Roman sat in a chair, his muscular body relaxed as he looked down at you, his gaze intense and dominant. You'd made the grave mistake of mouthing off to the tribal chief all day. In front of everyone from the camera crew to other superstars.
Now you sat on his lap in his dressing on the set for the 2k25 trailer. You were positioned on his lap, facing him, your legs spread wide apart on either side of his thighs. His cock was buried deep inside you, filling you completely.
Roman's hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he looked up at you with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "You really think it's funny to act like a brat in front of everyone, huh?" he asked, his voice low and authoritative.
You tried to respond, but the feeling of his cock inside you made it difficult to form words. You whimpered softly, your body trembling with a mix of pleasure and submission.
Roman chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. "That's what I thought," he said, his grip on your hips tightening.
"You're lucky I'm feeling merciful today," he continued, his eyes roaming over your body. "Otherwise, I'd have you bent over my knee right now, spanking your disobedient little ass until you learned your lesson. Instead you get to be perched on my cock like the pretty little slut you are.. Mm, I'm a generous tribal chief, ain't I, babygirl?"
You nodded, your heart racing with desire. "Yes, my tribal chief. You're so generous to me."
Roman smirked, clearly pleased with your response. "Good girl," he said, his hands moving to caress your thighs.
He began to slowly grind his hips, causing his cock to shift inside you. You let out a soft moan, your head falling back in pleasure.
Roman chuckled again, his eyes never leaving your face. "You're so needy," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "Can't even speak properly with my cock buried inside you, can you?"
You shook your head, your words failing you once again. Roman's smirk widened as he continued to tease you.
"That's right," he said, his hands moving up to cup your breasts. "You're just a little slut for me, aren't you? All you can do is moan and whimper like a mindless cock-drunk little doll."
He began to play with your nipples, rolling them between his fingers and pinching them lightly. You gasped and arched your back, pushing your chest into his hands.
Roman chuckled again, enjoying the way you responded to his touch. "You're so sensitive," he said, his voice low and sultry. "I could play with your body all day and you'd still be begging for more."
He continued to tease your nipples, his thumbs rubbing slow circles around them. You could feel your arousal building with every touch, your body desperate for more stimulation.
Roman leaned in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You want to come, don't you?" he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine.
You nodded desperately, your body trembling with need. "Please, my tribal chief," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.
Roman smiled, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. "Please what, babygirl?" he asked, his hands now roughly kneeding your breasts.
You whimpered, struggling to form words. "Please let me come," you finally managed to say, your voice trembling with desperation.
Roman chuckled and leaned back in his chair, his hands moving to grip your hips again. "Not yet," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You have to earn it, sweetheart."
You whined in frustration, but didn't protest. You knew better than to disobey your tribal chief again right now. Roman smirked at your reaction, enjoying the power he had over you.
"Good girl," he praised, his grip on your hips tightening once again. "You're learnin' how things work around here. Learning who's in charge."
He began to move his hips again, slowly thrusting up into you. You moaned and clenched around him, your body responding to the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you.
Roman groaned in pleasure, his eyes locked on yours. "That's it," he said, his voice strained. "You're so tight around me, babygirl. It's like your body was made to take my cock. Pretty little thing made just to serve her tribal chief.."
You whimpered again, your body feeling like it was on fire with need. You wanted to come so badly, but you knew you had to wait for his permission. Roman took this as his cue to go completely still. The sheer dominance in his eyes telling you that you better not move.
You stayed still, your body tense with anticipation. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, but he made no move to continue.
Roman leaned in close to your ear again, his voice a low growl. "Do you understand now, little brat? Who runs shit around here?"
You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. "You do, my tribal chief," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're in charge."
Roman smiled and gently caressed your cheek. "That's right," he said, his touch surprisingly gentle compared to his earlier roughness, hearing you acknowledge him between breathy whimpers and not fucking you senseless was just as much a punishment to him as it was you. He was torturing himself here.
"And you're going to behave yourself from now on, aren't you?" he asked, his hand moving to grip your chin and tilt your head up to look at him.
