Sequoia

Wrestling Fan. Just wanna tell stories ❤️

[luvrgirl4roman]

Hello 👋🏿 I'm 33, plus-size Black woman born and raised from Florida who started watching wrestling and writing around 14. I'm so glad to be back to doing both, I'm even more excited to combine them. ❤️

I got back into wrestling at WrestleMania 39 and have been hooked ever since. My fics are primarily smut, so they're 18+ ONLY. Hope you enjoy! 😘

Roman:

When Desire Strikes

Forbidden Embrace

The Hearts Algorithm Part 1, Part 2,  Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 (Hiatus)

But only with you

Jacob:

First Touch

Jey:

Playful Passions

Solo:

Tides of Temptation Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3

Tag Team:

Party of Three

Headers and Dividers: @saradika-graphics 💟

[jussanother]

[jussanother]

[sayyestoheav3nn]

sobbing. this is everything to me.

[cccomplecatedgirlxx]

Makes me sad but the songs r still bangers tho likeee….?!!

[sayyestoheav3nn]

okay, but the way he’s so damn big.

[moxleyrollins]

baby bro who loves to drag his big bros MONDAY NIGHT RAW | 07.27.26

[luvrgirl4roman]

Solo looked so damn good tonight

[mytribalnightmare]

Solo is the funniest of the Fatu brothers 😂😂

[sayyestoheav3nn]

he’s a lil fine or whatever 🙄

[sharmelasworld]

Office Hours - Part 2

This is the continuation of @isabella-2025 request.

Chapter Two: Properly

Charlotte was waiting on the couch when Isabella walked into the dorm.

Not sitting. Waiting. There was a difference.

She wore pink silk pajamas, her hair in a loose bun, and had set out snacks on the coffee table with the kind of focus you’d expect from someone about to question a suspect. As soon as the door shut, she pointed at the empty chair across from her.

“Sit.”

Isabella stared at her.

“Hello to you too.”

“Sit, Isabella.”

Isabella dropped her purse beside the door and walked farther into the room.

Charlotte’s eyes traveled over her immediately.

Her hair was still damp. Her lips looked a little swollen. A faint flush lingered on her cheeks. Charlotte’s mouth fell open.

“Oh, my God.”

“Please don’t start.”

“You kissed one of them.”

Isabella took off my coat. Charlotte shot to her feet.

“You kissed both of them.”

Isabella tried to keep a straight face, but she couldn’t. She let out a scream.

“Charlotte!”

She grabbed my shoulders.

“Both?”

“Lower your voice.”

“Both?”

“Yes.”

Charlotte screamed even louder this time. Isabella quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

“We live in a dormitory. People have ears.”

Charlotte pulled my hand away.

“You left here as one person and came back like the main character in a very questionable romance novel.”

“It isn’t questionable.”

“Two former professors?”

“Former.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Very freshly former.”

“The grades were posted.”

“They’re still warm from the printer.”

Isabella threw a pillow at Charlotte. Charlotte caught it and hugged it against her chest.

“All right. Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Charlotte stared pointedly at Isabella’s mouth.

“Your lipstick is gone.”

“It was raining.”

“Did the rain take your lipstick off?”

Isabella walked to her dresser and began removing her earrings.

Charlotte followed.

“Who kissed you first?”

“Finn.”

Her eyebrows climbed.

“I knew it.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“He seems like the kind of guy who thinks patience is an insult.”

A laugh slipped out before she could stop it.

“And Cody?” she asked.

I went still.

Charlotte noticed.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“That face.”

“What face?”

“The one that says Cody Rhodes kissed you so slowly that you forgot the alphabet.”

Isabella turned away. Charlotte was right. Cody’s kiss was gentle enough to make her feel safe, but careful enough to feel a little dangerous. For a moment, Isabella felt exposed and protected at the same time, like his care brought out a longing she’d tried to hide. A tremor ran under her skin, a quiet thrill that made her wonder if she wanted to be seen this much.

Finn kissed her like he’d been holding back a storm for weeks. The memory left her breathless, full of wild energy that shook up the order she’d tried to keep. Cody kissed her like he already knew where the lightning would hit. Between those two kisses, something changed. A new part of her woke up—bold and unwilling to pretend she could go back to how things were before tonight.

Charlotte leaned against the dresser.

“So what happens now?”

Isabella looked down at the ring dish between them, carefully contemplating her words.

“They said they want to do this properly.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You agreed without asking?”

“I was distracted.”

“By?”

Isabella gave her a look, and Charlotte sighed dreamily.

“Right. Two former professors.”

My phone vibrated inside my purse. We both froze.

Charlotte’s eyes widened.

“Is it one of them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check.”

“You check.”

“It’s your phone.”

“You’re the one vibrating with curiosity.”

She rushed toward my purse before I could stop her.

“Charlotte!”

She held the phone above her head. Her eyes dropped to the screen. Then her expression changed.

“What?”

She handed it to me.

“It’s Bron.”

The warmth inside her vanished. Three unread messages appeared beneath his name.

“Where are you?”

“Charlotte said you went downtown.”

“Were you with them?”

Isabella’s stomach tightened as she read the messages.

Charlotte folded her arms.

“You didn’t tell him where you were going.”

“I don’t owe him my schedule anymore.”

“He doesn’t seem to understand that.”

Another message appeared.

I know you’re awake.

Charlotte leaned closer.

“Block him.”

Isabella stared at the screen, realizing she needed to cut Bron out of her life for good. They had broken up weeks ago. She’d made herself clear. Still, his name could twist her nerves more than she wanted to admit. She hated how a message from him made her heart race—not with hope, but with anxiety. She felt embarrassed by how much she still worried about his reactions, even now. She wished she could just let him go like everyone said, but it wasn’t that simple. Old fears, doubts, and bits of guilt still tugged at her when she least expected it.

But it still did.

Not because she wanted him back. Because she could already imagine his anger. His accusations. The way he would speak over her until she began doubting the meaning of her own words.

“I’m going to tell him to stop contacting me.”

“Then block him.”

“I want it in writing first.”

Charlotte nodded.

Isabella typed her message carefully.

“Bron, our relationship is over. You do not have the right to question where I go or who I spend time with. Do not contact me again.”

The moment Isabella sent the text, her phone began ringing.

She declined the call. It rang again. Charlotte reached for it.

Isabella stopped her from declining the call.

“No.”

“I’m not letting him ruin tonight.”

“He can’t.”

Another call. Then another. Isabella turned the phone off. Charlotte watched me.

“You okay?”

Isabella inhaled slowly.

“I will be.”

A knock sounded at the door.

Every muscle in Isabella’s body locked. Charlotte moved in front of Isabella without hesitation.

“Stay here.”

She crossed the room and looked through the peephole.

Her shoulders relaxed. Then she turned toward me with an expression that was far too pleased.

“It’s not Bron.”

“Who is it?”

She opened the door.

Finn stood in the hallway. He had changed out of the coat he wore at dinner. Now he wore dark jeans and a fitted black sweater, his hair slightly damp from the rain. Cody stood behind him carrying Isabella’s  scarf. She  hadn’t realized she had left it in the car.

Finn looked past Charlotte and found me. His expression changed immediately.

“Something happened.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I’m fine.”

