s shoulder, she saw Liv approach as well, noticing the blonde’s quivering lip and the tears also threatening to fall. At that, she slightly broke away from Raquel for a bit while she smiled and extended an arm at her.

“I’m sorry—“ Liv could only say, trying her best to sound fine despite her voice also cracking as she went and hugged her as well. “I’m so sorry— you almost died because of me, I was so scared that you were gonna—“

Rhea hushed her, hugging both of them. “I’m okay. I’m fine. It wasn’t your fault, Liv. I had to do what I had to do. I’d rather see you alive than dead.”

“Promise you won’t do something like that again. Ever.”

“Liv—“

“Rhea, you heard her, you better promise or I swear I’ll ask for a rematch for that title—“

“Fine, fine. I promise, mom. Geeze.” Rhea huffed as the three broke away while Liv couldn’t help but laugh at Raquel’s comment as well as Rhea’s response.

“Well it makes sense for you to call her that, Rips, you even had her wear mismatched shoes.” Damian commented as he gestured at Raquel’s shoes, with him and the others trying not to laugh.

“Wait, seriously?” Rhea looked down at Raquel’s shoes before she tried her best not to laugh.

“Ay mira no manches—“ Raquel said out at Damian who couldn’t help but chuckle. “The last thing I was going to think about were my clothes, okay?”

“I’m just saying, you should've thought of it.” Damian told her before he went up to Rhea and also hugged her. “You had us worried, all of us. But for real though… Please don’t do that again, I’m begging you.”

“Yeah, you’re not a Girl on Fire, you know.” Finn said as he patted her shoulder. “You may be a champ and everything, but a Girl on Fire?”

“Haha, very funny, Finn.” Rhea smiled and rolled her eyes. She made a small space in the corner of the bed just so Liv would sit and not have to support herself on the crutches for so long. Seeing this, Liv grunted as she sat down while putting the crutches on her side.

“You doing alright?” Dom asked as she folded his hands inside his pockets while he sat down.

“I’m fine, aside from my voice being a bit scratchy.” She was right. Because of her breathing being compromised, Rhea’s voice now sounded slightly scratchy.

“I’d say just use the oxygen mask more and speak less for now. They might even release you today if they see that you’re progressing.”

“Yeah, that’s what they told me as well.” Rhea nodded before she placed the oxygen mask back to her face so she could breathe momentarily before she turned to Liv, taking the mask off for a few seconds. “Is your leg doing okay though?”

“Yeah, well, for now.” Liv said, looking down at the cast in her leg. “Doctors said I need to take a week off… unfortunately.”

“Well, the important thing is no one died and everyone’s alright.” Finn commented. “I think this needs to call for a celebration—“

“Now hold on Finn,” Damian paused as he looked at him before he shared a look with the others. “I say we do the celebrating after Survivor Series.”

“You guys think you’re gonna win?” Raquel asked as she arched an eyebrow while Liv snickered.

“Aye, come on now, you’re talking to the Bloodline and the Judgement Day!” Jimmy said to her.

“Yeah about that- Pearce just sent an email.” Roman suddenly spoke as he looked down at his phone. “… Survivor Series is being postponed for next week.”

“What? Oh come on!”

“Damn, so much for that… but hey, it’s fine, we didn’t start this week too well and plus,” Damian gestured at Rhea. “Rhea almost died.”

“Yeah, you’re right…” Jimmy mumbled as he rubbed his head. Feeling ashamed for a second. “Sorry, Rips.”

“Oi, don’t be.” Rhea reassured him. “I know how determined you guys were for war games. I would be a bit upset, too.”

“On the other hand though, I think a break is deserved. Hell, they might even consider extending this a little bit further. Rhea almost died, Liv has an injured leg, we can’t exactly go to the same arena here because it’s all burned down, and it’s even under investigation—“

“Under investigation?” Liv asked as she turned to Dom, interrupting him. “I thought it was a mechanical failure?”

“Yeah, why did they need to investigate?” Solo asked as he crossed his arms.

“Hey, that’s what I heard from Nick and Pearce this morning before we left the hotel.” Dominik simply said as he raised his hands. “They want to make sure and double check what exactly went wrong with those pyros in the first place.”

“I mean, things like these still do require an investigation. It’s just a standard process in these types of situations so, it’s reasonable.” Roman commented as he also took a seat.

“So that means they could maybe extend Survivor Series a little longer.”

“Yep… gives us more time to train though, we gotta beat Seth’s team.”

“And more time to reflect.” Roman commented. At that, Rhea’s head suddenly turned to face him. Pausing as she took the oxygen mask off for a moment.

“Reflect about what?”

“…”

The room filled with silence as everyone looked between Rhea and Roman, confusion dressed upon their faces until Raquel realized as she sat up.

“I… think I’m hungry, I’m gonna grab something to eat.” She said, sharing a glance with the others, almost as if telling them ‘we should leave these two alone.’

They understood and caught the message as Liv cleared her throat and took back her crutches as she stood up. “Yeah- I’m gonna rest up for a bit- Dom or Raquel, can one of you guys buy me a bagel? I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, I’ll go.” Dom quickly volunteered as he sat up. “Guys, you wanna come?”

“Yeah man, wait up.” Jimmy said as he and Solo quickly followed them. Finn and Damian were also about to leave before Damian paused and turned to the other two people left in the room.

“You guys want anything? Coffee, breakfast?”

“No, we’re good. Thanks.”

“Alright…” Damian nodded, internally begging that nothing went wrong as he then left, closing the door behind him, Roman and Rhea now being the only ones alone in the room. Roman took a moment to shift in his seat while glancing down, rubbing his hands together momentarily while Rhea took a few moments to breathe through the oxygen mask until one of them eventually broke the silence.

“You almost died.”

“I’m aware, Reigns.” Rhea said, though she didn’t reply to him in a dry manner, but rather in an understanding manner. “But look, I’m fine now. Everything’s fine, you don’t have to worry—“

“You almost died, Rhea.” Roman stated a bit more firmly this time, looking at her sternly. “This is nothing like losing a damn championship or anything like that. You risked yourself out there- you threw yourself in the fire, literally.”

“And like I said, I’m fine now.” Rhea insisted. “I wasn’t planning on getting myself killed. No one was aware that Liv was still stuck inside the building—“

“You could’ve asked for help- hell, you could’ve asked anyone for help, you could’ve asked me for help.”

Rhea could only remain silent at that as she looked down at her lap. She felt the urge to say whatever she had in her mind, but at that moment, everything in her head was slowly beginning to process and finally putting every piece together.

Raquel was right.

Fuck, she hated to admit it.

“Rhea, please–“

“Roman, I… look.” She sighed, almost sounding a bit defeated as she looked down momentarily. “… I know you want to talk about… this. About us, but… I just woke up from almost dying and I need to process everything. I promise though, we will get back to this. I promise… just… not today. Please.” She then looked up at him, almost begging and hoping that he would listen to her.

At that- and with the soft and genuine way that she spoke, Roman sighed deeply as he also looked down before he stood up after a few seconds. He then approached her while she looked up at him, their gazes meeting momentarily before his hand reached to hold hers. She squeezed his hand before he leaned and pressed a kiss on her temple.

“I said I would wait so that is what I'm going to do.” That’s the last thing Roman said before leaving the hospital room.

Taglist:

@sassginaswanmills @riptideripley @eepyslut @blessrhea

#fanfic #angst #fluff #rhea ripley #roman reigns #rhea ripley x roman reigns #damian priest #dominik mysterio #raquel rodriguez #liv morgan #nia jax #the tribal chief #the bloodline #the judgment day #wwe #jimmy uso

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miela · 1 year ago

Text

Shattered Memories • Chapter XI: Hummingbirds & Honeybees • {Peter Parker x Stark!Reader}

Chapter Genre: Romanic Spicy SMUT, Slight Angst (second half) Chapter Warnings: (18+MDNI) // In the second half of this chapter there is mentions of a past abusive relationship and self-h*rm. I will mark where it will start. Please proceed with caution. Extra: I wanted to post this chapter earlier than the usual timed schedule so those who don't want to read smut or darker themes don't have to anticipate another week for a chapter. Consider this an extra chapter or a side quest that you can choose to skip over if you would like! There will be another chapter on Friday! Also, I have a Trello now that is linked below this long-ass blurb! You can see what I am working on and what's to come! Word Count: 6.1k

Masterlist | Playlist | Pin Board | Trello

↪ divider by firefly-graphics

Peter wasn't super nervous around you because he knew you. He knew what reactions you could have to a situation. He knew what your favorite things were and little habits that you have. But when it came to your body and how to pleasure it, he was mostly clueless.

Mostly.

He only knew the basics but he didn't know what you were into.

The last time he saw you naked was when you guys were teenagers with insatiable hormones and even then the lights were off and you two were pretty vanilla with shy noises and shaky hands. It was what anyone would expect from two teenagers who are secretly….fadoodling. It was always a rendezvous in the odd hours of the night in the lower level of the Avengers Compound and luckily both of you were spiderlings that could easily sneak around.

"We probably should stop doing this," he whispered.

"Yeah, we probably should…" you agreed as you both continued to your common secret meeting spot.

"Mr. Stark almost killed me when he found out we were dating," he replied and swallowed nervously. "What if he finds out about us…y'know."

"That we fondue and fadoodle?"

"Yeah!"

You bit your lip and closed the door to the secret room that you both entered.

"You know it's different for us," you explained as you crossed your arms over yourself and tapped your fingers on your arm. "Not many people share mutant DNA that's trying to reconnect itself together through the only way it knows how to.*

"Well yeah that's true," Peter nodded. "But like, sneaking down here like this? It's not very..."

Your face softened knowing what he meant and you hugged him. "I know."

He hugged you back.

"Just…one more night in here and then we can figure something out."

"Okay," he kissed your head.

And so it made him extremely nervous thinking about where the simple shower could lead. It’s not like he didn’t know how to do anything but he knew that it wasn’t like anything he’s ever seen on the internet. He remembered conversations he’d had with his friends about sex, so he knew what to do and what not to do, but when it came to the realm of you, he felt like he should know.

You pulled him into the bathroom of your room. He gulped when he saw you turn around to face him and press the symbol on your suit causing it to loosen on your body. You slipped out of it slowly with a face burning profusely. He watched you the entire time. Once the suit fell to the ground. He pressed the button on his suit and let it fall to the ground as well so you both were left in nothing but your undergarments.

You turned around revealing your back to him. “Can you…?”

“Y-yeah,” he replied and raised his shaky hands to the back of your bra and unlatched it. Your muscles visibly relaxed as you let the bra fall to the ground.

“Thank you,” you smiled and took off your underwear and Peter’s eyes went straight to your bum.

God, you were gorgeous.

He followed suit as you turned back around with your head down not expecting to be met with the sight of his length and you yelped slightly as you quickly brought your eyes back up.

Peter chuckled with his face. “If we’re gonna shower together, we’re gonna have to get used to seeing each other naked again.”

“Again,” you repeated. “Right…!”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want-”

“Trust me, I want to…I just…never showed anyone the current state of my body.”

Peter stepped closer to you, took your hands in his, and brought them up to his lips for a long moment which caused your face to burn even more…and the rest of your body.

“You’re beautiful,” he replied softly and he couldn’t wait to show you how beautiful later.

Soon enough you both stepped into the shower and began washing away the sweat from yourselves. Peter was done pretty quickly and was just enjoying the heat and pressure of the rain shower as he let his mind wander on how this night would even end. What if he was jumping to conclusions and you didn’t even want sex right now? What if you do and he wasn’t prepared for it? Fuck, did he bring a condom?

“Peter?” You asked and it pulled him from his thoughts. "Can you help me with my back?" You asked as you turned your back to him.

“Oh…!” Peter squeaked and then cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure!”

He took the loofah and began washing your back gently. When his fingers brushed against your skin you gasped softly at the feeling. He didn't realize until this moment just how…touch-starved you were and how touch-starved he was too. He both loved and hated how your body reacted to him. Hated it because its first instinct was to retract, but once it realized it was him it would relax and crave him. It was like a push-and-pull effect. He laid his free hand on your shoulder and a small and another quiet gasp escaped your lips as your skin jumped but then your senses gripped him in a matter of seconds. He stopped and removed his hands from you.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you respond. “Keep going…please.”

Peter pressed his lips together and then slowly went back to what he was doing and put his hand on your waist and instinctively you leaned back into him. You could feel his breathing in your ear. Both of your hearts raced in sync at the contact. He moved his hand gently to your torso and your abdomen reacted much like much like your waist did. Your back was to his front and you could feel everything. He didn’t move… mostly because he didn’t want to.

You both were in dangerous territory.

Your mind began to wonder into the deep lewd parts of your imagination and you played with the idea of how this would play out.

Peter gulps softly and whispers in your ear. "What do you want me to do, princess?"

His words go straight to your core and you bite your lip before you could let out a soft moan. You place a shaky hand over Peter's and guide it lower and lower and lower and lower. Peter's breath hitches as he feels his hand being cupped over your core.

You were soaked and it wasn't from the shower.