You nodded again, your eyes locked on his. "Yes, my tribal chief," you promised, your voice full of sincerity. "I'll be a good girl, I swear."
Roman's smile widened, clearly pleased with your answer. "That's what I like to hear," he said, his hand moving back to your hip. "Good girls get rewarded..."
He began to move again, slowly at first, but gradually increasing the pace. You moaned loudly, finally getting the stimulation you craved.
Roman groaned in response, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust up into you harder. "You feel so good, babygirl," he said, his voice rough with desire. "So tight and wet for me. You're going to make me come soon if you keep squeezing me like that."
Roman pulled you close, his lips brushing against your ear. "Ride me, babygirl," he growled, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Show me how badly you want to come."
You didn't hesitate. You began to move, bouncing up and down on his cock with a newfound urgency. Roman leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on your thighs as he watched you ride him.
"That's it," he groaned, his eyes roaming over your body. "You look so pretty like this, baby.."
You continued to ride him, your hips moving in a steady rhythm. You could feel your orgasm building again, but you knew you had to hold off.
Roman could sense your struggle, and he smirked up at you. "You're doing so well, babygirl," he praised.
"You're trying so hard to be a good girl for me. I can see it in your eyes. You want to come so badly, don't you?"
You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps as you tried to hold back your release. "Please, my tribal chief," you begged, your voice desperate. "Please let me come, Daddy."
Roman chuckled, clearly enjoying your desperation. "Not yet," he said, his hands moving to your hips again, stopping you from moving. "I want to savor this a little longer."
You whined in frustration, your body trembling with need. "Please," you pleaded again, tears welling up in your eyes. "I can't take it anymore."
Roman smiled, his expression a mix of amusement and cruelty. "You'll take what I give you, babygirl," he said firmly. "And right now, I want you to stop moving."
You whimpered but obeyed, your body stilling on top of him. Roman let out a satisfied sigh, his hands moving to your thighs again. "Good girl," he repeated. "You're doing so well at following orders. Maybe I should reward you after all."
He started to move again, thrusting up into you with renewed vigor. You moaned loudly, your head falling back in pleasure. Roman watched you closely, his eyes dark with desire.
"You look so pretty when you're desperate," he said, his voice low and husky. "I could keep you like this forever, teetering on the edge of release, begging for my permission to come."
He continued to thrust, his pace fast and relentless. You were a mess, babbling incoherently as you struggled to hold back your orgasm.
"Please, please, please," you repeated over and over again, your body shaking with need. "I need to come, my tribal chief. I need it so badly."
Roman ignored your pleas, his grip on your hips tightening as he continued to drive into you. He was relishing in the power he had over you, enjoying the sight of you completely at his mercy, serenading him with a chorus of moans and whimpers.
"The way you sing to your tribal chief it's.. it's just beautiful." he said, his voice dripping with arrogance.
You let out a frustrated sob, tears streaming down your face. You were so close to the edge, but you knew you had to be patient. Roman wasn't going to give in easily.
He slowed down again, his thrusts becoming shallow and teasing. He leaned in close to your ear once more. "You're being such a good girl for me, taking what I give you without complaining. Alright.. Alright. Come for me, babygirl. "
Your body instantly responded to his command, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name, your entire body trembling as you came hard around his cock.
Roman groaned as he felt you clenching around him, his own release following closely behind. He buried himself deep inside you, filling you up with his hot seed.
He held you close, panting heavily as he rode out his own orgasm. You collapsed against his chest, exhausted and spent. Roman stroked your hair, a satisfied smirk on his face.
"That was amazing, babygirl," he murmured, his voice gentle now. "You did so well for me."
It's a good thing these damn dressing rooms are sound proof.. Mostly... They hope so.
🔥 Content Warnings, y’all: This is spicy—full-on smut with rough, detailed sexy times (18+ only, minors bounce). Cussing galore ‘cause Joe’s got a mouth on him. Big feels—think steamy highs crashing into raw, messy lows (tears and all). Some playful “I’ll yeet you” energy and a beer sip or two. Heavy domestic vibes—marriage, kid dreams, the whole cozy package. It’s a rollercoaster, so buckle up, fam. 🔥on. 🖤
Summary: Joe and Isla light up a world of their own—where every touch burns, every laugh echoes, and every moment feels like forever. But something lingers just beneath the surface, ready to shift it all. A 4.9k-word standalone in the Open Arms universe, packed with spice, softness, and a pull you can’t resist.