Finn stepped into the room. Charlotte moved aside, but only after looking him up and down with the calm scrutiny of someone inspecting a suspicious delivery. Cody entered next and closed the door.

“I told him we should call first,” he said.

“And I told him she’d left her scarf,” Finn replied.

“You said that after insisting we turn the car around.”

Finn ignored him. His gaze remained on me.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Cody placed the scarf over the back of a chair.

“Isabella.”

The quiet way he said my name loosened something in her chest.

I looked toward Charlotte. She nodded once.

“Bron texted her,” she said.

Finn’s face hardened. Cody’s expression became still.

“What did he say?” Cody asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if you’re frightened,” Finn said.

“I’m not frightened.”

“You’re holding your hands together so tightly your fingers are turning white.”

I immediately released them. Finn came closer. Not too close. Just enough for me to feel his presence.

“Show us.”

I hesitated.

My phone was still off.

“I told him not to contact me again.”

“And?” Cody asked.

“He kept calling.”

Finn’s jaw tightened.

“Did he threaten you?”

“No.”

“Did he say where he was?”

“No.”

Cody nodded slowly.

“Then tonight we stay calm.”

Finn looked at him.

“I am calm.”

“You look like you’re considering several felonies.”

“Only minor ones.”

Charlotte made an impressed sound. Cody sighed.

“Please don’t encourage him.”

“I like him,” Charlotte announced.

Finn glanced at her.

“You didn’t ten minutes ago.”

“I’m flexible.”

Despite everything, Isabella laughed. The tension eased slightly. Cody looked at Charlotte.

“Would you mind giving us a few minutes?”

She looked toward me first. I nodded.

“Fine,” she said. “But the door stays open.”

“This is your room,” Cody replied. “You’re welcome to set any boundary you wish.”

Charlotte seemed to approve of that answer. She collected her snacks and disappeared into the small bedroom, leaving the door cracked.

Finn waited until she was gone. Then he looked at me again.

“You should report the calls.”

“They were only calls.”

“Repeated unwanted contact is still unwanted contact.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

The sharpness in his tone surprised me.

Isabella straightened.

“I’m not one of your students anymore, Finn.”

His expression changed. The anger disappeared, replaced by something quieter.

“You’re right.”

Cody glanced between us. Finn exhaled.

“I’m sorry.”

Isabella hadn’t expected the apology to come so quickly.

He stepped back.

“I don’t like knowing he can unsettle you.”

“That doesn’t give you permission to order me around.”

“No.”

“Or analyze me.”

A faint smile touched his mouth.

“That one might be harder.”

Isabella fought my own smile.

Cody moved nearer.

“We aren’t here to take over your decisions.”

“Then why did you come back?”

Finn answered before Cody could.

“Because neither of us wanted the night to end.”

The room went silent. Finn rarely softened his words. When he did, they seemed to land harder. Cody watched me carefully.

“We also wanted to make sure you arrived safely.”

“And return your scarf,” Finn added.

Cody gave him a look.

Finn shrugged.

“It was a valid reason.”

Isabella reached for the scarf and ran it between her fingers.

“I’m glad you came back.”

The tension changed. Not vanished. Changed. It spread through the room slowly, warm and intimate, curling around the three of us.

Finn’s gaze dropped to Isabella’s  hands.

Cody studied her face.

Isabella swallowed.

“You said tomorrow,” Isabella murmured.

Finn tilted his head.

“Tomorrow what?”

“You said tomorrow we would begin properly.”

“That was before midnight,” Cody said.

Isabella glanced at the clock.

11:43 p.m.

“So technically,” Isabella said, “tomorrow is in seventeen minutes.”

Finn’s smile appeared slowly.

Cody looked toward the bedroom door.

“Charlotte is approximately fifteen feet away.”

“She has headphones.”

From the bedroom, Charlotte shouted, “I have excellent headphones!”

Isabella  covered her face.

Finn laughed.

Cody pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is already going very well.”

“She’s supportive,” Isabella said.

“She’s listening,” Cody corrected.

“Not anymore!” Charlotte called.

Finn leaned closer to me.

“She’s absolutely listening.”

His voice was low enough that only I could hear.

Isabella skin warmed.

Cody noticed.

He always noticed.

His eyes moved to Finn.

“Easy.”

Finn straightened.

“I haven’t touched her.”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t provoking her.”

“I thought she enjoyed that.”

Isabella crossed my arms.

“I’m standing right here.”

Both men turned toward me.

The focus of their attention hit her with such force that she forgot what she intended to say next. Finn’s expression softened into amusement. Cody's gaze became warmer.

"Still nervous?” he asked.

“No.”

Finn lifted one eyebrow.

I pointed at him.

“Don’t.”

“Didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Cody reached for my hand.

Unlike at the restaurant, he didn’t immediately take it.

He waited.

I placed my fingers in his.

His thumb brushed once over her knuckles.

“We should set rules,” he said.

Finn groaned.

“Of course you want rules.”

“We need clarity.”

“We need to stop treating dinner like a committee meeting.”

Cody ignored him.

Isabella looked between them.

“What kind of rules?”

“No secrets,” Cody said. “No pressure. No assuming consent. If one of us is uncomfortable, we say it.”

Finn nodded, becoming serious.

“No using your grades, references, or future academic plans as leverage.”

“That shouldn’t need to be said,” Isabella replied.

“It shouldn’t,” Cody agreed. “But it should still be clear.”

“And no jealousy,” Isabella added.

Finn gave me a look.

“That’s ambitious.”

“Then no acting on jealousy.”

“Better.”

Cody’s thumb moved over my hand again.

“If this becomes too complicated, we step back.”

Isabella’s chest tightened.

“You mean end it?”

“I mean we protect each other before we damage each other.”

Finn’s gaze shifted to Cody.

Something passed between them.

There was a history between them that Isabella didn’t fully understand. Sometimes their looks hinted at old arguments or alliances, and she caught glimpses of something unfinished. It was the kind of closeness that comes from sharing and surviving each other’s mistakes, even if they never talked about it.

A caution neither had spoken aloud.

Isabella looked at Cody.

“And what do I get?”

His brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re both listing what I shouldn’t do. What do I get from this?”

Finn’s attention sharpened.

Cody looked almost surprised.

Isabella continued.

“I want honesty. Not careful half-truths because you think you’re protecting me. I want to know when you’re jealous, even if you don’t act on it. I want to know when something scares you.”

Cody’s expression changed.

“And,” Isabella said, looking at Finn, “I want you to stop deciding what I feel before I tell you.”

Finn was quiet for a moment.

“Fair.”

“And no appearing at my dorm without warning.”

“That was his idea,” Cody said immediately.

Finn stared at Cody.

“You turned the car around.”

“You told me to.”

“You were driving.”

I laughed.

Cody looked back at me.

“Agreed. No unannounced visits.”

Finn added, “Unless you’re in danger.”

“That isn’t a loophole for when you think I’m upset.”

He gave a reluctant nod.

“Fine.”

Cody lifted my hand to his mouth.

His lips brushed my fingers.

The gesture was gentle.

The look in his eyes was not.

“Anything else?”

The words left Isabella before she could reconsider them.

“Kiss me.”

Finn inhaled sharply.

Cody went very still. I felt reckless again. Stronger this time.

“Is that against the rules?”

Cody’s voice lowered.

“No.”

“Then kiss me.”