Peter obeys your silent command and begins rubbing soft circles on your sensitive bud. You squirm slightly at the feeling and you let out soft moans.

"Fuck (Y/N/N)," Peter says in your ear lowly. "You're really, really wet."

You moan and bite your lip as you close your eyes and lean your head back onto his shoulder. The way his voice says your name goes straight to your core again and he notices.

The sounds you were making were music to Peter's ears. He liked pleasing and pleasuring you and he shows it by moving his other hand to caress your chest. His fingers strum over your hardened bud as he kisses at your neck, immediately latching his mouth to your sweet spot.

"Peter…" you moan out softly as your hands look for something to grab onto.

He moans into your neck in response to the sound of his name on your lips. He picks up the pace with his fingers and you press yourself further against him as you moan. He removes himself from your neck with a pop sound and puts his lips to your earlobe.

"You like that?" He asks in a genuine tone and yet somehow it still came out so lewd.

"Y-yes," you respond with a struggle.

"Fuck. You're so beautiful, you know that? Such a pretty girl,"he replies. You let out a high-pitched moan as your legs tremble beneath you. Peter stops playing with your chest and wraps his arm around your torso as he keeps up his ministrations on your lower bud. "Don't worry, baby, I got you."

"I'm close," you manage to get out.

"Already?" Peter asks with a playful tone in his voice. "Damn."

"Shut up," you half giggle and half moan out.

He chuckles softly and kisses your cheek. "Does that mean I should…slow down?" He whispers the last part in your ear as his movements slow but his touch is still deep and sensual and hitting that right spot repeatedly.

"Oh, fuck…!" Your toes curl from under you and you could feel him smirk against your cheek.

"Hold on a little longer, princess," he says softly and sweetly as if he wasn't teasing you moments ago. "Can you do that for me?"

You bite your lip and nod.

God, you wanted to do this for so long. Especially when you came back into his life nearly a month ago. You just wanted him to kiss you, hold you, and be one with you right then and there and it was because of the pheromonal connection that you two had. You knew this by the way he was touching you. It truly was both a blessing and a curse.

"Peter…" you whine. "I'm gonna…"

You were knocked out of your lewd daydream when you felt Peter's fingers trace over the scars on your back. Your eyes fluttered open as your face burned in silent embarrassment from your dirty thoughts and the scenario you had going on in your head. You didn't even realize that Peter pulled away from you to finish your back. You only felt it when he touched your scars gently.

Meanwhile, Peter was caught up in the scars on your back. Some he recognized, others he didn't. And he didn't like that. He knew five years was a long time and that alot could happen, but something about those unrecognized scars worried him. One of them was particularly on the big and long side. They were almost unnoticeable on the surface level, but up close they were clear as day.

He was tracing his fingers along the particularly big and long scar on your back that concerned him. He knew that it wasn't a typical battle scar and that this was done to you by the hands of someone else by how it looked.

His fingers trembled slightly.

"Who…did this to you?" He asked softly.

You looked over your shoulder and noticed his concerned expression and clenched jaw. His eyes were narrowed hard at the scar.

Shit. You didn't want to lie to him…but you couldn't tell him the truth. Not yet anyway.

He caught onto your silence and took his hand away.

"I'm sorry,” He blinked rapidly. “ I won't pry."

"No, it's okay." You turned to him. “It happened four years ago. During a fight. In Malibu.”

“Malibu?”

“Yeah, I was in Malibu for a little bit.”

So that’s when he didn’t hear about you for a while.

“You said…a fight?”

“Yeah…” You trailed off thinking of the memory and shook your head to pull yourself from going to those thoughts and turned off the water. “But I’m okay now.”

You walked out of the shower and grabbed towels for the both of you. You tossed him one and then began drying yourself off. He walked over doing the same before wrapping the towel around his waist and leaning on the counter next to you as he crossed his arms over himself. You glanced at him and noticed how his biceps and triceps flexed at the action and you didn't miss the veins in his forearms that were very visible.

Your mind began wandering again and the tension between you two built up as you wrapped the towel around yourself.

You both paused for a second before speaking.

"Do you-" you both started. "You first-"

You both smiled and looked in different directions as you felt embarrassment but also some sort of relief.

"Ladies first," Peter smiled as he looked at you attentively.

You leaned your hands on the counter and chewed your lip. "I know we just got back together and all but…I kinda sorta really don't wanna wait to go all the way with you." You looked up and met eyes with him.

The energy shifted in the room and your senses were aimed at each other with a magnetic force.

He blinked his gaze away and chuckled softly as he looked at the ground for a second. You shifted your eyes away and turned your head feeling embarrassed but then you felt his fingers on your jaw gently. He turned your head to look at him and you saw his playful and lustful gaze.

Oh.

"I was thinking the same thing," he kissed your cheek "I'll be back." And with that, walked out of the bathroom and towards your bedroom.

You were tempted to follow him and his sweet ass. But you stayed put. Before he turned the corner out of view, he turned back and looked at you with a mischievous lustful look. And then you imagine him putting the fingers he was teasing you with in your lewd fantasy in his mouth tasting your essence. You blinked and nearly fell over as it went straight to your core again.

"God, get a grip," on his dick.

you mentally facepalmed yourself and focused on fixing your not-wash-and-go hair.

Peter came back fifteen minutes later with a pair of boxers on his hips and a smile on his face. You looked up at him as he walked over to you.

"Sorry, I took so long."

"It's okay," you smiled. "You just gotta make it up to me."

He smirked and picked you up bridal style as you let out a squeal and a giggle. He kissed your cheek and walked you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. You were met with a romantic ambiance that made your heart swell. You looked to see candles lit in different areas of the room, the bed prepared with the blankets moved off and a towel laid out and music softly playing through the speakers. You also didn't miss the sight of a set of web shooters on the end table and you looked up at Peter with a questioning but cheeky look.

"Didn't take you as the bondage type," you grinned.

His face burned. "That's….not why they're there," and he walked you over to the bed and laid you down and undid your towel.

He lifted one of your legs gently and held your ankle up to his lips as he kept eye contact with you. Your chest moved with your breathing and you looked up at him with a loving look in your eyes.

"You're a goddess," he said softly.

"Hate to break it to you but I'm not asgardian," you smiled.

Peter chuckled softly and rolled his eyes. "Just take the compliment," he began leaving a trail of kisses up your legs, thighs, tummy, between your chest, up your neck, and along your jaw until he reached your ear. He was in-between your thighs and you could feel how turned on he was through his fitted boxer briefs. Your leg was resting on his back as it was wrapped around his waist. You don't remember when your hands made their way to his muscular shoulders.

Your senses were blooming with each kiss he left on your body and the ghost of them still lingered on your skin. Your body felt like it was on fire and he didn't even do anything yet.

He pulled your earlobe between his teeth before he looked at you with a lustful look. You pushed up and locked your lips with his and he happily responded to it.

As you guys kissed your senses went haywire as if they were trying to pull you together. They were trying to pull you. You felt it, Peter felt it and you both knew you had to do something about it before you went absolutely insane.

"Wait," Peter pulled back looking at you and you looked at him almost offended. "Are you sure you wanna do this?" He asked. "Because I also know that you can get caught up in a moment and act on impulse before you have a second to think about and I don't wanna take advantage of that."

You couldn't even be mad at him because of how sweet he was. You could resist, but how would you? You would resist, but how could you? Should you resist?

Absolutely not. Your senses answered that for you.

You nod in response.

"Mm-mm," He pressed his lips together with his eyes squinted disapprovingly and shook his head. "I need to hear you say it."

Peter began kissing down your bare neck and you rolled your head back closing your eyes at the feeling.

"Say it," he commanded into your ear lowly. "Say it, or I'll stop right now."

You gulped thickly and whined softly. How could you speak when he's taking the ability to right from under you?

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked softly and genuinely.

"N-no," you stuttered softly as your senses buzzed. "I-i want this. I want you, please."

You could feel him smile against your cheek and he kissed your cheek longingly for a moment. He already knew what your answer was going to be because he could sense and smell how much you wanted to. And he was more than happy to oblige.

"That's my pretty girl."

His words went straight to your core and his lips went straight to your neck again. He worked his way down and kissed at your hardened buds for a moment before continuing down your body. He lowered himself to his knees in between your legs and looked up at you. He wrapped his arms around your thighs holding them open as he looked at your sex.

He licked his lips as you leaned up on your elbows to look at him.

"If you're going to ask permission, you don't need it for the rest of the night," you stated with a hint of impatience in your voice.

Peter smiled and dragged his tongue along your core slowly like he was savoring a taste he would never experience ever again. You tensed as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you gasped out a moan. He then went to work. His tongue licked around you and you swore it was the best feeling you ever felt.

You tried pulling away from the overwhelming feeling but at the same time your hand flew to his head as your fingers interlocked with his curls that you loved so much. That was all the signal he needed to know that he was doing it right.

Once he got more comfortable, he removed one of his arms from around your thigh and slipped a finger into you and began pumping it slowly which elicited a rather lewd sound from you. With his other arm around your thigh he gently rubbed circles into your skin to keep you relaxed as he added another finger into you.

Meanwhile, he kept his tongue busy as it swirled every which way on your lovebud before sucking hard on it. You arched your back off the bed and grip his hair harder causing a groan from him. He picked up the speed with his fingers pumping inside of you and he could hear how wet you were.

"P-peter…!" you moaned.

You tasted sweet and Peter decided you were his favorite scent and flavor. He could eat you up all night if you'd let him. He couldn't tell if it was the pheromones or the fact that he's sex-starved but damn he couldn't get enough and it showed by how harshly he was eating you out.

"Fuck, Peter…!" You exclaimed.

He kept it up. If you weren't so wet he would have licked you clean of your essence, but your body kept giving him more and more and more.

It was making him insatiable.

"P-peter, I'm close…" you somehow manage to say almost incoherently.

He lift his head with a pop as he added a third finger and rubbed your bud with his thumb,

"You wanna come, princess?"

"Yes, please…" you whine and look down at him and try pushing his head back down.

He chuckled softly. "Okay, baby, as you wish." And his tongue was back on your core.

He pumped his fingers faster and sucked harshly on your bud until your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You let out a loud moan of his name as you released all over his tongue as you saw stars.

He didn't waste a single drop, as he milked you for all you hand.

He lifted his head off of you with a smile as he removed his finger from your hole. You worked on catching your breath and he climbed on top of you. You looked up at him as he held up the three fingers he used to pump you with. He wiggled them, pressed them together and then pulled them apart to show you how your wetness coated his fingers. His lips were also coated in your essence.

He looked you deeply in the eyes and put his middle and ring finger in his mouth as he sucked your essence off of them slowly. Your face burned as your eyes widened.

He smirked and held his index finger to your mouth. You parted your lips and he set his finger on your tongue. You could taste your sweetness and you wrapped your lips around his finger. Peter watched you with hooded lust-blown eyes and it turned you on even more.

You opened your mouth again and wrapped your tongue around his finger as you stared into his gaze seductively. He then removes his finger from your mouth and kisses you deeply. It wasn’t long before your tongues were intertwined and you could taste yourself in his mouth.

You found yourself wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer to you, wanting to feel him inside of you. Your hands made their way into his hair again as you let out a needy whine.

"Peter…please," you breathed out. "I want to feel all of you."

"Okay," he pulled back for a moment and pecked your lips a few times. "I just need a moment."

You nodded and he stood up and looked to the end table and grabbed the condom pack from under the web shooters. He tore it open with his teeth and then rolled the condom onto his hard length. He hoped you didn't notice his shaky hands.

He didn't understand why he was so nervous. It's not like you guys didn't have sex before, but that was years ago. Many, many suns and moons ago. This was different because you're older and wiser and know what you want.

He climbed back over you and gulped as he looked down at you. You could sense his nervousness and you searched his eyes for a moment. You cradled his face and he visibly relaxed at your gentle touch.

"You okay?"

He pressed his lips together. "It's been a while since we did this and it makes me nervous. I don't know why. I-I just …don't wanna hurt you."

You smiled and leaned up to kiss him and he kissed back as you rested your hands on his bare, strong shoulders. Your senses did they're usual rotations as your lips moved in harmony.

You pulled back for a moment with your lips centimeters apart. Your eyes meet each other's loving gaze. "You could never hurt me, Peter."

He looked at you lovingly for a moment before planting a soft kiss on your forehead. Your heart fluttered as your eyes closed at the sweet gesture. He looked down at you again.

"Okay," he breathed out. "Are you ready?"

"Mhm," you smiled and wrapped your legs around his waist loosely.

He nodded and looked down as he pushed into you slowly. You threw your head back with a gasp just as he did the same. He then leaned his forehead against yours and looked deeply into your eyes as he pushed himself into you, stopping every so often to let you adjust before moving again until he bottomed out in you.

He filled you perfectly.

He brushed his thumb along the apple of your cheek and your temple endearingly. "You okay, baby?"

You nodded as you snake your arms under his and lay your hands on his shoulder blades. His skin reacted slightly to your gentle touch.

He smiled softly before he slowly began moving in and out of you causing you to moan. As he got more comfortable and gained more confidence, Peter began to pick up the pace.