Pairing: Roman Reigns (Joe Anoa'i) x Isla Sage Navarro (oc)
Word Count: 4.9k
Isla woke to birdsong, a soft trill threading through the open window, tugging her gently from sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, met by a bedroom awash in golden light, warm and alive, the kind that spilled over everything like honey. The bed stretched wide, a sea of crisp white sheets beneath a navy throw tangled at their feet, evidence of restless dreaming—or restless love. She lay bare, skin pressed to Joe’s broad, solid frame, his arm a heavy, comforting anchor draped over her waist, his slow, deep breaths a steady drum against her cheek. His hair spilled dark and wild over the pillow, a few strands brushing his jaw, tickling the edge of his beard, his face softened in sleep—her man, the fierce Tribal Chief tamed by dawn’s quiet. The faint musk of him clung to the sheets, earthy and familiar, mingling with the crisp morning air.
A sweet ache pulsed in her muscles as she shifted, a flush creeping up her neck, her body humming with echoes of the night before. They’d tangled until dawn, locked in a primal, breathless dance, nothing between them but sweat and raw, unfiltered need. Her mind drifted back, heat flaring at the memory, vivid and relentless, pulling her under like a tide.
Joe had pinned her to the mattress, hands rough and commanding on her hips, a growl tearing from his chest as he claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss that stole her breath. His tongue swept hers aside, possessive, hungry, while he pressed against her thigh—hot, insistent, a promise that made her tremble. “You’re mine, Isla,” he’d rasped, voice a low, primal edge that set her ablaze, her nails raking his shoulders as he held her down, her body bending to his will beneath his weight. His lips blazed a trail down her throat, stubble scraping her skin, teeth grazing her pulse before nipping sharp, a mark that drew a moan from deep in her core. “Feel that, beautiful?” he’d murmured, voice thick as he lingered, sucking gently until she squirmed, the sting a delicious claim she’d carry into the morning. Gripping her thighs with bruising force, he spread her wide, eyes dark and predatory as they locked on hers, drinking her in, stripping her bare with a look. “So fuckin’ perfect for me,” he’d growled, teasing her slick heat with a slow, deliberate drag, her trembling pleas spilling out—soft, desperate, unraveling her thread by thread. “Joe, please—I need you,” she’d gasped, hips bucking against him, her voice breaking with want, and he’d smirked, wicked and knowing, leaning close to whisper, “Gonna make you feel me for days, baby,” before driving into her, deep and relentless, filling her in one brutal stroke that split her world apart. She’d arched off the bed, crying out, the headboard thudding as he set a punishing rhythm, wrists pinned above her head in his iron grip, his groans weaving with her shattered gasps. “That’s it—take it,” he’d urged, voice rough with lust, each thrust pushing her higher, her legs trembling around his waist as she broke, his name a jagged scream on her lips that echoed in the dark. He followed, spilling into her with a guttural snarl, their bodies slick and spent, the air thick with their mingled breaths, the sheets damp beneath them as they collapsed, tangled and breathless.
The memory seared through her, her pulse racing as she pressed closer, savoring the heat of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell against her cheek, grounding her in this quiet aftermath. Her hand brushed his, and gold glinted—wedding rings, hers and his, simple bands that caught the morning light like a vow made solid. Her heart swelled, thumb tracing the cool metal, a quiet thrill blooming in her chest as the words sank in: Mrs. Anoa’i. The soreness in her limbs wove into the intimacy of the moment, a private thread of their bond, a secret etched into her body, and she nuzzled deeper into his chest, her smile widening against the steady thud of his heart, the rhythm she’d fallen asleep to countless nights.