He moved slowly.

One hand remained around Isabella while the other rose to the side of her face. His palm was warm. Cody leaned close enough that she felt his breath before his mouth touched hers.

The kiss began softly. Not tentative. Measured.

He kissed Isabella as though he had been waiting all evening to discover whether she tasted the way he remembered.

Isabella leaned into him. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers threading gently into her hair.

The kiss deepened.

Heat moved through her, slow and heavy.

Isabella forgot Charlotte was sitting on the other side of the door.  She forgot about Bron and all his bullshit. And she forgot every rule the three of them made.

Until Finn stepped behind Isabella.

He didn’t touch me. That almost made it worse.

She could feel him there. His warmth. His breathing. The restrained energy rolling off him.

Cody broke the kiss but stayed close. His forehead rested against Isabella’s.

“You all right?”

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

I nodded.

Finn’s voice came from behind me.

“Use words.”

A shiver ran down my spine.  Isabella turned my head slightly, Finn standing inches away. His eyes had darkened.

“I’m all right,” Isabella whispered.

His gaze moved to Cody. Cody’s hand slipped from my neck. Permission passed silently between them. Finn stepped closer. His fingers touched her waist.

“May I?”

“Yes.”

He turned Isabella toward him. Where Cody’s kiss had unfolded slowly, Finn’s began with the unmistakable force of restraint finally being given somewhere to go. His mouth covered Isabella’s. One hand remained at her waist while the other cupped her jaw, guiding without controlling.

Isabella gripped his sweater. He made a low sound against her lips. The sound went straight through her. Finn pulled back barely an inch. My eyes stayed closed.

“Look at me.”

Isabella opened her eyes. His expression held no humor now.

No teasing. Only intensity.

“Still want this?”

“Yes.”

“Both of us?”

“Yes.”

Cody stood beside us, close enough that his hand brushed my shoulder. Finn’s thumb moved across my cheek.

“Say it properly.”

Isabella's pulse jumped.

“I want both of you.”

Isabella’s words hung in the charged silence between them. For a moment, she couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud. Heat spread across her skin, a mix of nerves and excitement. She felt exposed, like she’d stepped out and asked to be seen. Saying what she wanted so clearly felt risky, but also freeing. What if it was too much? What if they turned away? The questions made her uneasy, but underneath it all was relief. She didn’t have to hide or pretend anymore. She could be seen by the two people she wanted most. For the first time, Isabella let herself want openly.

The quiet that followed felt enormous. Cody’s hand settled at her waist from the other side. I stood between them. Not trapped. Held. Finn’s gaze dropped briefly toward Isabella’s  mouth again.

Cody’s lips brushed her temple.

The contrast made her knees feel unreliable.

Then her phone, still resting on the table, lit up.

Charlotte had turned it back on.

Another message appeared from Bron.

“I’m outside.”

Every trace of warmth vanished from the room. Finn released his hold on Isabella immediately. Cody stepped toward the window. Charlotte burst from the bedroom without her headphones.

“What happened?”

Isabella picked up her phone.

“He says he’s outside.”

Finn reached for his coat. Cody caught his arm.

“No.”

Finn looked down at Cody’s hand.

“He shouldn’t be here.”

“I agree. Which is why we call campus security.”

“I can handle Bron.”

“That is precisely why you’re not going downstairs.”

Finn’s jaw flexed.

Cody turned toward Isabella, who was standing by the window.

“Lock the door.”

Charlotte was already doing it.

Isabella called campus security.

Isabella’s voice shook slightly as she explained the situation. Finn stood beside the window, looking through the blinds without moving them. Cody stayed near Isabella.

“You did the right thing,” he said.

“I know.”

But I didn’t feel brave.

It felt like Bron was trying to ruin something new and fragile before it even had a chance. Before anyone could react, Charlotte stepped closer to Isabella, standing as a small shield against the anxiety in the room. Finn moved between Isabella and the door, quiet but steady. Cody took Isabella’s hand and squeezed it, sending silent reassurance. Even with all the tension, Isabella felt anchored by their support—she wasn’t alone anymore. A loud knock hit the door. Charlotte jumped. Finn turned.

As though Bron had reached into this new and fragile thing before it even had a chance to become real. A loud knock struck the door. Charlotte flinched. Finn turned.

“Isabella!”

Bron’s voice came through the wood.

“Open the door!”

Cody moved in front of me. Finn stood beside him.

“Bron,” Isabella called, forcing steadiness into her voice. “Leave.”

“I know they’re in there.”

“That doesn’t matter. I told you not to contact me.”

“Open the door and say it to my face.”

“I already said it.”

The handle rattled.

Finn stepped forward.

Cody blocked him with one arm.

“Do not engage.”

“He’s trying to force the door.”

“And security is coming.”

Bron pounded again.

“You think they care about you?” he shouted. “They're using you!”

The words cut deeper than she expected.

Finn looked back at Isabella. He saw it. Of course he did. His expression changed from anger to something far more controlled. He walked toward her instead of the door. Then he crouched slightly so he was eye level with Isabella

“Look at me.”

I did.

“He doesn’t get to define this.”

My throat tightened.

“You barely know what this is.”

“No,” Finn said. “But I know what it isn’t.”

Cody came closer.

“It isn’t revenge. It isn’t a game. And it isn’t something you owe either of us.”

The pounding stopped.

Voices sounded in the hallway.

Campus security.

Bron began arguing almost immediately. Charlotte peered through the peephole.

“They’ve got him.”

Isabella exhaled. Her knees nearly gave out.

Cody caught her arm.

Finn’s hand pressed gently against her back.

For several moments, she stood between them and tried to breathe.

Security knocked and asked to speak with me.

She opened the door only after they confirmed Bron had been escorted downstairs. The officer took Isabella’s statement. Charlotte gave hers. Cody and Finn remained quiet unless directly asked a question. When it was over, the hallway emptied again. Isabella closed the door. Silence filled the dorm.

“I’m sorry,” Isabella whispered.

Finn frowned.

“For what?”

“This.”

Cody’s voice became firm.

“No.”

Isabella looked at him.

“You are not responsible for his behavior.”

“He followed me here because of you.”

“Because of his choices,” Finn corrected.

Isabella hugged her arms around myself.

“I don’t want tonight to become about him.”

Cody touched my shoulder.

“It doesn’t have to.”

I looked toward the clock.

12:09 a.m.

Tomorrow had arrived. Finn followed my gaze. His expression softened.

“So,” he said quietly, “we’ve begun properly.”

A laugh escaped her, shaky but real.

Cody smiled. Charlotte crossed the room and gathered her blanket.

“I’m sleeping in Ava’s room.”

Isabella blinked.

“You don’t have to leave.”

“I know.”

Charlotte pointed at both men.

“If either of you upsets her, I know where your offices are.”

Finn looked impressed again.

Cody said, “That seems fair.”

Charlotte hugged me tightly.

“Text me.”

“I will.”

Charlotte picked up her overnight bag. Then she paused at the door and looked back.

“Also, walls are thin.”

Isabella choked on air. 

Finn’s mouth curved. Cody closed his eyes. Charlotte left before Isabella could throw anything at her. The room became painfully quiet.

Isabella stood near the couch. Cody and Finn remained by the door. No one moved.

“What happens now?” Isabella asked.