Your legs trembled around his waist as he pumped his hard length into you. You could feel everything. His mushroom tip and veiny shaft rubbing against your velvety walls deliciously. He wasn't too big nor was he too small for you. He fit perfectly like a puzzle piece. The stretch didn't hurt and the adjustment process didn't take long. It was like he belonged there.

It was all so sweet, deep and sensual and it felt amazing. He was treating you so well with the way he made sure to hold eye contact, checking up on you and treating you like the most precious thing in the world.

Your eyes rolled back and you bit your lip as your senses hummed. Your entire body reacted.

"Fuck, (Y/N)," Peter started. "You look gorgeous like this."

"Peter…" you moaned and fluttered around him.

"Yeah," he moaned. "Just like that," He slid his hands into yours as he began kissing at your neck and moving at a sensual pace. You held his hands back as you let out soft breathy moans. He removed his lips from your neck and leaned his forehead on yours again. Your bodies are pressed together, chest to chest, heart to heart. "That's my pretty girl."

You felt and heard yourself getting wetter as his words went straight to your core. He noticed and chuckled with a smirk in amusement, blushed danced across his face and a glint of endearing love mixed with mischievous lust in his eyes.

"You always did like pet names," he said lowly with a light teasing tone. "Don't you, princess?"

Your face burned as a whimper escaped you. Cheeky Bastard knew what he was doing and it was the hottest thing in the fucking world.

"Use your words, babygirl," he sang softly in your ear.

"Peter…!"

"Yes, darling?"

You couldn't tell if this was mean or if this was endearing. He chuckled at your knowing silence and pecked your lips a few times. He continued to rock his hips into you as you held the gaze of his dark eyes.

"You don't need to say anything, sweetheart," he cooed with a genuine tone. "Your body speaks for you."

If there is a Lord please have mercy because the way your walls gripped onto him caused the most beautiful blissful expression you have ever seen when he pulled his body up slightly to lean on his elbows.

"Fuck," Peter bit his lip with his eye closed for a steady moment as he kept moving in you. "So tight."

You wanted to say something witty. You wanted to start a flirty banter with him just you could tease each other playfully and sexually, but with the way he was speaking, emoting, and fucking you was so good you couldn't find a single thought to voice but his name.

You knew the reason he was so confident was because he knew your basics already. You knew you both had sex before years ago because of your memory dreams and how your body accepted him so easily (that could be the DNA though). The fact that he had this advantage of knowledge over you turned you on even more.

You loved it and wished you could stay like this forever.

"Peter, I…" You managed to get out. "I'm gonna-...I'm close…"

"Yeah?" He asked. "Me too."

He picked up the pace which caused you both to moan a little louder. Your legs trembled as your climax was rising and you snaked your arms under his as you pulled him close to you. You looked into each other's eyes with your foreheads pressed together and voices harmonizing the song of pleasure.

"Come with me, baby," Peter commanded softly.

You nodded and let yourself release with a loud moan and he followed suit soon after. Your senses exploded like fireworks and you swore if he wasn't wearing a condom the feeling would be intensified. He pumped you two through your climax until you both had everything milked out of you. He relaxed his body onto you with his head nuzzled into the pillow. You wrapped your arms around his torso, buried your face into his hair, and kissed his head longingly as you both basked in your sweet and blissful afterglow.

in this part of the chapter please proceed with caution

After two more rounds of love-making, you both were lying on the bed basking in the presence of each other. You had fallen asleep after your hour-long loving with Peter. You were lying on your side and facing him with your arms tucked under your face. Your mouth hung open slightly and you were on the verge of starting to snore. Peter was watching you sleep lovingly as he gazed at your figure that was covered by the Joy Division shirt that he was wearing earlier. He watched as your breathing had your body rise and fall rhythmically. Peter always loved your body, but not in the sense of attraction or desire (but he did love that too), but in the sense that your body said so much about you.

Your body told a story and Peter spent every moment he could to read it.

Your flexible feet. A dancer.

Your calloused fingers. A musician.

The bruises on your knees. A skater.

The scars on your back. A fighter.

And of course, the dark marks Peter’s teeth left on your skin. A lover.

His lover.

He loved everything about you. From the stretch marks on your thighs, bum, and tummy to the battle scars on your arms, back, and legs, and the other “blemishes” that make you perfectly you.It was a story that only he could read, explore and appreciate. And he would do it over and over and over again if you'd let him.

Peter smiled as he noticed your brows furrow slightly. You must be dreaming. He was tempted to press his thumb to the area in the center of your brows and stroked it softly to straighten them out. As his eyes scanned over your features, he noticed the scar on your temple from that day five years ago at the statue. Nothing but a scratch, my ass, he thought and smiled to himself. He instinctively brushed his thumb over it light and your eyes fluttered open at the feeling.

"Hey,” you smiled at him.

"Hi," he smiled back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, it’s fine, really,” you stretched and yawned and adjusted yourself on the bed so that your body was lying flat on the bed on your tummy. You tucked your arms under your cheek still looking at Peter. “How long was I asleep for?”

“About thirty minutes,” he replied. “It’s almost four in the morning.”

“Damn,” you giggled. “Guess I’m taking the rest of the weekend off.”

“As long as it’s with me,” Peter leaned over and pecked your nose and your smile grew. “How are you feeling?”

“In what sense?”

“Every.”

“Hmmm,” you hummed in thought before speaking. “Mentally, amazing. Emotionally, amazing. Physically, sore and tired but in a good way. Sexually, very, very pleased.” Peter blushed which caused you to giggle. “What about you?”

“The same,” he smiled softly as he rested his head on his hand with his elbow propped up on the bed.

You smile at him in response. “Good,” you hesitate for a moment before speaking again. “Hey, Pete?”

“Hm?”

“What was our first time like?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Peter looked up in thought for a moment with a thin-lipped smile on his face. “Sloppy, awkward, terrifying, we had ourselves freaked out about it for a week.”

You snorted and then laughed. “Oh Really?”

“Yeah, we were afraid of getting caught.”

“Did we ever get caught?”

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled. “At least a handful of times because we thought the compound was the best place to do it. Basically everyone knew besides your dad at the time.”

“Who caught us?”

“The first time it was Dr. Cho, thankfully, who told us the proper way to be safe about it, even though we thought we were. The second time it was Steve, Bucky, and Sam. That didn’t go over as well but it ended with Natasha and Wanda finding out which led the word to get around to everyone but Mr. Stark.”

“Jeez,” you replied softly. “Did my dad ever find out?”

Peter shook his head. “No. if he did, he never said anything to us.”

“There’s no way he didn’t know,” You replied. “Someone must have stopped him from murdering us both.”

Peter snorted. “Or he recognized our deep love for each other.”

“Pfft, that wouldn’t have stopped him,” You laughed.

“True,” Peter took your hand and kissed the back of your hand softly.

Your face burned at the sweet gesture and you gave his hand an endearing squeeze.

“You seemed nervous earlier,” you stated.

“I was,” he replied. “It’s been a while since I had sex.”

“How long?”

“...Five years.”

You looked at him with wide eyes and a jaw dropped. “Really?!”

“Yeah,” he shifted nervously with a blush on his cheeks. “I-I just….it didn’t feel right if it wasn’t with you. It’s not like I didn’t try when Gwen tried to hook me up with someone, but I just…couldn’t. It would’ve felt like I wronged you or something.”

You pouted. “Peter…”

He smiled at you reassuringly. “It’s okay, I knew this day would come. With us back in each other’s lives. If you didn’t feel the same way about me, I would’ve worked on moving on and just being happy with you as a friend.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile of understanding. You knew you would’ve been the same way.

“What about you?” he asked.

You sighed and looked forward to your headboard. “Three years. I was with a guy, but he was a raging asshole and a dickwad so…yeah…”

Peter rolled over so he could lay on his tummy and have your sides pressed against each other with his chin resting on his forearm. He laced his fingers into yours gently. He was going to say something until he saw something that made his heart sink. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it before but they don’t stand out too much. Much like your back, there were scars on your wrists but there was a particularly long and deep one. He gently took your other hand and looked at that one to see the same thing.

You noticed and looked away. “And he was also the sole reason for those…um…” your voice cracked slightly and you swallowed hard. “...Not my proudest battle scars.”

“(Y/N)...”

“Don’t worry,” You replied and looked at him with a reassuring smile. “I’m better now. Dr.Cho helped me with skin grafting so they wouldn’t be so obvious. One day I’ll get them removed but right now they’re here.”

Peter frowned and stroked his thumb over the scar and kept his tears in check. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t…” you started. “Don’t do that.”

“Hm?”

“Blame yourself. Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault. The only one at fault is him.” You kissed his cheek. “You in my dreams…was one of the reasons I held on. There’s more to the story but I’m not exactly ready to share it just yet.”

Peter nodded and picked up both of your wrists and kissed each healing wound on them and then let his lips linger longer on the longer ones and then placed your hands on his warm cheeks. Your heart swelled at the act and you looked at him with so much love filling your emotions.

“I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you like that ever again.”

You stroke your fingers on his cheeks and then lean in and kiss him deeply.

Tags:

@chrisevans-realwife @riordanness @peterdarlingg @thecrystalclarity @brckenmemories @paleprincesssxo @blackcanary130 @kindlover @i-have-no-life-charlie @melodicheauxxlovesfood

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sookiesookie · 1 year ago

Text

♪ riri williams music taste headcannons ♪

a/n: a lil sumn silly while I finish these two ffs in my drafts

key:

riri dialogue

shuri dialogue

reader dialogue

♪ listens to songs she can get high to (or feel high to, she mostly gets high socially rather than alone)

♫ on some cloud nine type things, Don Toliver, Travis Scott, A$AP Rocky, Childish Gambino, Kid Cudi

♫ but not limited to psychedelic indie or rock like Mac Demarco, Jimi Hendrix, TV Girl, Yves Tumor, Tame Impala, Men I Trust, that one Lil Yatchy album counts too ig lmao

♪ stem!riri? yeah she’s def on that Canadian Nigga Trio HEAVY (Drake, PND, The Weeknd)

♫ toxic stem!riri? Brent & Bryson in rotation

♪ gang gang w/ some Pierre Bourne, Lucki, Ken Carson, Young Nudy

♪ Smino and Baby Keem on lock

♪ she likes a lot of pluggnb/trap, especially the girls

♪ Bktherula her baby frrr

♪ she DID have an XXXTENTACION phase for about 2 years in middle school

♪ a huge rnb girlie ofc, with your SZA, Summer Walker, Jhené Aiko, Victoria Monet, Tinashe, Teyana Taylor, Ari Lennox things naturally

♪ HEAVY ON KEHLANI

♫ probably her top artist

♫ like she’ll kick your ass if you dare skip a song by her TOP ARTIST

♪ she hates Justin Timberlake because of Janet Jackson but she can’t deny his first two albums being in rotation

♫ she still rides for Janet Jackson OF COURSE though, that’s her queen

♪ definitely some 90s and 00s rnb, rap, and neo soul

♫ definitely some 90s and 00s rnb, rap, and neo soul when she’s up in it-

♪ speaking of neo, she’s on Neyo HEAVY

♪ goes hard for the rap girlies, Flo Milli, Ice Spice, Bree Runway, Rico Nasty, Monaleo, Megan The Stallion

♬ “DOECHIIIIIIIIII!”

♫ if there’s one thing about riri, it’s Doechii

♫ Spooky Coochie>>>

♪ COLE WORLD, a middle school favorite

♬ “Now put a finger in the sky if you want it nigga!”

♪ definitely on her Kendrick things too

♪ spotify user to the fullest

♪ fuck Sony headphones, she made her own lil’ bluetooth noise canceling headset with good bass to not only make sure she can listen to music but FEEL that shii

♪ also she didn’t feel like paying $300+ for that so…

♪ she can’t ever listen to an album on shuffle, she feels it ruins the “cinematic experience”

♬ “I know you did NOT just skip that shit.”

♬ “Riri, it was literally an interlude.”

♬ “I said turn that shit back!”

♪ she’ll backhand slap you if you dare try it with a Weeknd album, that’s just an unspoken rule for her never to skip a Weeknd song in an album (a/n I may be projecting w/ this one lmao)

♪ is an avid playlist maker and has playlists for every single mood and activity

♬ “Tryna smoke? Lemme pull up this playlist i got-”

♬ “You goin’ to the store? Wait, lemme hook up my driving playlist-”

♬ “You having trouble studying? Hol’ on- I got this good playlist I use for when I'm doing my math homework!”

♬ “Okayyyy some chill rnb so far, Sade, Erykah Badu, D’Angelo, Alicia Keys… Rico Nasty, Bktherula, Destroy Lonely, Carti???

♬ “What? I tend to get pissed off about an hour in! Especially if it’s word problems!”

♪ she listens to both, but she keeps the “Cochise >>> Carti” opinion to herself

♪ Frank Ocean makes her tear up for no reason so she barely listens to him unless she’s in the mood to cry

♪ she was a Nicki fan… she still IS one, who you frontin’ on?

♬ “R-R-R-Roman!”