Joe stirred, his arm tightening around her, a low hum vibrating in his throat as his eyes opened slow and deep, those brown depths finding hers with a tenderness that melted her bones. “Morning, beautiful,” he murmured, voice a gravelly rumble that sent a shiver down her spine, his thumb brushing her ring like it was second nature, a habit born of years. His gaze slid to her bare shoulder, tracing a faint purple mark from his teeth, a glint sparking in his eyes as he propped himself up on an elbow, hovering over her. “Feelin’ me after last night, huh? Left you a little souvenir—looks good on you.”
Her cheeks blazed, the memory flaring hot and vivid, and she ducked against his chest, voice shy but playful as she peeked up at him. “A little sore—and yeah, I see that. Not complaining, though—it’s kinda… nice.”
He chuckled, warm and low, the sound rolling through her like a wave, tilting her chin up with a calloused finger to meet his gaze. “Nice, huh? I like hearin’ that. Might make you scream my name again tonight—how’s that sound, Mrs. Anoa’i?” His smirk teased, eyes dancing with mischief, her flush deepening as she swatted his chest lightly, laughter spilling soft against his skin. “Joe, stop—you’re terrible!”
“Terrible? Nah, you didn’t say that last night,” he teased, rolling her beneath him in a swift, fluid move, pinning her gently with his weight, his lips brushing her ear, warm and taunting. “Thought I heard ‘Joe, don’t stop’ a few times—am I wrong, beautiful?”
She squeaked, swatting him again, her giggles muffled as he nuzzled her neck, stubble tickling her skin before he kissed her temple, relenting with a wide, lazy grin. “Alright, alright, I’ll behave—for now. But you’re too damn cute when you blush like that.”
She squirmed under him, still laughing, her hands resting on his biceps as she caught her breath. “You’re impossible, you know that? How do I put up with you?”
“‘Cause you love me,” he said, voice softening, dropping the tease as he brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender now. “And I’m damn lucky you do.”
Her heart fluttered, and she reached up, cupping his face, thumb grazing his jaw. “I do love you—more than anything.”
He leaned into her touch, eyes closing briefly before locking on hers again, that tenderness deepening. “Good thing, ‘cause I ain’t lettin’ you go—ever.”
They lingered there, tangled and close, the world beyond their bed fading into a hum of birds and distant wind, until a soft purr broke the stillness. Toby, her Siamese, stretched languidly at the bed’s foot, cream coat glowing in the sunlight, blue eyes half-lidded and lazy as he yawned, showing off sharp little teeth. Her college companion turned family, he’d been with her through late-night tears and early road days, and now he was theirs—a quiet witness to this life. He purred louder as Joe reached over, scratching behind his ears with a rough gentleness, the cat leaning into it with a flick of his tail. “Mornin’, trouble,” Joe muttered, voice fond despite the grumble. “You sleepin’ on my side again?”
Isla laughed, propping herself up on her elbows. “He’s just keeping it warm for you—right, Toby?” The cat blinked at her, slow and smug, before stretching again, claws flexing against the throw.
Joe snorted, giving Toby one last scratch before swinging his legs over the bed’s edge. “Yeah, sure he is. Little king of the damn house.” He stood, muscles flexing as he stretched, bare form a sight that stole her breath—broad shoulders, tattooed arms, the curve of his back—before he tugged on gray sweatpants, the waistband riding low, smirking as he caught her stare in the mirror across the room. “C’mon, Isla. Breakfast—I’m spoilin’ my wife today, and you ain’t missin’ it.”
She winced, eyes stinging from forgotten contacts, and shuffled to the bathroom, popping them out with a sigh of relief that cooled the irritation, sliding on glasses that sharpened the world—his reflection now crisp in the doorway, arms crossed, grin wide. “Need those to see your Tribal Chief, huh? Or you just starin’ ‘cause I’m pretty?”
She laughed, swatting his arm as she adjusted the frames, the familiar weight settling on her nose. “Don’t wanna miss a single detail, Mr. Anoa’i—you’re too good to blur out.”
“Damn right,” he said, stepping closer, tugging her against him by the waist, his hands warm through the thin fabric of her sleepshirt. “Better keep those eyes on me, beautiful—plenty to see.”