Cody answered carefully.

“We can leave.”

Finn looked at me.

“Or stay.”

The choice belonged entirely to me. That mattered. Isabella walked to the door.

For one terrifying second, both men looked as though they expected her to open it. Instead, Isabella turned the lock. The click echoed through the room.

Finn’s gaze sharpened. Cody’s breathing changed.

Isabella faced them.

“You can stay.”

Finn took one step forward. Cody caught his shoulder.

“Slowly.”

Finn didn’t look away from Isabella.

“I am going slowly.”

“This is you slowly?”

“You’ve seen me lecture.”

Isabella laughed under my breath.

The nerves inside her  loosened.

Cody approached first.

He stopped in front of Isabella.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing has to happen.”

“I know.”

“You can change your mind.”

“I know.”

His fingers brushed her cheek.

“And you’re not saying yes because tonight frightened you?”

The question reached somewhere deep.

Isabella shook my head.

“I’m saying yes because you both came back before you knew anything was wrong.”

Cody’s eyes softened.

“Because Finn pretends he’s impatient, but he waited seven weeks.”

Finn folded his arms.

“I didn’t pretend.”

“And because you,” Isabella continued, looking at Cody, “make rules when you’re scared.”

Cody’s mouth parted slightly. Finn gave a quiet laugh.

“She does see you.”

Cody glanced toward him. Then back at Isabella.

“You make me feel seen too,” he admitted.

Finn moved closer.

“So do you.”

The confession held more heat than either kiss.

Isabella looked between them.

“No more hiding?”

“No more hiding,” Cody said.

Finn touched her waist.

“No more pretending.”

Isabella smiled.

“Good.”

Then Isabella looked directly at Finn.

“Yes, sir.”

His entire body went still.

Cody’s eyes closed briefly.

Finn lowered his face toward mine.

“Careful.”

“I thought you said I could call you that if I meant it.”

His hand tightened gently at my waist.

“And do you?”

I lifted my chin.

“Yes.”

The word was barely out before he kissed her.

Cody’s hand slid into hers. And for the first time, there was no classroom, no title, no semester standing between us. Only choice. Only trust. Only the dizzying realization that tomorrow had finally arrived.

Standing between them, Isabella felt hope growing inside her—uncertain, bright, and hard to hold back. For the first time in a long while, she could picture a future that was truly hers. She let herself look ahead, ready for whatever tomorrow would bring.

Tag List:

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[usaginasty]

𐔌՞⁔•͈ ·̫ •͈⁔՞𐦯

[plus-size-aesthetics]

aundi_lanae

[sayyestoheav3nn]

it’s best i stay silent and keep things classy tonight…🙃

[fortunest4r]

yo carl and aniya are freaked tf out 😭

[trippinsorrows]

it kills me | public v.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒𑁤 most, if not all, things about your relationships easily fall under the category of unorthodox. a unique love story, to say the least. and the ending....well, that remains to be seen. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𑁤 smut. unprotected sex. vaginal penetration. dirty talk. daddy kink. age gap couple (16 years). brief reference to physical illness. angst. themes, references, and discussions pertaining to mental health topics. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒𑁤 five thousand and some change (5k+) 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𑁤 roman reigns x plussize!black!reader 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𑁤 photos and gif's from pinterest and instagram. title graphic by me. dividers by @/cafekitsune 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𑁤 ❝waking up in vegas❞ by katy perry // ❝it kills me❞ by melanie fiona 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𑁤 laying in bed, listening to music, feeling like shit, this idea came to me, so i just opened the notes app and got to writing. most of it was written on my phone in one sitting, so do with that what you will. also, reader and roman are both irritating to me, but i also sympathize with both in different ways. idk. also, the thoughts and views of the characters, by no means, reflect that of the author. lastly, if you're in arisylum, ensure you read the full 7k version posted in the community.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ꨄ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 + 𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ꨄ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀© 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒™⠀

May 19th, 2026

“Oooh yes, fuck this pussy, daddy.” 

The sound of the bed creaking and the headboard slamming repeatedly against the wall with each bounce of your body on his dick is the backdrop for your filthy sex talk. Your hands playing with your heavy breast, nipples twisted between your fingers. His own big hands can’t decide if they wanna stay on your thick hips, help keep you steady while riding, or if he wants to explore the rest of your body. Covering your hands with his own, the two of you playing with your titties together.

Your favorite though is when he drags one of them talented ass hands down the front of your slick, glowing body to play with your clit. And he knows that. You know that he knows that, hence that smug expression on his handsome ass face.

A face you can’t wait to sit on before the end of the night. Him only eating your pussy once today just isn’t enough. Not when God gifted this man with a tongue like that. 

Blessed him with all the things, really. Including the beautiful, thick nine inch dick that’s got you feeling like you’re about to be split into two. A welcomed destruction, cause damn does it feel good.

“Look at you.” He slaps your hip, smoothing his palm down your backside. You bite your bottom lip as he wiggles his fingers between your ass cheeks, index finger probing your puckered hole. “You can’t get enough of this dick.”

“Mmmm.” You’re far too fucked out, leaning over just enough for you to smack your ass up and down his cock, slapping and smacking sounds increasing in volume from you essentially twerking on his dick. “S-s-so good, d-daddy.”

“Such a fucking greedy slut,” he groans, another slap to your ass before he’s back to steering you. Helping you bounce up and down, eyes transfixed on the swinging motion of your titties. “Can’t even fucking think straight when I’m buried in you like this, can you?”

No. Not at all. Not even a little. But as smug as this handsome bastard is, there still remains just enough of your wherewithal to not grant him the privilege of confirmation. You keep your lips pressed together, hand reaching for the headboard to steady you. Your thighs are burning like crazy, and you’ve had to flex your calves at least three times to smooth out the cramp that’s been dying to stilt you ever since he propped you on his dick.

You’re close. So so so close, but you’re also not ready. Not that it makes a difference. You already know he’s got at least one more position to put you in before he finally finds his release.

For a man in his forties, it’s almost embarrassing how well he can outdo you in the bedroom. This’ll be your third orgasm since he returned a few hours ago from his meeting with Paul and Nick. 

He hasn’t come at least once. Not even when you were gagging on his dick, drool seeping out the corner of your swollen, pink lips. If you didn’t know for a fact that he was seconds away from shooting his load down your throat before he pushed you away, put you on all fours, and rammed that big dick in your wet, waiting pussy, you might have been offended. But you know better.

You know him.

“You close, ain’t you, baby?” He taunts, your closed eyes not preventing your from picturing the way them soft ass lips are either still lifted for that smug smile or a knowing smirk. Sometimes you really do hate how cocky he is. Unfortunately, unlike most men, he can back it up. “I can tell by the way she pulsing around me. Fluttering and shit.”

“Mmmm.” Once more, incoherent mumblings are the most you can offer him, the grind and drag of your soft body against his firm ass body granting your neglected clit the attention you’d been wanting. Waiting eagerly for him to address, and he knows it.

“You want me to play with that pussy, baby?” He purrs, and you swear there’s a fresh wave of your juice that gushes out your pussy, small streams seeping past the unforgiving grip your cunt has around his cock. Slippery and drenched, you’re leaking all over his chest, the combination of sweat and your conjoined juices creating an unsteady, unreliable surface. Hence your grip on the headboard and thus the way you’re relegated to grinding to get your fix. “Want daddy to eat it till you pushing me away talking about you can’t take it?”