♪ honestly, she was on everybody part of Young Money, Bedrock was a moment in time

♪ she was definitely an Ariana Grande fan in middle school tho, don’t play with her

♫ she still gon’ blast her My Everything and Yours Truly albums in her garage, don’t get it twisted

♪ she was a 1D fan in elementary school but she’ll forever deny it happened

♫ she’ll blast Big Time Rush like a bitch though (Boyfriend is a hood classic)

♪ MINDLESS BEHAVIOR RIDER

♪ she still has their CDs stowed away in her garage somewhere

♪ (cannon) anime watcher on her jpop/jrock shii

♫ and we can’t forget the OSTs in her playlist

♫ Ouran High School host club outro>>>

♪ Lamp listener, definitely a comfort artist for her

♪ she fucks w/ Shuri’s kpop (cannon) stuff too though she’s not a fan

♫ she’ll shake ass to Kick It by NCT on the low, though

♪ she’s on plugging/trap so you know she definitely on her hyper pop shit too

♪ her top 10 artists: Kehlani, Lamp, J. Cole, Bktherula, Janet Jackson, PARTYNEXTDOOR, Mac Demarco, Victoria Monet, Doechii, Rico Nasty

a riri mix for realism:

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naminethewriter · 7 months ago

Text

On the Road, Just the Two of Us

Chapter Three: At a Gas Station, Just the Two of Us (well, not really)

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next | Ao3

Summary: This was written for @dukeceit-week-2024, @dukeceitweek

Janus and Remus are living in a campervan at the moment. Are they going somewhere? Who knows. The only thing that’s important is that they’re together.

Content Warnings: Innuendos, Heavy Flirting, mention of rats

🌻🌻🌻🌻

“This place is filthy,” Janus commented as they pulled into the gas station. Remus hummed in agreement.

“Well, we don’t really have much choice, I think. There’s probably not another one for miles.”

“Most likely. I’ll just remain in the car then.”

“Fine by me. Though, you’re sure you don’t wanna go to the toilet?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s more sanitary to go in the bushes that on what that tragedy probably looks like.” Janus frowned at the building, the windows of which look like they haven’t been cleaned in years.

“So, I can’t convince you to have a quicky in the bathroom?”

“Not unless you’re willing to clean it with bleach and disinfect everything like three times.”

“Was worth a shot,” Remus shrugged and climbed out of the driver seat. Janus watched him as he filled up their tank and then disappeared inside to pay. He then waved at Janus as he rounded the building to go to the toilet. Janus’ nose scrunched automatically at just the thought of what they must look and smell like. He’ll have to make Remus disinfect his hands in eyeshot before letting him back into the van.

Remus would pout at him for at least an hour after, but he could handle that.

Except, he didn’t.

When Remus did come back to the van and Janus wordlessly held out the disinfection spray, his boyfriend rolled his eyes once but otherwise complied without complaining. Janus was so shocked that he didn’t get a word out until they had pulled out of the gas station and back onto the road.

When he came back to himself, Remus was humming along to the playlist, simply focused on the road and otherwise completely still.

He was very rarely that docile.

Janus narrowed his eyes at him.

“What happened?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Remus, something happened on that toilet. You’re way too happy for just having taken a dump.”

His boyfriend snorted – because of course he did, he had the humor of a twelve-year-old.

“You sure you wanna know? You’re not gonna like it.”

“You’re actually completely focused on the road without me having to jump through hoops to entertain you, of course I want to know who or what my savior is.”

“I love you,” Remus sighed, completely serious. “Your snark is so hot.”

“I love you, too. Now answer me.”

“There was a rat running around the restroom. It was super cute and barely scared of me! Even let me take pictures! Though it ran away when I tried to pet it.”

Janus gagged and Remus snorted.

“Told you you weren’t gonna like it.”

“I’m just glad it ran away and didn’t bite you. And it’s nice to know that I made the right decision by not taking a step out of this car at that disgusting place.”

“Yeah, I know I shouldn’t’ve tried to touch it… My shitty impulse control really had me this time.”

“The rat is definitely wiser than you.”

“They’re so fucking smart, Jan. Do you know how fucking smart they are? Like super fucking smart.”

“Yes, dear, I know,” Janus chuckled. “You’ve given me several ted talks and shown me plenty of videos. Still, you shouldn’t try to touch street rats. Only the domesticated ones.”

“Uhhhh, I’d love to have a pet rat! Would have since I was a child but Roman convinced me that it was a bad idea to ask for one because mom absolutely hates rodents. Convinced her to get us that hamster though.”

“Ah, yes, I remember you telling me about that. Sacagawea, wasn’t it? You and Roman went to play with her in the garden and lost her?”

“Yep, that’s the one! After that mom decided we weren’t ready for pets.”

“I wouldn’t mind having a pet rat.”

Remus hit the breaks a bit too hard. Thankfully, they were still in the middle of nowhere without any other car around.

“You wouldn’t?!” Remus asked, excitedly.

“I wouldn’t. As I said, you’ve spoken about them so much, I couldn’t help getting a bit endeared with them as well. They can be really cute. When they’re domesticated and properly trained.” He added that last part when Remus seemed to be about to turn the van around to get back to that gas station and retrieve the encountered rat.

“Fine. A boring, domesticated rat then. But we’re getting one!”

“Not directly after we get back, but I’m open to it in the future, alright, darling?”

“More than alright! I could kiss you until the sun goes up tomorrow! Actually, that’s an idea…” His tone shifted in one Janus knew very well, and he rolled his eyes.

“No way, dear. We can kiss for a bit; you’ve already brought us to a stop anyway. But if you wanna take my clothes off, you’ll have to wait until the sun has gone down first.”

“And then we can go until sunrise?”

“Depends on where we end up.”

Remus whooped loudly, before turning off the van for now and pulling Janus into a bruising kiss.

There was nowhere he’d rather be.

#namiswriting #On the Road Just the Two of Us #Chapter 3: At a Gas Station Just the Two of Us (well not really)#dukeceitweek2024 #Day 3: Rats #dukeceit #ts janus #janus sanders #ts remus #remus sanders #human au #fluff #innuendo #heavy flirting #mention of rats #multichapter fic #sanders sides #fanfiction #reblogs are appreciated

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galacticfracture · 4 months ago

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Sanders Sides x MCR

Not necessarily art but it is a fun little SaSi related thing I decided to do! All for fun, so even though I took it way to seriously and made lists/charts, take my choices with a grain of salt~🌟

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Explaination: So, I have a playlist that's just entirely songs from MCR/Gerard way that was 75 songs, but went up to 88 while I was doing this. I one day came up with the idea that I should take that and connect every single song on it to at least 1 SaSi character~🪐

With that out of the way, if you want to find out who ended up sharing songs by listening to the mixes I made for them all, I will be linking them at the bottom of this! (So avoid the images of the lists/charts and look for the group of 6 images with different shapes; the mixes will be just under that.) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, how I did this is I basically listened through this 5 hour mix atleast twice, and wrote out a physical list of all the songs. If a character came to mind and stayed there they were then written down~

Which is why some have 1 person and others have 2/3. The order they're in here is basically whoever came up first.

Who got what was entirely based on the vibe I felt!

A lot of Logan's were dictated by this, but lyrics did come into play sometimes. Remus got a lot of solo songs for that reason, while the others came from a mix of both. (Instrumental sound could influence stuff too.)

I wasn't really thinking of shipping with the pairs for the most part by the way, but I don't really mind if people go in with any on the brain~

Some of them came to mind at the same time. Other times, the second person was a choice made later on. Same with the groups of 3!

I also made some charts tallying up how many songs they had per 'album', and I did do a set for their solo and paired songs as well. (Sorry I just like forgot to add them before editing this???)

If a song was generally from around the same time and/or it had the same kind of sound, I usually included it under an album instead of the other category. (Except I don't think I counted Bury me in Black under Revenge for some reason???)

There were not enough trios for me to do a chart like this for them but I did type them out and literally, almost all of them were from bullets--

I spent an actual full day making these charts and physically wrote the lists out twice, so I hope someone out there enjoys this!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now onto the mixes~! I did originally try and do versions of the different album covers but as the sides: it did not work out-

So I just made simple ones using the shapes I associated with them all. (Some turned out better than others-)

Mixes: Roman Janus Remus Patton Logan Virgil

Please shuffle them by the way, I did not organize them in a specific order really~!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Feel free to share your different opinions/perspectives!! I'd love to read what you guys think and if wanted I can also provide the versions of all the lists/charts with out my answers!

(The next post I make will be art don't worry! Sorry this was so long-)

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#sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides x mcr #music mixes #roman sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #tss #fun little thing

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trippinsorrows · 6 days ago

Text

looking through your eyes + twenty four

authors note: this one gets pretty heavy. the next two chapters will also be heavy at points. please heed to cw/tw's.

cw/tw: fluff, angst, brief discussion of childhood sexual assault and child abuse, scene of violence against women

*this author does not condone nor support intimate partner/domestic violence.*

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 12k

“Roman…” His name leaving her mouth is the perfect combination of breathy and whiny. “We–re gonna be late.”

For the first time in what feels like an hour, Roman lifts his head from her neck. She hates how noticeable the absence of his mouth is. “You really think I care about that?”

No. She knows he doesn’t care. But, she also dislikes being the reason for them being late. Because she's certain he has plans afterwards, and it doesn’t sit well with her knowing that she could play any type of role in any inconvenience he may encounter.

Her eyes shut as he brings his mouth back to her neck, sucking the spot that he’s clearly realized she has the most visceral response to. Toes curling, clawing at his shoulders and arms, it’s hard to tell who’s enjoying this more. Him or her.

Still, she manages to protest. “But, I—I care.”

Big hands traveling her body, she sighs quietly when he cups the swell of her breast giving her a gentle squeeze that has her thighs unintentionally gripping his waist. “You should have thought about that before you put this damn outfit on….”

Said outfit isn’t anything crazy, nothing fancy, just a cropped, sleeveless hoodie and dark yoga pants. However, it's the stretchy material that clings to clearly every part of her that he seemingly finds irresistible. Namely her ass and chest. Still, it's the typical type of outfit she would wear to train, which is exactly where they should be headed to right now. Though it seems her husband has another much more carnal destination in mind.

Blush growing, she tries again. “Roman, I—I’m serious.” His tongue circling across her inflamed skin as she groans against him. “You’re gonna l–leave another mark.”

“Good.” His response doesn’t entirely surprise her. Neither does the explanation. “You’re mine, and everyone needs to fucking know that shit.”

Mine

There’s something about that, something about his delivery, so strong and borderline aggressive that makes her insides melt a tad. Makes her smile grow. A good bit, she’s certain, stemming from the fact that it still blows her mind sometimes that a man like Roman Reigns could want her. Does want her. Even with all her….baggage.

He wants her.

Loves her.

For some reason, this makes it a bit easier to slide into that space of comfort and indifference he has regarding time and obligation. Makes her arch her chest into him as he stays true and firm to his determination in leaving her with his mark.

Though she’s not sure just what about this current situation makes her decide to bring this up now, it’s something she knows she really shouldn't push off anymore.

“R–Ro?”

He makes a sound against her. “Yes?”

“I—I need a favor.”

He sighs against her, lifting his head from her neck to match her nervous gaze. “Solana, doing things for you is never a favor.” He brings his hand to her chin, thumb caressing her skin. “It’s my job as your husband.”

His response, thus far, chips away some of the anxiety. Some. “But, this—this is kinda big.”

Eyes narrowing slightly, he asks, “how big?”

It feels kind of silly, Solana briefly dropping her gaze to his black shirt that’s stretched against his broad chest. “I—I need money.”

Roman just looks at her for a second, a huge smile breaking out on his face. “You need money?”

She nods. Slowly. “It’s—it’s a lot of money though.”

“I think we have different definitions of what a lot is, but go on.”

He’s probably not wrong, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the proposed amount of money probably needed is substantial compared to the average loan. Solana sits up fully, forcing Roman to also stand upright. He tugs her to the edge, her hands on his chest. “It’s…..it’s for Dr. Stratus.”

At that, she’s clearly lost him. “You need money for your psychiatrist?”

“Not—not like that.” Solana closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tries to gather her thoughts. “The girls were telling me they overheard that Dr. Stratus couldn’t secure an investor to keep the facility going and may have to shut down.”

He remains confused. “Okay…..”

“Roman, I don’t want that to happen.” She closes her eyes, thinking back to some of the information Gail has provided her as well as readings from her book. “Did you—did you know that 1 out of every 6 American women has either been raped or survived of an attempted rape?” Closing her eyes, she murmurs, “I was one of the ones.” Taking another breath, she notices his expression is darker. “But there are a lot more ones out there, Roman, and they need help just like I did. Dr. Stratus has a really great thing going, and I don’t—I don’t want to see it go away. I want—”

“Okay.”

She frowns. “Okay?”

“I’ll do it.”

Her stomach flutters. “Really?” She’s not sure what she was expecting, but for some reason, him so easily agreeing seems almost too good to be true.

Roman shrugs, pushing back some of her hair. “It’s important to you, and it clearly is, so I’ll do it.” That’s it. Nothing else. Just acquiescence.