She rolled her eyes, grinning as she wriggled free, pulling on his oversized “Tribal Chief” hoodie instead, the hem grazing her thighs, sleeves swallowing her hands as she shoved them up. She followed him barefoot to their kitchen—white cabinets gleaming, marble island cool under her fingertips, a garden bursting with ripe tomatoes beyond the window, their red skins glinting in the sun. A Hawaii vacation photo clung to the fridge with a WWE belt magnet—Joe’s arm around her on a beach, their laughter frozen mid-wave, sand dusting their feet, the ocean a blur of blue behind them. She traced the edge of the frame, smiling softly, as Joe started the coffee maker, its gurgle filling the space with a rich, bitter scent.
Toby hopped onto the island, meowing sharp and demanding, his tail high like a flag, and Joe frowned, spatula in hand as he flipped pancakes, the sizzle of batter hitting the pan a soft counterpoint. “Toby, get your ass off the damn counter—don’t make me tell you twice.”
Isla giggled, scooping him down with a kiss to his sleek head, his indignant tail-flick earning a mock glare from Joe as she set him on the tiles. “He thinks he runs this place,” she said, watching Toby strut off, dignity intact, before settling by the window in a pool of sunlight, blue eyes narrowing at a bird outside.
“He’s lucky you love him,” Joe muttered, sliding her a plate—golden pancakes, blueberries tumbling over a dollop of whipped cream, the sweet scent curling up to meet her. He leaned against the island, watching her with a smirk, his own plate stacked high. “Better eat up, beautiful—I worked hard on these.”
She took a bite, the blueberries bursting tart and sweet on her tongue, and hummed, grinning at him. “You’re spoiling me alright—these are perfect.”
“Only the best for my wife,” he said, voice softening as he reached over, brushing a crumb from her lip with his thumb, lingering there a beat too long, his touch warm and steady.
“You starin’, beautiful?” he teased, catching her gaze as she sipped coffee, the mug warming her hands, Toby purring faintly at her feet now, his tail brushing her ankle.
“Maybe,” she said, shyness fading in this haven where she felt so loved, so safe. “You’re hard to ignore—pancakes, coffee, that smirk. It’s a lot.”
He laughed, deep and warm, leaning across the island to steal a quick kiss, lips brushing hers with a hint of blueberry. “Good. Ain’t ever lookin’ away from you—better get used to it, Isla.” His thumb grazed her cheek, her eyes fluttering shut, the moment stretching sweet and still, the coffee’s bitterness grounding her, his warmth a tether she’d never tire of.
The day flowed easy—Joe stealing bites from her plate, smearing whipped cream on her nose just to kiss it off, his laughter rumbling as she swiped back with a blueberry-stained finger, leaving a smudge on his cheek. “You’re a mess,” she scolded, grinning as he wiped it off with a napkin, winking at her. “Your mess, beautiful—don’t forget it.” Toby batted a stray berry across the tiles, chasing it under the table with a skitter of claws, his blue eyes bright with mischief as it rolled out of reach. “That cat’s gonna ruin my floor,” Joe grumbled, but his tone was fond, watching Toby pounce again.
They sank into the couch after, Toby curling beside them on the plush gray cushions, a warm weight against her hip as Joe’s hands traced lazy circles on her thigh through the hoodie, the TV humming with a cooking show—some chef flambéing shrimp, the flames flickering bright. He snagged a romance novel from the shelf—her stash of dog-eared paperbacks—flipping it open with a dramatic squint, his voice mock-serious. “You and your sappy books—what’s this one about? Prince charming sweepin’ you off your feet in a castle?”
She snatched it back, laughing as she tucked it against her chest, the worn cover soft under her fingers. “Got my prince right here—don’t need a castle or a book for that.”
His arms tightened, pulling her against him, voice dropping low in her ear, rough and warm. “Damn right you do—better than any story, huh? No castle, just me and you, beautiful.” She nodded, melting into him, his heartbeat a steady drum under her cheek, a silent vow in every touch, every breath they shared.