Tale as old as time. Your husband is an eater through and through. Loves to give just as much as he loves to receive. It’s the best kind of “problem” to have as it pertains to a sex life. He never leaves you wanting more. Always satisfied, satiated, and stuffed.

Just like you are right now.

“Naw. You gotta earn that shit, slut.” His voice cuts through your fantasies, evoking a pout and whine just as he juts his chin in your direction. His eyes twinkle with mischief and devilry. “Keep riding.” 

“How early you wanna fly in to Turin?”

His question stirs you from the much deserved and desired sleep that’s been calling your name ever since you finally tapped out after he came all over your back. He more or less had to hold you up in the shared shower and carry you to the bedroom with the freshly changed sheets he made sure to put on before you both climbed back into bed.

You make a sound, nails lightly brushing across his chest as his own lazily dance up and down the small of your back. He’s scrunched up your thin, lavender gown, leaving the sheets and duvet clinging to your nude, glowing body. But it’s the norm. He’s always been touchy feely like that, and it’s never bothered you. 

You’re more or less the same.

“Doesn’t matter,” you finally answer. “The usual is fine.”

The usual being touching down via his private jet about a week before a show. It provides him time to get in match day headspace and you the time to squeeze in some exploring and swiping of his black American Express card. But more importantly, it allows adequate opportunity for you two to just spend time together. As proud as you are of him for his big win at Mania and ascension back to the top of the mountain, him being home more was something you’d gotten used to.

Life is just easier when he’s around. 

Until it’s not.

“Okay,” he says. You wait for him to follow up with something. Most likely a reminder that the boys will fly in with ya'll or even whatever tentative agenda and schedule he's been given at this time. But he remains quiet and just continues to caress your back, embracing the post coital relaxation and silence.

It’s the perfect opportunity to grant your exhausted body the recharge it desperately needs. Especially given your busy day tomorrow. Hop on the jet to fly back home in the morning. Filming, editing, and posting of the material you recorded while accompanying him to this Raw all scheduled to be done before the clock hits midnight.

It just makes sense to close your eyes and allow yourself to drift off to sleep. The smart thing, perhaps.

But no one ever said you were smart.

“You know…..” You inch closer, nestling your head against his inked chest. It’s a somewhat subconscious thing what with the way you angle your mouth close to his rib cage. Speech slightly murmured, partially obscuring the clarity and muffling the volume. “Naomi brought over David the other day.” For your own sanity and perhaps to allot you some faux sense of security, you choose to ignore the way his body tenses under yours. “He’s so adorable. Looks more and more like—“

“Y/N.” A single word, and the roles are precipitously reversed. You’re the one growing quiet, and he’s the one who fills that silence. “Don’t.”

You swallow, peering up at him. “Don’t what?”

His jaw ticks, the glow of the moon peering through the opposite window highlighting the shadows of his defined face. His grays splattered throughout a sea of otherwise onyx more or less the same in the dim lighting. “Don’t start this shit again.”

“How am I starting something?” You challenge. A part of you screaming to let it go, to let it be as it is, but another part of you, the part that you’ve never been able to truly silence, is begging to be unleashed. The protector protecting from dangers real and imagined “I’m literally just talking to you.”

Unfortunately for you, your husband has never been one to back down. To not accept and meet a challenge with the same energy brought you the table. He's a mirror of yourself in many ways. “No, you’re trying to have that conversation again, and I’m not in the mood to argue with you.”

“Argue over what?” You suck your teeth, sitting up and looking down at him. Frustration ticks when he diverts his gaze and runs his hand over his face. “Roman.”

His answer is to make the same sound as he sits up and turns away. You also sit all the way up, thin sleeve of your gown drooping over your exposed shoulder. You study the defined line of his back, starting to visually trace the sharp outlines of the dark ink. “How many times do gotta do this shit, Y/N?” He looks over his shoulder but not directly at you, and for some reason, that almost hurts more than the reaction, deep down, you knew you were going to get. “Same song and dance every fucking time.” Something tightens in your stomach when he does finally meet your eyes, however, his own reflect nothing but irritation and exasperation. “I said no, and that’s final.”

Once more, an opening is created. An escape and jump off a mountain that only leads to an increasingly difficult uphill battle. The wise choice, the best choice, is to retreat. Leave it be.

If only your heart wasn't so much louder than your head.

Eyes narrowed, the timbre of your voice carries with it ammunition ready and waiting to be unleashed. “Yeah, you did say no, but not before you said 'yes,' and then ‘no’ before that and then another ‘yes' sprinkled somewhere in between.” You throw your hands up, the frustration that swims between the two of you about what and what on both ends. “You can’t make up your mind.”

It’s a fact he can try to deny all he wants, but it doesn’t make it any less true. From the moment you two met two years ago, at least, the parts that you can remember, it’s been nothing but back and forth. One minute he’s blowing your back out, hands locked behind you, whispering nasty words and broken promises. 

“You gon’ give me a baby, princess? Hmm. A little girl for me to spoil just like I spoil her mama.”

The next, it’s nothing but a slightly different scene than the one transpiring now. Him pacing across the bedroom, hand on his hips, upper cheeks flushed from vexation with a topic that’s been revisited, reviewed, and recycled ten times over now. 

“I don’t know why you keep bringing this shit up, Y/N. We’re not having any fucking kids together. Ever.”

He swings from one end to the pendulum to the other. Getting your hopes up only to dash em’ back down with all of the cruelty that, one could argue, got him to where he is today, career wise.

It’s also, however, what cost him everything, too. 

“Well, my mind is made up now, and the answer is the same it’s been the last three goddamn times you brought this shit up.” He pierces your internal monologue with another reiteration of what makes your shoulders drop and scowl shift into a frown. “No.”

It could be left at that, and maybe it should be, but once the flood gates are opened, that’s it. 

There’s no turning back.

You move to sit on your knees, his expression, just like his current stance, unchanged and undeterred.

“Do you know how unfair you’re being?” You shake your head, hating how a newfound emotion is trying to creep its way into your voice. This isn’t the time for that. “All this back and forth. It’s mind games. You’re playing mind games with me, Roman, and it’s not fair.”

It’s not fair how he’ll get your hopes up only to crush them with the stomp of his metaphorical boot, throwing out excuse after excuse, reason after reason. 

“We need to work on us before we even think about that, Y/N.”

“Let’s see what this year looks like for me work wise, and then we can revisit it.”

“I just want you to focus on you first. Before anything else.”

Rejection cloaked as kindness. It’s like for every step you take in the right direction, he keeps moving the goalpost. And maybe if he would stick with a stance, whatever that might be, it would be easier for you to “let it go.” 

At least, that’s what you like to believe. 

“I’m not playing any games with you, Y/N,” he sighs, mirroring your actions by also shaking his head. “You just refuse to accept the truth and come to terms with reality.” Words that sting, but the impact is slightly lessened by the visible decrease of frustration in his deep voice. Forbearance making a surprising appearance. “And the reality is that I don’t want any more kids. I'm about to be 41. My boys are grown. I’ve raised them. I’m not trying to start over again. I’m too old for that shit.”