“But, you don’t even know how much—”

“Doesn’t matter. You want it. I’ll make it happen.”

It’s overwhelming, really. Solana didn’t really think he would be upset with her request. She figured he’d want or need to think about it, which makes sense given it’s probably going to be in the six, maybe even seven figure range. But, that’s not the case. Instead, he’s just agreed without a second thought simply because she wants it.

Because it’s important to her.

Eyes watering, she throws her arms around him, hugging him. “Thank you.” It’s such a simple thing to say for such a big task. But, she also means it from the deepest part of her. For a man who doesn’t seem to think he’s a good person, she thinks the world of him.

The same way she’s certain their child will.

“While we’re on it, there’s something I need to talk to you about, too.”

And just like that, her smile is wiped, Solana pulling back and looking up. "Oh—okay.”

Something tells her she’s not going to like what she’s about to hear.

Roman’s intense eyes are focused on her, his index finger tracing along her jaw. “I have to go out of town next week.”

Yeah……definitely not something she wanted or expected to hear.

“Oh.” It’s all she knows how to say initially. Finally, more words arrive. A necessary question asked. “Where are you going?”

He hesitates. “Italy.”

Her eyes widen. That definitely isn’t what she expected him to say. Domestic travel was the guess, international never even being something that crossed her mind. “Italy?”

He nods, explaining on the edge of a heavy sigh. “I have some…..business to take care of with the Cosa Nostra.”

Solana is quiet, sitting on his words, partially hoping he’ll say more. Granted, it’s not a necessity as she’s able to piece the puzzle together herself. “That’s why your cousins were here that night…..isn’t it?” His silence is all the answer she needs. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“No.” Though his answer is immediate, there’s something about it that was too instantaneous. Like he blurted it out without even thinking about it. “Just…..something I need to handle.”

It’s a bit manipulative. She knows this, but it’s hard for her to have something like this sprung on her and not ask any follow up questions. “Can….can I come with you?”

Again, his response is something she already guessed before even fixing her mouth to ask. Another heavy sigh as he gently cups her cheek. “Not this time.”

“Because it’s dangerous.” And there’s the manipulation component. Solana has realized that will always be the dealbreaker for Roman when it comes to her. Safety. So, him saying no makes her concerned not for her wellbeing.

But for his.

Anxiety growing, she asks, “are the twins going with you? You can’t go alone.”

“I won’t be alone.” That helps her feel a little better. Just a little. “But, they’re not coming. I need them here. Handling shit.” It’s hard for Solana to wonder if any part of what went down between Roman and Jey has impacted this decision for them to remain here while he travels abroad.

Still, that’s another thought for another day. She has a much bigger issue at hand.

“So who—”

“Solana.” Roman’s voice silences the next set of anxiety riddled questions scheduled to leave her mouth. He lowers his volume, his tone softer than anything anyone outside of her would ever hear. “I’ll be fine.”

For some reason, that only cranks her anxiety up from a 6 to a solid 8. And it’s without much thought, she finds herself asking, “do you have to go?”

He truly looks apologetic. A visible thing that also matches the verbal. “I’ve been pushing it off. I can’t push it off anymore.”

She swallows, emotion thick and bubbling. “Because of me?”

“Because of a lot of things, Sol.” And to her surprise, there’s some semblance of emotion present in his voice as well. “The—the story with that side of my family is…..complicated.” As it seems are most things when it comes to his family. Either side, apparently. “Trust me, going there is the last thing I want, but it needs to be done.”

Solana hates this. For a lot of reasons. The biggest one, however, is because she just knows there’s something he’s not telling her. A key part he’s omitting, probably for fear of worrying her. Never mind the fact that she’s already an anxious mess thinking about him being so far away without at least the twins there to have his back. She’d bet this Dwayne and Matteo person will be present, but she doesn’t know them. Doesn’t trust them. Doesn’t trust them to have her husband’s back.

Not like Jimmy and Jey.

Even with the altercation between Roman and the latter, she still believes in her heart of hearts they’d look out for each other.

Like brothers.

“How long will you be gone?” Because trying to convince him to stay or even allow her to accompany him is the equivalent of beating a dead horse.

More hesitation. “A week. Maybe two.”

The duration truly could be worse, and it makes sense such a long trip wouldn’t warrant a short turnover, but that doesn’t make the idea of him being gone for that period of time any easier to stomach.

When she says nothing, he brings his other hand to her hair, pushing a section behind her ear. “Nia will stay with you until I return.”

And the surprises just keep coming. “Nia?” She knows the list of people Roman would ask to do such a thing is pretty limited, nonexistent maybe, but Nia is the last of the last she’d have considered. “She—why would she agree to that?”

Nia’s behavior around and toward Solana has shifted moderately since their first meeting so many months ago. She’s still not the nicest, per se, but Solana has learned a large part of that is nothing personal. It’s just Nia. So, while she’s not against it, she does, however, not understand it.

“I told you before, people do what I want them to do because no one wants to deal with the alternative. Nia is no different.” Forced. He’s forced her to do this. That’s all Solana took from that, the frown on her face deepening it. “She’ll really just be here to administer your meds and make sure you get to therapy.”

And she figured as such, figured that would be the basis as to why he would ensure another person is present in his absence. Still, Solana can’t stop herself from trying to broach an option she’s almost certain he won’t want to hear.

“Ro, I don’t—I can take care of that mys—”

“No.” It’s so firm and final. Even his gaze has shifted into something almost hardened. “That’s not an option.”

She figured it wasn’t. She also wonders, however, if it ever will. It has to, at some point. Solana wants to also ask why it can’t be Bayley again, or even Naomi, but it’s most likely to earn her the same type of shutdown.

If not worse.

Roman steps back, guiding her off the bathroom counter. Standing back on her own two feet, Solana is taken back for a second by the almost instant lightheaded feeling that comes over her. Or less lightheaded and more…..exhaustion.

“You alright?”

She looks up, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m—I’m good.” That’s debatable, because Solana is all of a sudden feeling exhausted from literally doing nothing but making out with her husband.

Roman, as expected, looks unconvinced. “You sure?” He goes into his spiel that she’s heard at least three times now. “You know you don’t have to jump right back into things. I still think you should take more time off—”

“No.” Her hand shifts to her stomach, Solana grateful this doesn’t seem to trigger something for him. “I—I want to fall back into my routines.” Even more, and most important, if she truly is pregnant, Solana doesn’t want to waste any time left she has to do so before being too far along to train.

But, he can’t have that explanation. Not yet.

And now she has to figure out just when said explanation can occur, because how does she tell her husband they’re expecting days before he’s set to go out of town for possibly two weeks?

Damn.

————

“You’re late.” It’s the first thing to come out of a smirking Bayley’s mouth as Solana walks in with Roman into the training area. ‘But, the outfit is cute.”

Solana smiles at that, a bit of a laugh leaving her considering Roman nearly had a heart attack at her outfit when she stepped out the bathroom. Hence why they’re late. Among…..other reasons.

“I’m sorry. We got caught up with something.”

“Mmmhmm,” Naomi sounds with that knowing look. “I’m sure you did.”

Solana looks away, wanting and needing to hide her blush as Roman asks in an annoyed voice, “where is he?”

“Here.” The four of them redirect their attention to the sound of Jimmy and the other two men he’s with: Jey and Carmelo.

Naturally, Solana goes to observe the indirect interaction between Jey and Roman, searching for any sigh of contempt. It’s definitely there. She can see it in the way Roman’s shoulders tense and how Jey looks away, Solana noticing the faded bruises on his face as well as the bandage over a still healing cut.

Swallowing, Solana moves over to them. “Hey.”

Jimmy pulls her into a side hug without needing initiation, but it’s not missed upon her how Jey seems to hesitate to hug her, the tension in his body as well as the way he almost awkward way he clears his throat and looks away.

She tries not to make too much of it, but it’s hard not to.

Carmelo steps forward, giving a nod. “Ma’am.”

That makes her smile return. “I told you before, you can just call me Solana.”

“Ma’am is fine,” Roman’s deep voice cuts through, Solana not needing to turn around, hearing his heavy footsteps behind her. “You’re late.”

Carmelo swallows. “I’m sorry—”

“I don’t care,” Roman is instantly dismissive, focusing his attention on his wife as he goes into an unnecessary introduction. “Solana, this is—”

“I know,” she cuts him off with a gentle smile, explaining, “I met him at the party.”

At that, Romans’ thick eyebrows cave inward. “What?”

“He was there, Big Dog.”

‘“I–I was there, sir.”

Roman scowls, completely ignoring his cousin and the other irrelevant man. “He was?” He looks over at his wife, asking, “you invited him too?”

Solana nods. “I asked the twins to invite whoever it was you found to help me train, because I wanted to meet him beforehand,” she explains, turning to Carmelo again, “thank you again for—agreeing to help me.”

Carmelo opens his mouth, unsure just how to express that he didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. Or one at all.

“He was there the whole time,” Naomi shares from where she stretches on one of the mats, Jimmy focused on her ass as she bends over.

“You were too busy trying not to kill and cuss everybody out,” Bayley walks over, earning a hardened look from Roman that she pays no mind to. “Alright, so Solana is obviously a small human being, but she’s fast and hell and can maneuver quickly. That makes her hard to catch. Those are her strengths. She’s also pretty damn good with a knife.” Solana is a bit unsure how to feel about that part. “But, she’s only ever trained with women, hence why you’re here, Melo.”

“She also wants to learn how to do the spear.”

Roman’s statement earns a round of surprised expressions from everyone except Carmelo.

He looks terrified. “The—the spear?” He gestures with a crooked, slightly trembling index finger. “From—from you?”

“Who the fuck else?” Is Roman’s objectively rude reply, Solana having to stop herself from placing her hand on his forearm. He could try to be a little nicer.

“You supposed to get a spear from him?” A new voice sounds, Solana not recognizing the man with a deep complexion, multiple piercings and an….interesting hairstyle. He shakes his head. “You gon die!”

Solana’s mouth drops as Bayley and Naomi laugh aloud. Jimmy is the one to ask, “R Truth, where did you even come from?”

He scowls, pointing downward. “Boss man said meet him here.”

“I said at the office, Truth. Not the Warehouse.” Jey finally speaks, Solana realizing it’s the first time he’s done so. He sounds annoyed, and she’s not sure if it’s just because of the scene unfolding before them. Or something that he’s clearly still not over.

“Yo? Forreal?” Jey runs his hand over his face. “That’s—that’s my bad.” He looks to Roman, nodding. “Tribal Chief.” He looks at Solana, again nodding, “Mrs. Tribal Chief.” He then gestures to the rest of the group. “Ya’ll be safe now.” Pointing to Carmelo, he adds, “‘cept’ for you, you already dead.”

Solana has so many questions, even as this strange man walks away, Jey muttering something incoherent before he seems to follow after this R-Truth person.

Once those two men are gone, Carmelo nervously clears his throat. “Tribal Chief, if I can, who better to train her than y—”

“Shut up,” Roman says it so lazily. It’s as he crosses his massive arms over each other that Solana has to briefly look away, finding herself growing….distracted. He’s so damn muscular. “She’s comfortable with me. That won’t help her learn.”

Roman easily transitions into providing basic information about the spear, best ways to time it, stances, ways to land it and whatnot. She’s following, as best she can, at least. Because this exhaustion she’s experiencing is making it ten times harder to be present in the moment, and that’s made evident by the gap in her focus when one moment Roman is explaining, and the next he’s rushing towards Carmelo.

Solana gasps as Roman spears the other man with a ferocity and intensity that seems almost animal-like.

Eyes wide, hands over her mouth, Solana has to wince at a pain she didn’t even experience. But, one didn’t have to be on the receiving end of that to know it had to hurt like hell.

Roman stands up so unbothered and nonchalant, readjusting his almost always perfect bun.

“Gotta give him his props. No one does a spear quite like Roman,” Bayley chuckles, arms crossed as Solana continues to stare in shock.

Jimmy casually walks by and peers over an unmoved Carmelo. “Ayo, Uce, I think he dead.” The faintest sound of pained whining fills the air, prompting Jimmy to correct himself. “Never mind. He alive.”

“Barely,” Naomi mumbles.

“He shouldn’t be so weak,” is Roman’s pompous defense as he redirects his attention to a still startled Solana. “Make sense?”

There’s a brief delay in between the time she nods slowly and speaks. “But, I—I don’t think I can do that.”

A small smile falls on Roman’s face as he explains, “it’s not going to be the exact same, Solana. I’m significantly bigger than you. Plus, spearing a man is different than spearing a woman.”

“What if I need to spear a man?”

His expression hardens as he affirms, “he’d have to get through me first to fucking touch you.”

Solana doesn’t say anything after that. Just waits for Carmelo to recover as they transition to the one-on-one portion. Solana is rolling her shoulders, trying to get in as much stretching as she can to hopefully loosen up her body more and shed away the almost fatigue she’s feeling.

It’s unfamiliar and inconvenient as hell considering what she’s about to do.

She’s in earshot range too when Roman grabs Melo’s arm and warns in the chilliest tone, “leave one fucking mark on her, and I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body.”