Later, they sat by the creek in their backyard, the sun blazing high, spilling gold through the oak leaves overhead, casting dappled shadows on the grass. Isla perched on a smooth rock, bare feet swirling in the cool, gurgling water, her sundress hiked to her knees, the hem damp from a stray splash she didn’t mind. Joe sat close, jeans rolled up to his calves, toes skimming the surface, sending ripples outward that caught the light like tiny mirrors. Toby sprawled on the grassy bank, cream coat shimmering as he pawed at a dragonfly zipping by, its iridescent wings buzzing, his blue eyes glinting with lazy mischief as he missed and flopped back with a huff.
Joe grinned, nudging her with his shoulder, voice warm and easy. “You lookin’ all cute over there, beautiful—water feel good on those toes?”
She smiled shyly, splashing him lightly, the droplets glittering in the sun as they hit his arm. “Yeah, it’s perfect—cool and clear. You should feel it too—stop hogging the rock like it’s your throne.”
He chuckled, deep and rich, shifting closer until their thighs pressed together, his hand landing on her knee, thumb brushing her skin in slow, warm strokes. “Hoggin’ it? Nah, just keepin’ you company, Isla—ain’t that what a good husband does? Gotta make sure my wife’s happy out here.”
Her laugh bubbled up, soft and bright, her fingers flicking water at him again, a playful arc that caught him on the chest this time. “Oh, is that what you’re calling it now? I think you just like being this close—admit it.”
“Damn right I do,” he said, smirking, his hand sliding up to squeeze her thigh gently, firm and warm against her sun-kissed skin. “Can’t help it—you’re too good to stay away from, sittin’ there all pretty in that dress.”
She blushed, leaning into him, her palm settling on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her touch through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re sweet, Joe—too sweet sometimes. What am I gonna do with you?”
“Keep me, I hope,” he said, voice softening, tilting her chin up with a finger, eyes locking on hers, deep and endless, reflecting the creek’s shimmer. “Guess I gotta be sweet, keepin’ up with you—you’re the real prize here, beautiful.”
Her breath hitched, the sun warming her shoulders, the water’s chill a contrast as she murmured, “I love you, Joe. So much—more than I can even say.”
“I love you too, Isla,” he said, voice dropping low and certain, his hand cupping her cheek fully now, rough palm grounding her like an anchor. “Always will—don’t you ever doubt that.”
She pressed closer, fingers curling into his shirt, the creek’s soft rush blending with Toby’s faint purr nearby, a harmony she could live in forever. “Promise me that—always, no matter what? Even if the world goes crazy?”
He nodded, forehead resting against hers, his breath warm on her lips, a quiet intimacy sealing them together. “Promise. You’re stuck with me, beautiful—ain’t goin’ nowhere, no matter what shit comes our way.”
A quiet doubt flickered—What if this isn’t real?—and she gripped his shirt tighter, anchoring herself to him, the water lapping at her ankles, the dragonfly’s hum fading as she clung to his words, to the weight of him beside her.
“Better not,” she teased, voice trembling just a touch, forcing a smile to chase the shadow away. “I’d hunt you down, Mr. Anoa’i—I’m pretty stubborn when I want something.”
He laughed, pulling her into his lap, arms wrapping her tight, the rock solid beneath them as he held her close, her legs dangling over his. “Hunt me down? Shit, I’d let you catch me every time—just to see that fire in you, Isla. Love when you get all fierce like that.”
She giggled, swatting his chest lightly, but stayed nestled there, the sun dipping lower now, painting the sky with streaks of amber. “You’d make it too easy,” she said, voice softening, her head resting on his shoulder. “But I’d still chase you—every damn time.”
“Good,” he murmured, kissing her forehead, his grip firm and unyielding, a promise in itself. “Keep that fire, beautiful—I love it. Love you.”
“I love you too,” she whispered, closing her eyes, letting the moment sink in—the water’s cool kiss, his warmth, Toby’s purr—a snapshot she’d hold forever if she could.
The scene shifted—they drove to Jimmy and Naomi’s barbecue, Joe’s hand resting heavy on her thigh, the black SUV humming along a tree-lined road, the radio playing a slow R&B tune he hummed to, voice rough but warm, weaving with the melody. A gym bag with his wrestling gear peeked from the back seat, the faint scent of leather mixing with his cologne—woodsy, sharp, him. The windows were cracked, letting in a breeze that ruffled her hair, carrying the earthy tang of cut grass from fields flashing by. “Solo’s spear still stings,” he grumbled, flexing his shoulder with a wince, the muscle shifting under his shirt as he rolled it out.
