I’m not writing it at the moment but Suburban Samoan Dads Joe and Roman are the domestic fluff AU i wasn’t looking for and yet hit me like a truck
fluffy domestic life stuff would include:
backyard BBQ with friends and neighbors and the kids, good music playing over speakers, the guys talking about football and where to get the best meat for grilling, making plans for a group hike with the older kids
Roman managing the kids’ morning rush (brush your teeth and put on your clothes, where’s your schoolbag, no you can’t sleep five more minutes) while Joe makes breakfast (lunch is all packed and ready to go - bento-type lunches because he’s really particular about what his kids eat and he takes pride in being the Best Lunch Dad, okay?)
Roman washing the pots and pans by hand, getting suds up to his elbow as he cleans, and Joe kissing the side of his neck in passing as he loads the dishwasher
Roman giving leg and feet massages because Joe’s knees aren’t as strong as they used to be
Joe braiding Roman’s hair while grumbling about the amount of hair he has to clean out from the shower traps every week
both of them giving the birds and the bees talk to their son, who’s like “Dad, Pa, I don’t think you’re gonna be all that convincing about dating and making love to a woman since you two are like, super gay”
their children being embarrassed (but actually kinda pleased) when both of them show up holding hands at school fairs and praising their kids’ work
when some idiot makes a homophobic remark near one of them, they’d get their husband over and be all lovey-dovey for a good while until the idiot becomes uncomfortable. Once Joe got to the point of having his hand slide up the back of Roman’s shirt before the idiot leaves
both deciding on first moving in that they are gonna get a dog. except they couldn’t agree on what kind of dog. Roman insisted on a cute fluffy bundle of fur; Joe wanted a burly mongrel that needed to regain faith in people. They both got what they wanted - except the dogs prefer Joe (he gives them treats from leftover ingredients when he’s cooking)
so anyway yes to big burly soft suburban samoan dads
Roman squints up at the blurry shadow looming over him. It’s a man, judging by the voice, and a big one at that, but the sun is behind the guy, and Roman’s head is in incredible pain. “Wh-”
“I said, stay down. ¿Hablas inglés?” The guy doesn’t wait for Roman to answer, instead choosing to holler to someone off to the side to call an ambulance.
Roman blinks. His ribs hurt and he thinks something is wrong with his neck. “What happened? Is my girl okay?”
“You got hit by a car,” the big guy tells him. “Don’t worry, I saw the plate. Who’s your girl?”
You’ve got a nice voice, Roman wants to tell the big guy, but his vision becomes dimmer around the edges and he thinks he may just faint from the agony in his head. In fact, unconsciousness sounds like a good i-
*
Joe doesn’t want to be here. He has papers to grade, for fuck’s sake, and he still has to plan the next day’s lessons and a test paper to set for the unit. Still, he feels bad for Jojo, who’s just been transferred into his Math class. Apparently it’s her dad who was hit by that dumbass in the black Subaru. Joe hopes the driver gets their license revoked and that Jojo’s father sues the shit out of them.
“He’s not gonna be paralyzed, right, Mr Joe?” Jojo asks.
Joe shrugs, but in as comforting a manner as he can. “He was able to speak and I saw him move his arms, so he’s probably not too badly hurt. He did hit his head though.”
The door to the ward opens and the girl rushes in. “Daddy?”
“Hey, baby girl, you’re okay,” says her father.
Joe peeks in at the door and, content to know that the man is fine, is ready to leave, except Jojo says, “My math teacher drove me here. He’s the one called the ambulance.”
Now he can’t escape. Joe puts on his best ‘Meet the Parent’ professional smile and walks in. “Hi. I’m glad you’re conscious.”
Jojo’s father has a bandage stuck to the left side of his head where he crashed against the sidewalk, as well as a sling for his left arm which has been put in a cast. His long hair has been left loose, and it falls silkily down past his shoulders.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr ‘Glad to be Conscious’.” The injured man smiles, and it’s a very attractive smile, wide and almost mischievous. He offers his right hand. “I’m Roman. Roman Reigns.”
“I see you’ve retained Dad Humor in all that concussion,” says Joe, his own grin widening, and shakes the offered hand firmly. Big strong hands, Joe notes. “I’m Joe Seanoa. The kids call me Mr Joe.”
“Do I need to call you that?”
“Only if you consider yourself a kid.”
Jojo makes an exasperated noise. “Dad, you were almost killed. Could you not flirt for, like, ten seconds? Geez.” To her teacher, she says, “Sorry Mr Joe. He’s definitely okay if he’s making stupid dad jokes and flirting with my teachers.”
Despite her breezy demeanor, it’s obvious she’s upset, so Joe just pats her lightly on the back and says, “Well, I can drop you at home if you want.”
“Mr Joe-”
“Baby girl, I know you’re going to insist on staying here,” Roman says fondly, “but I will need to rest, so why don’t you do your homework?” To Joe, he adds, “Single parent. I don’t think it’ll be good for her to be alone at home tonight.”
Joe hums. “In that case, I’ll take my leave. Get well soon, Mr Reigns.”
*
It’s about nine in the evening when Roman wakes up once more. Jojo is curled up in that strangely flexible teenager manner in the uncomfortable armchair, and snoring quietly.
Roman winces as he tries to get comfortable. Other than the broken left arm, about three of his ribs have been fractured. It’s mainly the concussion that’s keeping him here in hospital, however. They’re monitoring him for the night. He’d have sent Jojo home, but they’re very new in town and he hasn’t really met his neighbors yet, and certainly knows no one well enough to entrust his daughter to their care.
He hears someone at the door. It’s Joe, and he’s come back armed with two bags. The teacher sees Jojo asleep and snorts quietly, retrieving a blanket from one of the bags to carefully drape it over the girl, and the other holds a phone charger, a brand-new electric toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste.
“I don’t know if you’re right or left-handed,” Joe explains, “and when you can’t get a shower, brushing your teeth will make you feel a little more human.”
“Thank you.” Roman smiles at him. “You’re a good teacher.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to my kids. They all think I’m the devil incarnate.” Joe takes the other chair and sets it down softly. “So. Your girl mentioned you like flirting with teachers. Is that a bad habit?”
“Only if the teacher doesn’t like being flirted with,” Roman answers, keeping his voice as low as Joe’s. He smirks and raises an eyebrow (with some difficulty - his face feels a little puffy and sore). “Are you spoken for, or uninterested?”
Joe sits back in his chair, his bulky frame making the furniture squeak a little. Then he reaches out and touches Roman’s uninjured hand, the caress more tender than any touch Roman has ever felt, and more surprising coming from a man who looks like he uses baby squirrels for target practice. “Neither. But I prefer a walk and a good dinner to a trip to the hospital, so I suggest you get well real damn soon.”
On the one hand I’m stoked Joe is on the same brand as AJ, Daniel, Jeff etc. On the other I’m sad because my Samoan Joe’s can’t talk shit to each other every week anymore.