A heavy sigh leaves her body. She understands Roman’s protectiveness, but truthfully, Carmelo is doing them a favor. He doesn’t have to be here.

Then again….maybe he does.

She doesn’t put it beyond her husband to threaten people on her behalf.

Not in the slightest.

And on one hand, she’s partially grateful for the obvious care and mindfulness Carmelo is utilizing as he trains with her, it’s definitely helpful from her trauma standpoint. Helps for them to not be as physical as she typically is with Bayley and Naomi.

However, it's painfully obvious that Carmelo is doing his damn hardest to minimize any and all physical contact between the two of them. A part of her appreciates it, but a larger part of her finds it a bit annoying. It’s sparring. Not interpretive dancing.

Solana manages to swipe Carmelo off his feet, growing a bit frustrated when he intentionally takes longer to get up. “This doesn't help me,” she sighs, hands on her hips as she takes a second to steal a much needed breath. “Roman, can you please tell him—”

She’s cut off by being swiped by her ankles, tumbling forward to the floor. Carmelo is suddenly over her, flipping her onto her back, Solana not hesitating to move her knee between his stupidly open legs. He groans from the impact, and she takes that opportunity to bar her forearm across his neck, switching them so that he’s on his back with her hovering over him.

However, anything more is cut short by that small interaction alone knocking the wind out of her.

Climbing off him, she moves onto her hands and knees, eyes shut and head dropped. Neither from feeling triggered or even being in pain, just exhaustion.

She’s so damn drained.

In what feels like seconds, Roman is at her side, hand on her back. “Solana, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, answering quickly, “I’m just—tired.” More than what’s normal for her. Training is usually draining, but considering they haven’t even been at it that long, she’s confused as to why she’s getting so winded. Lifting her head, she offers a small smile. “I’m fine.”

“No.” Roman dismisses it with the quickness, directing to the others. “We’re done for the day.”

“Roman, I’m fine. I’m just—probably out of shape.” Maybe, but this feels beyond that. She’s just so fatigued. He helps her to her feet, Solana trying to bargain, “at least let me finish with Bayley?”

He’s not hearing it. “No. You clearly need to ease back into things.” She frowns. I thought I was. “Head to the showers.”

“Roman—”

“He’s right, Solana,” Naomi suddenly sounds, walking over with Bayley. “You’re clearly tired and just need to ease back into and relearn some things. That’s okay. We can do this another day. When you’re at 100.”

“Or maybe she can just continue to train with ya’ll—”

And in perfect synchronized dismissiveness, Roman, Bayley, and Naomi all shut Carmelo down with a simple, “shut up.”

It cracks a smile on Solana’s face. The fact that the majority of them are in agreement is enough to make her realize that they’re probably right in that she should try another day. Maybe even easing back into it. Not necessarily the part about relearning. She remembers everything. Recall is not the problem. This fatigue is, but a part of her is starting to think she knows what it might be.

Just why she’s so fatigued.

And in true Jimmy fashion, he blurts out with the ill timed question, “aye, Soso, what’s for dinner today?”

————

“So why exactly are you fighting again?”

It’s not the first time she’s asked this question. No, it’s been posed at least three different times prior to this occurrence. Just different wording. A different question that’s garnered the same kind of answer every single time.

A part of her recognizes this, but a part of her also doesn’t care.

Solana has always been under the impression, and has essentially been told by several people, Roman included, that he doesn’t really fight in the ring anymore. That he doesn’t need to. That he doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone, and those words came from him directly.

So, she was and still is, confused when he told her of a match he was competing in. The theme of the fight night being Bad Blood not helping much. At all.

Still, there was no way in hell she would miss attending. Even if her presence wasn’t something that’s technically mandatory. She wants to support him. She’s just nervous about the notion of him being in the ring again, recalling the last time she witnessed such a thing. It was brutal and bloody, and while he came out with the win, relatively unscathed, it still makes her nervous. Because there’s always a chance something can go wrong.

Because she always worries about him, and she’s pretty sure she always will. So long as he is who he is.

Roman, however, couldn’t give two shits about this fight with Drew. Tonight is more of a political move than anything, Roman needing a very public and brutal display of his prowess to remind everyone why he sits at the Head of the Table. It’s truly just an added bonus that he gets to kick the shit out of Drew in the process.

Or worse.

Roman is more focused, borderline distracted, by Solana. The sexy red dress she has on leaves little to the imagination with the low neckline, tight fit, and short length that stops about mid-thigh, rolling even higher as she’s propped on the bathroom counter. Her hair is pinned up, and her makeup is on the lighter, almost undetectable, side. His preference. She’s stunning with and without it, but there’s something he enjoys most seeing her in her natural state.

She just looks good as hell, and if not for the importance of this evening, he’d say fuck this damn match and Drew and spend the rest of the evening with her. A much more desirable and preferable option, truly. But, duty and obligation before anything.

Even his fine ass wife.

Roman waits until he’s slid the black hoodie over his head, smirking a bit at the slight disappointment that appears on Solana’s face at him no longer being shirtless. He decides to slide through that crevice of brief deflection.

“You know the same way you look at me is the same way I look at and think about you.” He’s walking toward her, big hands carefully spreading her thighs so he can step in between her legs. This close, he’s granted a perfect view of her equally perfect breast. “All the damn time.”

He’s unsurprised when her cheeks redden nor when she says anything. “A challenge was issued, and I need to send a message.” That’s a much simpler way of explaining the full scope of just what tonight is, but he also doesn’t want to bombard her with information she doesn’t necessarily need to know.

She licks her lips, and he hates how sexual such an innocent act looks, especially when he knows that’s not her intent. “What—what kind of message?”

A potentially brutal, bloody message, but painting that picture for her beforehand might create some unnecessary anxiety. “A message that won’t need to be repeated.”

That seems to register for her as she asks, “Are—are you nervous?”

That actually makes Roman laugh. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt that emotion. It’s been years. Many decades. Moving his hands to her waist, he tugs her closer to him. “I don’t get nervous, Solana.”

“Ever?”

“Naw.”

She’s still looking at him with that same level of trepidation, maybe even a bit more heightened actually. “But….but you’re still careful, right?” It seems like an otherwise silly question with an obvious answer, but Roman can see where she’s coming from. The fear that fuels it. “Like….like you pay attention and stuff?”

“Of course,” his answer is gentle and patient. Two things reserved strictly and solely for her. “Solana, I’ve been fighting my whole life. I know what I’m doing.”

Her eyes widen, and he just knows he’s in for an unnecessary apology. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean—”

“Baby.” Yup. Just as he predicted. Bringing his hand to the back of her neck, Roman extends that tenderness, explaining, “I know what you meant. You’re worried, and you shouldn’t be. I’ve got this. Alright?”

She nods a little, and he’s relieved to see some of her apprehension has melted away. With the hand still on her hip, he gives her a light squeeze. “Come on.” Roman stays close as she carefully slides off the counter, her heels giving her a bit of a height boost, but not enough to make a substantial difference. He still towers over her.

And it’s in looking down at her from this angle, and the quick glance of her ass in this dress through the bathroom mirror, he makes a face. “Then again….” Roman slides his hand from the back of her neck, down until he’s palming and squeezing her ass. “Maybe this will be a bit of a distraction.”

“Roman!” She yelps, and he groans at the feel of her. She’s so damn fine and thick in all the right areas that it doesn’t even make sense.

He moves to take her hand, kissing it before guiding her out of the bathroom. “Come on. Before your fine ass makes us late.”

She giggles, holding onto his arm while he hits the light switch. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Roman says nothing, because if only she fucking knew.

If only.

————

Solana was half expecting to be separated from Roman once they reached the warehouse, him needing time to prepare for the fight and whatnot. And while the latter part was true, the first wasn’t. She’s thoroughly surprised when he instead guides her to the back with him to his sizable, impressive locker room.

Roman directs Solana to make herself comfortable, which is almost impossible to do.

It’s hard because she can’t stop thinking about the fact that her husband is going to be in the ring with that man who looked like he would have killed Roman right there on the spot, if he could. The same expression she’s certain he’ll have tonight when it’s just the two of them.

A part of her is starting to wish she would have sat this one out. Stayed home tonight. Her hand falls to her stomach. That irksome, borderline nauseous feeling has been with her all day. On and off the past week, really. Since trying to return to training earlier in the week. She’s certain a chunk of it has been nerves, but the rest of it, maybe most of it, she’s almost certain, is early onset pregnancy symptoms.

Just thinking about the fact that a baby, her baby, their baby is growing inside of her belly warms her entire soul. Temporarily distracts her from worrying about Roman. To wondering. Wondering which of his features their child will inherit. Will he or she have his dark, raven, wavy hair? His smoldering brown, almost hazel like eyes? Will the baby take after her brunette locks? Her nose?

In all honesty, she only wants a healthy child. That’s the most important thing, but it’s also hard for her to not lean more on the side of wanting the baby to be a boy. She knows how important producing an heir is. For the Bloodline. For Roman. Especially with how he’s gone above and beyond to keep pressure off them, off her regarding their lack of an heir.

It’s the least she can do for him. He deserves it.

And she’d love more than anything to give it to him.

Roman stepping back into the vicinity briefly pulls her from her thoughts.

“You alright?”

Naturally, her hand falls from her stomach as she manages a small smile and nod. “Yeah.” She takes in his appearance, noticing his hair is wet and drenched, water droplets rolling down that nearly perfect body she’s grown to love pressed against hers. Not even just for sex. Just in general. Roman’s touch is calming to her.

Climbing down off the table where she sits, she moves over to him. “Are you?”

He chuckles, hand to her hip. “Always.”

She has to believe that.

Solana goes to kiss him when the Wise Man walks back in, forcing her to settle for a hand to his cheek. “Be careful.”

He clearly hears the presence of someone else and only nods, his eyes conveying the unspoken ‘I love you.’ She just offers him a warm smile before she retracts her hand and moves to leave the room, only providing her husband’s chief advisor a quiet ‘hello.’

Security escorts her up to the same VIP seating area as the last couple of times she’s attended events like this at the Warehouse. And as usual, Bayley and Naomi are already sitting and waiting for her.

“Had to give your man that good luck quickie right before, huh?”

Bayley’s comment makes Solana blush and aware of the hickey on her neck she didn't even bother trying to hide. Or the one near her breast.

“She didn’t deny it either,” Naomi snickers, playfully shoving Solana.

Instead of acknowledging their innuendos, she utilizes an actual productive use of time. “I was thinking.”

“Listening,” Bayley responds, the two ladies keenly focused on the new topic.

“Roman has to go out of town next week for……business.” She tries to not think too much about that. It’ll only spike her worry.

“Who’s going to stay with you?” Naomi asks, gesturing to the two of them. “He didn’t ask us.”

Solana swallows. That's definitely something she wants to work on with him. The fact that he still blames them for what happened. “Nia.”

“Nia?”

To be fair, Solana had a bit of the same reaction when Roman first told her his cousin would be staying with her. She’s certain it was…..an interesting discussion, to say the least.

Solana shrugs. “She’s not that bad.” And it’s true. Solana has received much worse from people, in terms of treatment. “And it’s really just….to give me my medicine and stuff.” Because Roman seemed vehemently against and shut it down so fast when she even approached the idea of being able to handle it on her own. Not that….not that she can blame him, per se. “But, I was thinking. What if we went to Isla Mujeres for the weekend? Like that girls trip we were talking about.”

“You talk to Roman about it?”

Solana shakes her head, explaining. “Nia would be with us, so I’m sure he’d be fine.” Because she is. Now, if Nia doesn’t come along, then that’s another story. Though something tells her that once she tells Roman she wants to do this, he’ll find a way to make Nia go along with the plan.

“I think it could be fun,” Naomi shares, rubbing her hands together. “From the pictures you showed us, the beach looks beautiful.”

“It is,” Solana smiles. “I want to invite Cam, Mickie, and Melina too.”

“So do it,” Bayley encourages. “It’s your girls trip. You decide on the guest list. Melina has always been cool. I didn’t know she…..struggled the way she does, but I’ve always liked her.” Solana is appreciative of Bayley’s handling of Melina’s mental health struggles. “And Cam and Mickie seem cool too.”

“They are,” Solana agrees. They really helped her time spent in the hospital and the treatment facility go a lot easier than it could have been.

As per usual, conversation flows naturally between the ladies only to minimize once the night begins, all three paying attention to the various matches, mostly the ones that pertain to the Bloodline.

So, really, Jimmy and Jey’s tag team match against two men that Solana doesn’t recognize, which, of course, the twins come out with the win for. And Roman’s match, the last of the night, because no one comes after the Tribal Chief.

The complete shift in energy when Roman enters the space is truly something to behold. His power and dominance is felt in every square inch of the building. Undeniable excellence and power penetrating almost. She can’t take her eyes off him, his face stoic, determined, focused.

She can see why he doesn’t get nervous. He seems so in his element in this space. Even as Drew comes out with that same level of determination, an almost hatred splayed across his face as he looks over at Roman with ardent vitriol.

Her husband, however, is unbothered.

As he is with most things in life.