There’s so much for you to dissect in that conglomerate of sentences. He’s not wrong about a couple things. Josiah and Jeremiah are grown. 21 going on 22, in their senior year of college, each with aspirations—and likelihood—to go pro in their respective sports. They’re fine young men, and Roman and his ex-wife, Julia, should be proud. You know they are. It’s why, despite them still having a rocky relationship since their divorce almost four years back, when it comes to their twins, they always set aside personal feelings and do what needs to be done for their kids.

Roman is a good father. A great one. And if he managed to do that as a kid having a kid, still maintaining a close bond with his sons even now, constant communication between the three of them on the daily, you have no doubt it’d be the same for your child.

And therein is where his words, fact with opinion, start to pierce. At, basically, 41, you can partially understand why he’s not exactly thrilled about the idea of having another child. But not even a month ago he was asking you how you’d feel if it was a boy instead of a girl. 

It being the baby he’s now saying he doesn’t want. 

Again, the fucking back and forth. 

Yet there’s one word in all of his soliloquy that you latched onto.

My

“Exactly. You’ve already had them, but I haven’t.” You point to yourself, feeling that damn emotion continuing to expand, making its way to the surface. Refusing to be denied any longer. “I’m 25, Roman. I'll be 26 later this year. It’s normal for me to want children at this point in my life. It’s the perfect time for me to have kids.”

Your own kids. Despite only being a few years older than his sons, you hold a close relationship with them. As close as a step-mother can get. They see you more as a peer than anything, and after making amends with the objectively strange ass way you and Roman got together, they allowed the walls to collapse and reservations to be set aside. But again, the dynamic with them is more friends than anything. They aren’t kids, they don’t feel like kids, and they’ll never be your kids.

Hence why you want your own child.

A child with Roman. 

But your emotions making an appearance through the watering of your eyes and cracking of your voice seem to do little to faze the man before you. The only indication of disturbance being whatever flashes in his warm eyes before his quiet, simple response. “Then you should have thought about that when you agreed to stay married to me.”

His words circulate throughout your head even after he leaves. Walks out of the room, most likely decompressing in the second bedroom of the hotel suite. Allowing both him and yourself time to process before the argument could reach a level that resulted in him leaving and you spiraling. 

It wouldn’t be the first time.

The last two years of your life have been such a whirlwind. Something most wouldn’t believe if you told them because the story of you and Roman sounds like something out of a Reddit thread or TikTok story time. The type where you watch with a degree of skepticism because some of the shit just sounds too outlandish. And your meeting of your now husband is nothing short of outlandish.

You met the night after WrestleMania 40. Vegas. The Chandelier.

An hour and several drinks after said meeting, you two were hitting the slot machines and wandering around the casino, talking, sharing, and connecting without a care in the world.

Two hours and even more drinks later, he had you bent over the balcony of his suite, screaming and calling on every deity known to man. 

And then some. 

12 hours later, you woke up in bed, naked, his soft snores in your ear, and a rock on your left hand.

You were married. 

Needless to say, the fallout from that was….something.

Wild as hell, too, but also….it tracked.

He was depressed from not only the loss of his title, the end of his legendary 1,316 title reign, but also everything that came with it. Old emotions and never fully healed wounds poked and probed with and by painful reminders of betrayal.

And you were three days deep into a manic episode, one that would only end a week and a half later, when the bulk of the damage was already done.

Two storms on a collision course for disaster.

Neither really willing and wanting to do anything to find a life vest, a raft, a way to evacuate. 

He was too caught up in his head to seek out the appropriate parties about an annulment, and you, again, being manic, were too deep into your episode to see how absolutely insane all of it was. You were just excited to be married, to a rich ass, fine ass, older ass man who you later learned to be Roman fucking Reigns.

Separation wasn’t anywhere on your agenda. No, according to the journaling you did and have done for a number of years now when in a manic or depressive state, you were already planning the names of your kids. From the very beginning, you knew you wanted kids with him. 

It’s that reminder, however, that triggers the thought for you. The one that remains even an hour later when he returns to the room to find you in bed, in a fetal position near the edge, blankets pulled up to your chin. 

Silent tears streaming down your face. 

It’s not until the bed groans and his coarse fingertips brush against your cheeks that you break the silence you’d rested in since his departure.

“I haven’t had an episode in almost a year,” you whisper, throat dry and stinging. A similar sensation felt near the corner of your eyes. Telltales of the tears being in a consistent, heavy flow for the past hour. You swallow, licking your suddenly chapped lips and manage to shift your eyes to look up at him. “I’m consistent with my meds. I haven’t missed a day in God knows how long.”

His lips press together, his fingers moving to stroke the top of your head. “Y/N….”

“I’ve done so well in therapy that I only have to go once a month now,” you continue, finding the strength to sit up. Roman angles his body so that he’s fully facing you as you cross your legs under the thin covers. “I—I’m better now.” 

Perhaps better than you’ve been in a very very long time. Because even before your diagnosis of Bipolar 1 at the age of eighteen, your life was always a chaotic storm. Because before it was you, it was your mom. Wild, erratic behavior that, as a kid, you didn’t understand. Your mom was different. Moody. Unique, as your dad once described her. She could be hot one minute, and cold the next. But she was your mom, and you loved her to pieces. So did your dad. Hence the way he stood by and supported her up until her last day on this earth. 

An intentional last day.

Your mom died by suicide a week after your thirteenth birthday. 

That was when your own symptoms started to manifest. You’d later find out that your doctor, and even your dad, strongly suspected bipolar. That they knew that was what you had by your 17th birthday. They just had to wait until you were 18 to formally diagnose you. 

Before and after, it’s been up and down. A few hospital stays sprinkled in over the years. Discussions, at one point, taking place between your dad and stepmom, Sherry, regarding a conservatorship. Most of your behavior, however, was simply due to being treatment resistant. You’d go to therapy for a little while and then disappear. Take your meds as prescribed for a few weeks before stopping cold turkey.

It wasn’t your diagnosis that was ruining your life. It was the person in the mirror. 

That behavior continued even after meeting and marrying Roman. The first stretch of your marriage was, in no uncertain terms, a hot fucking mess. 

Arguments. Mudslinging back and forth. Cheating. Threats. On both sides. But for every bad thing in the relationship, something good always followed. A heartfelt conversation. A kind gesture. A gentle touch. A vow and oath of love and commitment. Vehement defending of one another, whether it be him defending you to his family, especially his ex-wife. Or you defending him to your parents who thought you’d experienced some sort of psychotic break by marrying a man over ten years your senior. It didn’t matter though. For as toxic as the shit was, it was equally as healing.

Felt that way, at least.

Roman especially began to thaw out and extend a newfound sense of understanding and patience when you finally disclosed your diagnosis. He was confused, didn’t understand everything but said he would try— on one condition.

That you’d get help.

Real help.

Because he’d grown exhausted at having his team work overtime to ensure stories detailing and depicting your capricious behavior during manic episodes remain sealed. Snapped photos that disappeared. Social media posts scrubbed. Both for the sake of his image and yours. A social media influencer with over 1 million followers—5 million now—you were partially known for your quirky behavior that sometimes helped conceal the episodes. But it was only a matter of time before the comments of entertainment turned into expressions of concern.

He protected you from that. 

He’s protected you from a lot. 

Including yourself.