Still, the fact that Drew is about what and what with Roman in regards to build and size has her anxiety festering. She knows and has seen for herself how flawless Roman is in the ring. That doesn’t mean she can’t worry though. Can’t wait for this to all just be over with so they can go home.

So she can start figuring out just how she wants to tell him about the pregnancy.

But, that’s a then thing, and this is very much here and now.

The sound of the bell fills the Warehouse as the boisterous crowd continues to erupt, excited to see their Tribal Chief in action.

If only she could relate.

For the most part, the match starts off as expected, Roman being in the lead, staying one or several steps ahead of Drew, expertly dodging or countering hits. Solana is practically on the edge of her seat, chewing on her bottom lip, watching every single piece of the fight. From Roman’s steps to Drew’s lunges to the way both men who seem too large for life go at it like two titans.

Of course, despite looking like one, Roman is no God. He’s still a man, a man who takes several hits from Drew, one making Solana wince. However, she learned from the night of WarGames, Roman hates being hit. It only pisses him off more than he naturally is at any given point.

And that’s proven in the increased brutality of Roman’s hits, Drew being the first to have blood spilled as Roman smashes his head in the steel staircase.

It’s a quick shift though that she somehow misses, because Drew suddenly has Roman in a painful looking headlock. One he seems to take too long to get out of, for her comfort.

Solana moves to the absolute edge of her seat, panic starting to set in the longer Roman’s airway is restricted. And then she sees the way Drew’s mouth moves, the snarl and subsequent smirk as he says something to Roman. Roman’s briefly stunned eyes flickering to hers, but it’s so short, too short to process. Because just as quickly as he was looking at her, he’s managed his way out of the headlock, sending the other man to the ground. Roman wastes no time jumping on top of him, gaining and taking full advantage of the upper hand, raining blow on top of blow on Drew with a pace and aggression that seems almost inhuman.

The light blue of the mat is suddenly splashed and splayed with blood. Drew’s. Roman’s chest and fist also stained, Solana wincing a bit as even from a distance she sees the way Drew's face has become almost disfigured by blood, bruising, and swelling.

He’s clearly lost consciousness, but that doesn’t stop Roman.

No, instead a deep frown falls on her face as she watches Roman move outside of the ring and lift up the metal staircase that he brings back into the ring with him. She turns her head right before the impact between the steps and the unconscious man.

Unalive man, because there’s no way Drew is still breathing. Not with the severity of the beating.

Bayley and Naomi are clearly also taken back by witnessing a live murder but clearly do their best not to make it a thing for her sake. She’s appreciative, but it still doesn’t delete her confusion towards Roman’s behavior.

Overkill. Barbaric. Sadistic, almost.

And with all of that, the confliction she’s experiencing, Solana can only think of one thing, what the hell happened in that ring to bring about that kind of rage in her husband?

————

Roman doesn’t say much to her.

It’s not surprising. She’s not quite sure what there is to say. Him viciously beating a man to death isn’t, at the core of it, something that needs explaining.

That doesn’t stop her from trying to almost dance around the subject. Asks him if he’s feeling alright, if he wants her to fix him anything, and things of the sort. It doesn’t do much. His responses are minimal, a few words to each statement, at best.

It bothers her to know something is bothering him, that he won’t talk to her, but also, Solana can admit she’s not sure how to talk with him about this.

She’d certainly do her best though, if he was actually willing to open up to her.

She doesn’t force it though, just welcomes his arms around her as they lay in bed, eventually falling asleep together.

However, Dulce does what Dulce does best and wakes up in the middle of the night, politely reminding her parents of her small bladder. Regardless of her sleep intrusion, Solana is grateful to be able to escort their puppy out of the room without disturbing her husband’s much needed and deserved sleep.

But, it’s as Dulce seems to take her sweet time finding the perfect spot to relieve herself that Solana frowns. Lifting her hand to her breast, she’s taken back by the tenderness of the touch. New and out of the norm.

Another……symptom?

Even with the night’s unexpected events, as much as she’s trying to not allow herself to get too excited at the possibility of being pregnant, it’s hard not to. Especially with the strange onset of symptoms she’s been experiencing all week. Some seen before or during her cycle, but some new and unfamiliar. And a quick google search confirmed they in fact could be early pregnancy symptoms.

But still, Solana has gained enough self-introspection to know that a negative test would be…..difficult for her to process. Something she doesn’t really even want to think about, hence why she’s not allowing herself to fully acknowledge that she’s probably pregnant.

Because the alternative would be…..not the desired outcome.

It’s as she observes the backyard, seeing the reflection of the lights above the pool that a random thought crosses her mind. A question, rather. Would they have to cover up the pool when the baby starts crawling? What other changes around the house would have to be implemented for safety reasons? Most definitely, they’d have to stock up on those baby proof outlet covers. And maybe even block off the staircase.

Something tells her any child of her husband would be mobile. On the run. A small smile settles on her face, her hand falling to her belly as she once again mentally puts together what their child will look like. Him. Her. Both of them.

Both would be her preference. Roman would be a close second.

Dulce’s short legs carry her back into the house, her wagging tale eliciting a smile and small laugh. “Good job—”

“Where the hell were you?”

Solana jumps and gasps. Outside of his sudden presence in the living room startling her, Roman's tone and volume indicate a level of irritation that doesn’t quite compute. Doesn’t make sense. Where else would she have been?

Confused, she answers, “Dulce had to use the bathroom...”

This didn’t seem to be the answer he neither wanted nor needed. His expression is sharp. “So you went out there alone?”

This brings a frown to her face, a contrast to her almost jovial disposition not even minutes prior. Solana points out in a calm voice, “Roman, I–I always go alone.”

“Not anymore.” She can’t protest, because he adds. “Wake me up, and if I’m not here, let her use the damn crate.”

“But—”

“You heard what I said!”

His voice bounces off the walls and echoes through the hall, but it’s Solana’s jump away from him that seems to trigger something for Roman. His expression immediately softens. “Shit, I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

She says nothing for a good minute before quickly deciding that beating around the bush isn’t the way to go in this situation.

She needs to be direct.

“Ro….what happened tonight?”

She’d briefly played around with the idea of bringing it up to him or letting it lie. Obviously, the latter is not the best route to go. “You….you were off. You lost control, and that’s….that’s not like you.”

In the ring is when she’s noticed he’s most controlled, never allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment and actions because he recognizes the detriment it would cause. Yes, he’s violent and brutal, but it’s still controlled. Not tonight. …tonight she saw that impulsive, emotion driven man she’d heard whispers about over the years. Tonight, she saw him take a man’s life, and not in a controlled methodical way, but in a moment of pure rage and spontaneity.

She’d never tell him this, never allow it to leave her mouth, but for a split second, it scared her. Solana wasn’t naive enough to truly think that his kindness or love toward her made him any less of a cold-blooded killer. And she knows, without a shadow of a doubt that he would never hurt her or direct his anger towards her.

But.

But, the look in his eyes tonight…it was as if he had no soul.

And that….that is what scared her.

His gaze darts to the corner of the room, an intentional act to avoid her own, she’s sure. “He pissed me off.”

“Ro….people piss you off all the time, and you don’t beat them to death like you did him.” It’s such a strange experience, speaking with him so casually. Solana can still recall the tightness in her chest every time she was in the vicinity of this man, the fear she struggled to manage when even looking at him, often keeping her gaze downward. And now, she’s pushing him on what is obviously a lie. Or a deep state of denial. “He—he said something to you.” That’s when he finally sets his eyes on her. “I–I saw it.”

“Does it matter now?”

“Yes—yes, it does, because you just snapped at me for taking our dog out to use the bathroom, something I’ve done for months now.” It’s not until saying that aloud that a thought crosses her mind. “Was—was it about me? Did—did he say something about me?” And when he says nothing, doesn’t deny it or push back or even snap at her again that she realizes that’s exactly what it was.

And it confuses the mess out of her.

What could have been said to cause him to react so violently? Even more, how could it have been any different from the shit talking they all do in the ring?

“I don’t—I don’t understand.” Her eyes follow him as he moves toward the living room, sitting on the edge of the sofa. Tentatively and without much thought, her legs carry her toward him, but she stops just shy of being at arms length. Noticing this, Roman motions her closer with his index finger. And as soon as she’s close enough, he tugs her onto his lap. Seeing the conflict in his eyes, she moves her hand to his bicep. “Baby, please talk to me…..”

Like many, if not any, interaction with her comforting urge, Roman finds it difficult to deny her. He struggles to push back those words that have secretly haunted him even hours after he put a permanent end to McIntyre.

“You really think you can keep her safe?” His cruel taunt, wicked smile revealing the blood building in his mouth, coating his teeth. “She’ll die just like rest of your fucking fam—”

“Ro…”

And it's her soft voice that pulls him from the memory as he shares with her what was said. “He said I couldn’t keep you safe, that you’d die like the rest of my family.” She gasps. Whatever was said had to have been bad and most likely somehow about her. She just didn’t know it would be that.

Shaking her head, she pushes his hair back. “He was just…he was just trying to get in your head.” And I think it worked. Solana would never verbalize as such to Roman, but it’s a thought she can’t dismiss. She’s never seen him this bothered. “Nothing—nothing’s going to happen to me, Ro.”

“I told you before that I don’t—I don’t feel things like you. That I don’t—feel anything.” She remembers it vividly. That conversation between them that was during the early days of their love story. Something that feels so long ago now. “I was wrong. I’ve—I’ve always felt anger, but now I’m feeling other things too, and I don’t know how—” He stops himself, clearly changing directions. “I’m sorry I did that in front of you—”

“It’s fine, Ro. I—” Because despite that brief second of ear, her first and foremost concern is him. It’s always him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He’s quiet for a moment, sharing in an almost unsure voice. “I count your pills every day before I go to bed.” She’s still, unmoving, unsure how to process such a thing. Because she knows why, exactly why he does that. And it nearly breaks her heart in fucking half. “Losing you is the only thing in this fucking world that scares me.” Voice shifting into something desperate and almost vulnerable, he says with all the conviction. “Because, I can’t lose you, Sol.” His gaze is on her, burning with determination. And need. “I won’t.”

“And you won’t.” Her hands move to his face, beard bristling against the skin on her palms. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” She places an almost tentative, chaste kiss to his temple, noticing how his eyes close after. As if he’s more at peace. “Roman, I am with you until my dying breath, and that won’t be happening anytime soon. Not for you. Not for me.”

And not for their child growing inside of her.

“Why don’t—why don’t we go see Fetu this weekend?” It’s technically early Saturday morning already, and Solana returns to work Monday, but even just a day or two spent with his aunt could probably make a difference for her husband who she sees needs to get away. “Or even if you just go—I can stay—”

“No.” His voice is still low, but it’s not as weighed down. She’s grateful for at least that. “She’d be pissed if I showed up without you.” The hint of humor in his voice makes her heart swell.

“We’ll go.” It’s not necessarily a suggestion anymore. It’s a plan. “You’ll clear your head, and everything will be better, okay?” He looks at her, nodding quietly. Solana makes a mental note to make sure to pack one or two pregnancy tests, because what better way to break the news to him than being able to tell Fetu right after? Together.

It seems like a perfect plan to her.

Noticing Dulce has already left and went back upstairs, Solana suggests the same to her husband. “Let’s go back to bed, okay?”

It’s then that Solana realizes his hand on her hip is moving in slow, soothing circles. She can’t tell if it’s for his comfort or hers. Placing her hand over his, she gives a gentle tug, moving off his lap but never allowing her hand to leave his.

His movements are slow initially, but he stands up and allows her to guide them up the stairs and back into their bedroom. Solana easily resumes their earlier sleeping position, grateful and thankful when he kisses her temple and murmurs, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The exact moment when she falls asleep, or even when he does, is unknown. But what is known is when she’s woken up to the sound of grunts and muttered protests.

“I’ve gotta….save…them.”

Solana blinks and rubs at her eyes. “Ro?”

Sitting up, she sees him twisting and turning, an almost distressed look on his handsome face. Her heart drops. A nightmare. He’s having a nightmare.

Naturally, Solana moves her hand to his shoulder, shaking him a bit. “Roman, wake up.” She might as well have done nothing, because he’s continuing to stir, mumbling in Samoan. Voice so low that even if she did speak the language, she wouldn’t hear him.

Without thinking twice about it, Solana climbs on top of him, straddling him as she continues her efforts to awaken him. “Roman, baby, please wake up.” It’s both familiar and unfamiliar. She knows this struggle very well. Has lived through it almost her entire life, but she’s never been on this end. Been on the side of watching someone go through it.

Least of all, Roman.

And she hates it. Hates it with everything in her because she knows how heavy and devastating it is to be sucked into reliving trauma. That’s why she ups the ante, raising her voice and essentially hitting him on his shoulders.

“Roman! Wake u—”

“No!”

It all happens so fast. Almost too fast for Solana to truly process what’s occurring in the moment. It’s only afterwards that she can recount it, can recall what just happened, can process that at the same time she went to try to save him from himself, Roman shot awake with an instinctive swing, a natural, almost protective thing that results in Solana shoved to the edge of the bed, mouth open, holding onto her face.