Ensured that he assembled the best treatment team—therapist, psychiatrist, and primary— that his pockets could afford. And you’d come to find out that his pockets ran deep. 

So much so that your turbulent early to mid twenties are so far behind in your rearview mirror that the view is almost entirely distorted. 

The first six months of your marriage was a hot dysfunctional mess. The second six months carried healing and repairing. Now in the second year, you feel as if you’re in the best place mentally that you’ve ever been in your entire life. And your marriage isn’t too far behind that. You and Roman, in your opinion, are in such a good, healthy space now.

But maybe….maybe he doesn’t feel the same. 

“I can do this, Roman.” You reach for his forearm, closing your eyes when he palms your face. His touch has always been so calming. “I can be a mother.”

You know you can. You just….you need the chance to show him. 

“Y/N…” he murmurs. You open your mouth to see him frowning, the lines in his forehead more pronounced as his thick brows furrow together. “I know how bad you want this. I do, but—”

Your chest tightens for the umpteenth time that night. “But?”

He sighs, thumb brushing over your cheek. “I don’t know if you’ve thought about how all of this is actually going to work.”

For some reason, despite the gentle undertone in his voice, his words do little to soothe you. If anything, they’re only spiking your anxiety and deepening your grief. “What do you mean?”

His loud sigh precedes what you already have a nagging suspicion isn’t going to help an already contentious situation. “Having a kid….it’s not easy.”

“I know that, Roman.” 

You place your hand over his as he continues to palm your face. “You’ve made such good progress over the past two years—”

“But?” You press once more. He’s dancing around the subject, and it’s doing nothing to help your trepidation and everything to worsen it. 

His jaw shifts. The three second pause before he answers feels like three fucking hours. “Would you still be able to take your meds while pregnant?” 

You swallow. It’s an understandable question, one that, for all the contemplating and dreaming you’ve done regarding pregnancy, you hadn’t considered. It seems like most medications carry with them the generic, default warning regarding risks for pregnant women. Granted, you’re certainly not the first woman with a mental health disorder that requires medication to keep your symptoms managed who wants to become a mother. Wants to conceive. So surely there must be some sort of remedy. 

“I—I don’t know,” you answer, honestly. “But I’m sure I can just take something different while—”

He shakes his head. “After how long it took for them to find a regimen that works for you?” Another valid question that makes you inwardly wince. “And didn’t you tell me Bipolar is genetic? Or hereditary or something?”

As you begin to pick at the sheet covering your body, his latest inquiry makes your eyes lift to his. Where….where is he going with this? 

You grow quiet. “Yes.” 

Roman licks his lips, the pauses between his words indicative of him working hard to carefully articulate his thoughts. “Your mom had it. You have it….what happens if our kid has it too?” 

And there it is.

You immediately jerk away from him, forcing his hand to drop. Once soothing, his touch suddenly feels like a thousand needles prickling into your skin.

Just like his question has pricked into your heart.

A stabbing, more of a fitting comparison, with the largest, metaphorical kitchen knife that he could locate. 

“Are you….” You shake your head, still trying to mull over what he just asked you. “Are you saying that I shouldn’t have a kid because he or she might also have Bipolar?” His eyes shut, and you yank your hand back when he attempts to reach for you. “Like it’s a fucking death sentence?” 

“Y/N—”

But you’re not trying or wanting to hear it. You kick the blankets away, also kicking him in the process, and crawl across the mattress. Your feet slam into the ground as you start to march out of the room, Roman right behind you.

“Baby, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Well, it sure fucking sounds like it,” you snap, turning around simply to glare at him before continuing to walk with no specific direction in mind. You just need distance. Distance he refuses to grant. As soon as your feet shift from carpet to the cool wooden floor and you harshly flip the switch to light up the kitchen, you turn to him once more. “I didn’t ask to be born with this, Roman. Okay? It’s not something I fucking had control over.”

He’s standing near the entrance, allowing you to move over to the refrigerator as you open it with, again, no clear goal in mind. “I understand that, Y/N.” 

“Do you?” You challenge, slamming the door shut before once more closing that distance you want but can’t seem to enforce. “Tell me something. How would you feel if someone told you that you shouldn’t have kids because of your CML?”

It’s a low blow. You know it. Can see it in the way he blinks, lips slightly parting before his jaw tightens. 

“That’s different,” he says, lowly. 

You cross your arms. “Is it?” 

“Yes.” His gaze darkens, voice tightening. “Because CML isn’t hereditary, and if it was, I would fucking agree with them because to bring a child into this world knowing they have an increased chance of developing cancer is fucking cruel and selfish.” 

Once more, you can’t deny that he makes a valid point. But you also can’t deny the way that point fucking hurts. The pang and throb in your chest increasing by the second.

“And that’s what you think of me, isn’t it?” You whisper. “That—that I’m being selfish and that I’m—that I’m cruel—”

“No.” His heavy footsteps follow the way he pulls you into his arms, holding you close and kissing the top of your head. “That’s not what I think at all. What you have and what I have are two completely different things. I was just trying….” He trails off, and you find yourself clutching the sides of his sweats and closing your eyes. “Fuck, you know I’m not good with this shit.” 

And he isn’t, but it’s never stopped him from trying with you, and that’s more you can say for your ex’s. For most men perhaps. 

But Roman isn’t most men.

Not in the slightest.

He cups your face with both hands, words and expression the softest you’ve seen all night. “Look, it’s late. Why don’t we talk about this tomorrow mornin?” He then suggests, and it feels genuine vs an attempt to push off the inevitable. “Or when we get back home?”

Enough words have been exchanged for this evening, and you’ve done enough therapy over the years and gained enough introspection to recognize that trying to continue this conversation when your emotions are all over the place won’t do anybody any good. Roman is a calm, but he can also be the storm, too. 

You don’t wanna test it.

Nodding against his chest, he cradles the back of your head, kissing your scalp with a murmured, “I love you.”

You echo the sentiment, remaining quiet as he carries you into the bedroom and gently places you on the bed before he climbs in, pulling you close. But while he eventually drifts off to sleep, hand still on your back from when he was rubbing small, soothing circles, you lay on his chest, mind a million and one places.

Perhaps it’s your inner desire that’s fueling it, but deep down, you truly do believe that Roman wants children with you. Even if just one. The same way his eyes light up with something akin to excitement and pride when he’s talking about or interacting with the boys is the same light you see when he makes comments about your future children. 

That has to mean something.

As he more or less indicated tonight, his uncertainty regarding your child most likely inheriting Bipolar from you is what has him concerned. It’s one of perhaps other smaller, similar concerns. The barrier to happiness he can't seem to break through.

But.

But in the event that you’re wrong, that he truly doesn’t want anymore kids. That he won’t have anymore kids….what does that mean for you?

What does that mean for the both of you?

[luvrgirl4roman]

DAMN 😩 him on all fours always does it for me 😍👀

[omgmonet]

Movie Night

Roman Reigns x Plus size reader

Warnings: Mature content 18+, profanity, heavy smut, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), lots of praise, Roman being an absolute slut for you.

Summary: It was supposed to be a wholesome movie night, but roman can’t keep his dick in his pants that long.

WC:1.5k

A/N at the end!💕

The two of you were laying down on the couch, watching your favorite movie for the 100th time this month. You guys were cuddled up in the spoon position, your back side was on roman so that you could see the tv, and he was behind you with one of his arms wrapped around your waist and the other tucked under you, and conveniently for him right where your breasts were. 

He’s never verbalized this but he loves your titts, everything about them is so addicting—how big they are, how they bounce when you do just about anything, when they tease him whenever they spill out of certain clothing you were, and especially when he sees your nipples harden whenever the two of you have sex. He can't get enough of them. 

He can’t get enough of you. 

Before the movie even turned on, he was already turned on and you hadn’t even done anything. Just by him being close to you, smelling that vanilla and jasmine body wash you love so much, him feeling on your soft and plush stomach he loves to touch on(and push down on while his fucking you), and your voluptuous back side being right on his dick, which was hardening with every passing second. It didn’t help that you were wearing moomoo you knew he loved so much. 

He honestly doesn’t give a fuck about the movie anymore. 

He actually hates this movie, but he loves you more than anything though so he doesn’t care how many times he has to watch it if it means he gets to be close to you. Right now though, all he could think about was pulling that damn moomoo off of you and fucking your sexy ass right on the couch. He needed to hear those sweet moans you make whenever he hits your sweet spot, to caress and suck on those big, brown areolas, and bend you over so he could see your ass recoil as he fucks you through the couch. 

You were very unaware of how primal you were making this man feel because you were zeroed-in on the movie, however, you quickly became aware when you accidentally scooted your ass back on him to adjust your position.You almost instantly felt his girth on your ass right after. 

“I-I’m sorry baby…” you whispered nervously, now fully realizing what you’ve just started. 

“It’s fine,” his voice was low and husky, causing your core to tighten, and your pussy to become slick. “Just watch the movie sweetheart, it’s about to get good.” He doesn’t even know what’s going on. 

You nodded your head as you tried to redirect your attention back onto the TV, It was impossible now, though. Roman's hold on you got tighter, so tight that the veins on his hands and forearm started to become more visible. He started planting kisses on the side of your head, your burning cheek, and then he started to concentrate his warm, full lips on your ear. He hovered his breath over it, planting light kisses on it because, and whispering sweet nothings into it, small  I love you’s, you’re so beautiful’s—and more audibly saying “You know what you’re doing, don’t you, pretty girl?” His hands started to travel down the side of your thigh and stopped at the end of your night gown. “You wearin’ my favorite clothes,” he started kissing on that sensitive spot on your neck. “And you try scooting that ass back on me,” his hand slowly pulled the end of that damned moomoo up. “And you think im not gon do nothin’?” he starts to lick and suck on that sensitive part on your neck. 

As he’s talking to you, or teasing you rather, you’re letting out those sweet, yet pathetic whimpers he loves so much. “Ro, I didn’t-” 

“Oh, you meant it, baby,” He growls and grips on your ass and you let out a breathy moan. “You meant that shit. Now be a good girl and watch that movie, tell me what’s going on.” One of his hands started to tease your big, plump, pussy. 

“Ohh my god!” you gasped and immediately rolled your hips against his fingers for more friction, he noticed this and slowly circled your bundle of nerves. “There she is..” His voice was so provocative now it drove you insane. You didn’t even care about this damn movie anymore. 

“Please don’t stop daddy, mmhh” you breathed out as he was now thrusting his fingers inside your tight hole and rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“I’ll never stop, so long as you pay attention to that tv. I know you can do it sweetheart” He encouraged you while putting you on your back so that he could snake his way down to your soaking pussy. “Go on and tell me, I’m listening” he teased as he planted small kisses on your stomach and spread your thick thighs apart, putting them over his shoulders and locking his arms around them, god you loved the way his muscles flexed when he did this. 

“Th-ohhh fuck.. They’re trying to come up with a p-plan” you stutter, trying your best not to pay attention to Roman’s constant teasing. 

“Oh yeah? What else baby?” He slid his tongue across your entire pussy, causing you to shiver with pleasure.

“And they-they’re waiting for the perfect-” you were cut off by the feeling of roman completely devouring you. His skillful tongue flicking your clit and slurping up your juices like it was his last meal. 

“Daddy please, I'm gonna come!!” you begged as you put your hand on his head, gripping onto his hair as if it would help anchor you. 

“Go on and come for me, baby. Let me taste that shit” He said slowly, then immediately continued to eat your sweet pussy.

You started to shake uncontrollably from all the pleasure, clenching your thighs around roman’s head and moaning his name so loud that you’re sure everyone in the neighborhood can hear you, and you finish all over yourself and roman,who can’t even contain himself anymore. The pressure he feels from your thighs mixed with your voice is driving him clinically insane.  He licks you clean, groaning because you taste so damn good. 

“I’m not done with you yet.” 

You whimpered pathetically since you could no longer form coherent sentences. Roman leaned over you, held onto the tip of your chin, and gave you a deep kiss. “You did so good for me, I know you got another one in you. Don’t you baby? He cooed and gave you another kiss. You weakly nodded at his question. “Use your words, sweetheart.” he commanded. 

“I-I do..” your voice was so shaky and he fucking loved it. He didn't even say anything else after you replied, he just took his sweatpants off, revealing his erection that was already dripping with come. 

He took a second to soak you in admiring your now naked body sprawled out on the couch. “You’re so beautiful, baby.” He whispered, stroking his dick a couple of times before lining himself up inching himself inside of you, when he hears your intoxicating moans, he wastes no time sliding all his length inside you with one smooth stroke. He pulled out and slammed back in, hitting your sensitive spot that caused your back to arch off the couch and your face to contort in a way full of burning pleasure.

“Oouu, yes daddy, oh my god..” you whined and dug your nails into his tattooed arm. 

His breath hitched upon feeling your sharp nails, but he didn’t mind one bit. He continued to fuck you hard and deep, grunting softly with each stroke. 

“I love you so much, love this tight fuckin’ pussy, these fucking titties..” he said gruffly,  squeezing onto one of your now sensitive breasts, and his pace started to pick up—getting faster, and somehow deeper. 

“I-I’m gonna come, daddy. Please let me come” you pleaded weakly. Roman looked at you with those dark, lustful eyes of his—drinking up your perfect body under his. He then leaned down and gave you a passionate kiss before putting his lips to your ear and encouraging you to come for him, to let him see and feel how much you love him. And that you did—you squeezed yoru eyes shut and your body jerked and shivered under his as you released all over yourself, roman and the couch. Roman came undone at the same time, still fucking you through your orgasm at the same time. 

“There you go, my beautiful girl, look at all that love you gave me” he alluded to the mess you and him made on that couch. He wrapped you into his arms, and gave you small kisses all over your face. 

You wrapped yourself around roman, not even caring that the movie had ended a long time ago. The two of you just laid on the couch for the rest of the night in a comfortable silence. So much for having a simple movie night. 

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A/N💕: Hello hello you filthy little freaks😩, I hope yall enjoyed this shit. this was another one of those fuck it just post it kind of fics. I tried to do somethings differently, like kind of explore and practice on my smut like writing or whatever, let me know how yall liked it or didn't like it im very open to CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.

I also came up with this shit while I was on the couch watching game of thrones, thought I should add that for some reason.

anyways, thanks for reading, please interact with this!! I love to see what you guys think.

I love yall so much

-Love, Monet💙

[luvrgirl4roman]

Whewww 😩 this was good