It’s an instant stinging sensation, a dull, throbbing pain that she hasn’t felt in some time and never anticipated feeling as a result of her own husband.

A husband who is now awake and also aware of what just happened. His widened eyes and open mouth are on her as Solana winces a bit and flexes her jaw, trying to gather herself. He’s up. That’s the only thing that matters.

“Oh my God.” She’s not sure she’s ever heard Roman sound so horrified. “Solana—”

Her name is enough to pull her back to him, Solana climbing on his lap, shaking her head as she cups his face. “It’s okay. I’m—I’m okay—”

“I hit you….”

Even him saying it aloud seems and feels wrong to Solana. “No, baby—you were having a nightmare. It wasn’t like that—”

“I hit you, Solana.” He’s not even looking at her, looking down, perplexed, disturbed with himself, clearly trying to sit on this unfathomable thing.

“Roman, I’m fine. Really.” Her face is throbbing, and she’s certain she’ll have a bruise come morning, but it’s nothing compared to what she’s received in the past. From the actual hitting she used to be on the receiving end of. From her dad and brother. “Ro, I did the same thing to you, remember? I—I ripped out your stitches.” It’s something she felt horrified at herself for in the moment. Probably close to what he’s feeling even though she’d rather he not because he’s done nothing wrong. “Baby—”

Shaking his head, Roman lowers her hands from his face. “I’m sorry.” She goes to reassure him that he’s fine, that she’s fine, but Roman is fast, easily moving the blankets off him, forcing her to the side, off him.

“Roman, no—” She scrambles off the bed as he goes for the door of their bedroom, effectively planting herself in front of it. “No, you’re not leaving.”

He closes his eyes, his voice almost desperate. “Solana, please.”

“No!” Raising her voice wasn’t an intentional thing, just a result of her own emotions brewing in this moment. She’s not even thinking about herself, about the pain in her face. She’s just thinking about the man in front of her who looks disgusted with himself. “Roman, I am fine.”

Because she is.

Because even with all of her trauma, having been hurt so deeply and badly by men, Roman unintentionally striking her didn’t fill her with an ounce of fear. Didn’t make her want to put as much distance between them as possible. Didn’t have any effect on how she sees and feels about him.

She could only focus on him and how distressing his nightmare must have been to result in such a response.

“I hurt you….” It’s the way his voice almost wavers with the word ‘hurt’ along with his fraught countenance that has her chest tightening. She’s never seen him look so upset, and the fact that it’s solely directed toward himself is gut-wrenching.

“No,” her voice catches in the back of throat, eyes watering. She reaches up and cups his face. “Baby, listen to me. You could never hurt me.”

Something flashes in his eyes, something akin to anger as he asks in a tight voice, “But, I did." She shakes her head, ready to stand here all night trying to convince him that he’s not in the wrong when he takes it a step further. “How is it any different from your dad and brother?”

It’s an active effort to not back away from him, to not drop her hands and for no reason other than putrid disgust. Disgust that he could even fix his mouth to say such a thing. To put himself into that category.

Solana swallows, specifically choosing each and every word that leaves her mouth. “Roman…I was raped. Violently. For—for hours. I couldn’t—I couldn’t walk afterwards.” She hates talking about this, hates reliving the horrors just from recounting, but she’ll do just about anything to wipe away that gutted, guilty look on her husband’s face. “Wes—Wes was the reason I first started cutting myself, because—” She closes her eyes, having never said these words aloud to anyone. “Because he made me do it. He said it was my—my punishment for getting our mother killed. And eventually….eventually I started to believe him, so I just started doing it to myself, because I thought it was what I deserved.” Another deep, shaky exhale. “My own father tried to kill me.” Roman’s expression slips into something in the vein of surprised. Confused even. Horrified, mostly. “I tried to run away once, and he put me in the hospital for two weeks and told me that if I ever tried to leave again that he’d— he’d make sure to finish the job.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, and truth be told, she’s not sure she wants him to. She just wants him to listen, really listen and allow her words to penetrate his thick layer of undeserved guilt. “You are the first man in my life to never hurt me the way I’ve been hurt, so don’t you ever fucking say again that you hurt me or put yourself in the same category as those bastards. You are nothing like them.” Because she’d rather walk barefoot on burning coal for the rest of her life than for him to ever even think he’s in the same group as them. “So, please, please just—”

Solana feels it rising, traveling up her body at the most impromptu time. “Shit,” she curses, slapping her hand over her mouth as she dashes to the bathroom, hitting the light, barely making it to the toilet that, thankfully, is already open and ready for her to deposit what feels like everything she ate that day into the commode.

It’s such a miserable, uncomfortable experience, more or less dry heaving over the toilet in the middle of the night.

Just added to the list of unfortunate things that have happened. A heavy wave of exhaustion washes over her as she lays her head down on her arm that’s stretched across the toilet seat. She feels like shit, and it has nothing to do with what just happened.

If only she could tell her husband that.

Because Roman is suddenly behind her, hand on the small of her back, asking if she’s alright. Glancing over at him, she shakes her head, mustering up a quiet excuse of it probably being something she ate.

He doesn’t look convinced, and Solana knows it’s because he’s somehow connecting this to what just happened. She’d give anything to be able to wipe that belief from his mind, to tell him it’s just morning sickness, a common pregnancy symptom.

Because with all of the dots connecting, there’s no doubt in Solana’s mind. Any test would just be a formality. She knows her body.

She knows that she’s pregnant.

But, something tells her that telling Roman this will only make things worse. Make him feel even more guiltier than what he’s already experiencing. Would kill him to know he ‘hit’ her while she’s carrying his child.

This isn’t the way she wants to tell him, either. Not like this. No, it needs to be…..special. After all he’s done and probably had to put up with in order to explain them not producing a child after almost eight months of marriage. She can’t announce it like this.

He deserves better.

The wave passes as Solana stands up and flushes the toilet, moving over to the sink to brush her teeth, praying that’s the extent of it. For now, at least. Roman is watching and observing her closely the whole time.

Mouth clean and stripped, somewhat, of that bitter aftertaste, she takes his hand and guides him back to their bedroom. Gratitude fills her when he doesn’t protest the way she practically climbs on top of him, her body resting on his, an intentional position to prevent him from trying to leave out without her noticing.

“Stay with me….” It’s the only thing that leaves her mouth, a soft but firm delivery. It’s the only thing she wants and needs in this moment, for his arms to remain around her, holding her, the same way she’s holding him.

The way she'll always hold onto him.

————

It’s purely a stroke of luck that allows Roman to wake up at the call of his biological clock and find that Solana is no longer atop him but sleeping on her side, back toward him, deeply immersed in much deserved slumber.

But, it's not even a minute later that a heaviness overtakes him as he’s quickly reminded of what happened. Of what he did. What he did to her.

Roman doesn’t hesitate to carefully climb out of bed and move to Solana’s side, hitting the switch on the lamp for a clear presentation. Something he wasn’t ready for. Not in the slightest.

“Jesus Christ….”

Dread fills him all over again with the illumination of the lamp on Solana’s nightstand. Gives him a full, unobstructed view of the left side of her face. A not even fully formed, nasty looking bruise marring her features.

Roman knew that he had to hit her hard, that she had to be downplaying the impact, but the big ass, dark bruise can’t hide the hideous truth. The extent is ugly and evident. It’s a fucking miracle he didn’t fracture or break something. Because he absolutely could have. Not that that makes a huge difference, because regardless of the severity, he hit her.

He fucking hit her.

It feels undeserving, the way he reaches his hand to gently caress her marred face. His stomach clenches as he mutters the three words that could never change, lessen or take back what he’s done.

“I’m so sorry….” Because he is. Because Roman’s list of regrets in life is minimal. Less than the average person, of this, he’s sure. But this, what happened last night is easily at the top of that list. He doesn’t hesitate to turn the switch off, not wanting to have to see the consequences of his horrific actions, even if he should.

Even if he should have to face it. Should have to be faced with the one thing he swore he would never do.

Because that’s exactly what he’s done.

He doesn’t bother waking her up for her medication. Just leaves it in a small, ramekin-like bowl for her to take whenever she wakes up. With the night she had, he hopes she sleeps for a couple more hours.

And he’s grateful for the time he has to himself, to workout, to shower, to think, to act. Even if it’s all a bit of a blur.

Years. It’s been years since he’s experienced that type of rage. Since he’s blacked out like that. Because that’s exactly what happened. Roman remembers Drew’s ominous threat, recalls the beginning of the beating, but most after that is blotchy. Blurred. And the last time he felt that way….was the night he killed Rhodes' family.

Not that he regretted it then or now. Even Drew. No, what he regrets and doesn’t know how to process is that he lost that control in front of his wife. That he lost it with his wife, resulting in her battered face.

Despite the horrors of trauma she’s experienced at the hands of men in her life and the fact that what happened was unintentional, it doesn’t negate what he did. It was wrong, and she didn’t deserve it.

She doesn’t deserve to put up with any of the shit he’s dealing with right now.

What happened with Jey was something he hated having to do in front of her, but this….this is entirely different.

A line was completely crossed.

And it can’t happen again.

Much later that morning, closer to noon than anything is when Roman finds her in the kitchen changed out of her pajamas and into short shorts and a shirt. Normally, he’d be focused on how good she looks and how much he appreciates seeing her confidence grow to where she doesn’t try to hide her body. But, it’s hard with the dark bruising on her face.

She’s clearly in the middle of fixing something but walks over to him, warm smile on her face as she places her hand on his chest. “There you are.” She leans up and kisses him, sharing, “I was wondering when you’d come out. I’m fixing us lunch right quick before we get on the road.”

She turns back towards the counter right as he says her name. “Solana—”

“Do you want anything in particular?”

“Solana.”

“I can make—”

“Solana.” He says it a third and final time, seeing the way she pauses. Deflection. It’s intentional. She can clearly tell something is wrong. With a slow turn to look at him again, it takes everything in him to not look away. The fucking bruise. “I’m leaving tonight.”

Her small smile immediately drops into a deep scowl. “Wh—what?” He briefly redirects his gaze, focusing on the laces of his sneakers instead of the disappointment he knows he’s about to lay on her. “You want—you want to get on the road tonight?”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to bite the bullet. There’s no need in stretching this out. “No, Solana, I’m—I’m flying out to Italy tonight.”

Nothing could have prepared him for the gutted look on her face. She’s clearly confused, smartly pointing out, “but—but you said you weren’t leaving until next week.”

His jaw clenches as he answers so calmly. “Plans changed.”

Her gaze is intense, her eyes never leaving his. “The plans changed or you changed them?” He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to. She already knows the answer. Solana swallows, eyes watering as she walks over to him. “Please don’t do this. Roman, what happened wasn’t your fault. I’m fine.”

“Solana, you are not fine. Have you seen your face?” It’s not intended to be harsh, and the coarseness in his tone is truly directed to no one but himself. “I know my strength. You know my strength. It’s a fucking miracle it’s not worse than what it already is. If I had hit you hard enough and at the right angle—”

“But, you didn’t.” She knows exactly what he’s getting at, and she refuses to allow him to travel down that dark 'what if' road. “Ro, I know you’re upset with yourself, but please don’t do this. You don’t need to leave. I don’t want you to leave.”

And deep down, he doesn’t want to leave. Would love to stay here and just go see his aunt with his wife, but that won’t solve anything. It’s putting an old band-aid on an open, deep wound. He needs to separate himself so that he can turn his feelings completely off. Disconnect and detach.

Or sort through in a way that is violent and unacceptable here. Especially around Solana.

And that’s exactly what being in Italy, being around those people, could do for him.

Roman tries to explain as such to his wife without going into too much detail.

“You’re right. I do need to get away. But, going by Fetu isn’t going to help this.” It’s not going to help, because he doesn’t have an abundance of confusion he needs to sort through. He has anger, aggression, rage. All unlocked by fucking McIntyre that he needs to do away with, and being around his aunt, cousin, and even wife won’t do it. “We can go when I get back—”

She closes her eyes. “Roman—”

“Solana.” He’ll be honest, he expected her to not be happy with his decision, but her level of emotionality seems on the higher end of normal. She seems more emotional than usual. “I love you.” And he always will. “But, what happened last night can’t happen again.”

He won’t let it happen again.

“What if—what if I leave?” She suggests, Roman frowning at the almost desperation in her tone. “I can go stay with Naomi or Bayley for a couple days. Give—give you space.”

“Solana—”

“Hell, even Nia, if that would make you feel better.”

“Sol—”

“Just please.” Her voice cracks as she grabs onto his shirt, begging almost, “please don’t leave me.” She buries herself into his chest, Roman holding her, wanting to assure her that he’s not leaving her. He’s leaving the situation to get a clear mind, to figure out what he needs to do.

Because he wasn’t lying when he said there’s nothing in this world that scares him more than losing her. Than something happening to her.

He just could have never anticipated that he could ever be a direct reason for something happening to her.

That something bad—or worse—could happen to her at his hands.

Because he swore he’d always protect her.

And he always will.

Even if that danger is himself.

Even if it means doing what neither of them may want but is ultimately what’s best for her.

Even if it breaks the heart that will always belong to her.

Whether they’re together or not.

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