She squeezed his hand, fingers brushing his ring, the gold cool against her skin. “My Chief always wins—sore or not. You’re tougher than Solo any day.”
He grinned, eyes softening as he glanced at her, the road stretching green and gold ahead, sunlight glinting off the hood. “Got my good luck charm watchin’ me—makes all the difference, beautiful. Always has.”
She smiled, glancing at the empty back seat where Toby’s carrier usually sat, picturing his indignant meows at being left behind for the day. “Toby’s probably napping in the sun by now, plotting revenge for ditching him.”
Joe laughed, thumb rubbing circles on her thigh, a slow, comforting rhythm. “That cat’s got a grudge bigger than Jey’s ego—better watch my back when we get home, huh?”
“Better sleep with one eye open,” she teased, leaning over to kiss his cheek, quick and soft, the stubble prickling her lips. “He’s got claws and a memory.”
“Great,” he muttered, smirking as he squeezed her thigh. “Stuck with a vengeful cat and a wife who’d hunt me down—livin’ the dream, ain’t I?”
“The best dream,” she said, grinning, settling back as the SUV rolled on, the world outside a blur of green and gold, their little bubble perfect and whole.
At the barbecue, the Bloodline buzzed—Jimmy flipping burgers at the grill, smoke curling thick and gray into the sky, Jey tossing cornhole bags with a loud whoop as one sailed wide, Naomi arranging a tray of lemonade on a picnic table, condensation dripping down the pitcher, Solo leaning against an oak tree, smirking rare and quiet as he sipped a beer. The air hummed with charcoal and grilled meat, laughter weaving through the clink of glasses and the shrieks of kids darting between adults, sticky hands clutching melting popsicles, leaving trails of red and orange on the grass. A portable speaker thumped a bass-heavy beat, mingling with the chatter, and the scent of Naomi’s jasmine perfume floated over as she waved Isla in.
Joe kept her close, his arm a warm, possessive weight around her waist as they wove through the chaos, whispering quips in her ear—“Jimmy’s gonna burn those burgers again, watch”—that made her laugh, her sundress swaying as she leaned into him, the fabric brushing his side. “He’s trying,” she whispered back, grinning as Jimmy flipped a patty with exaggerated flair, nearly dropping it.
“Tryin’ ain’t cookin’,” Joe muttered, smirking, his hand sliding to her hip, fingers flexing there like he couldn’t let go.
Jimmy called over, tongs waving, a smirk splitting his face. “Y’all so damn cute it’s makin’ me sick—get a room, Uce! Save it for the honeymoon part two!”
Jey chimed in, laughing as he tossed another cornhole bag, missing the board entirely. “Yeah, when you gonna stop actin’ like newlyweds? It’s been years, fam—give us a break!”
Joe rolled his eyes, pulling Isla tighter against him, his grin lazy and unapologetic. “Never—get used to it, fools. Y’all just mad you ain’t this lucky.” He kissed her temple, slow and deliberate, the crew groaning playfully as Naomi winked at Isla, pouring her a glass of lemonade, the ice clinking sharp.
“They’re jealous, girl,” Naomi said, handing it over with a grin, her gold hoops glinting in the sun. “Let ‘em hate—you two are goals.”
“Damn right,” Joe said, voice low in Isla’s ear, his breath warm against her skin as he took the glass from Naomi, pressing it into Isla’s hand. “Drink up, beautiful—keep that smile goin’.”
Jey sauntered over, slinging an arm around Isla’s shoulders, his grin mischievous and wide. “If Uce ain’t treatin’ you right, I’m always here, babygirl—prime twin material, ready to step up.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed, voice dropping to that Tribal Chief growl that sent a shiver down her spine, low and deadly. “Three seconds, Jey, ‘fore I put you through that grill—hands off my wife, now.”
Jey backed off fast, hands up in surrender, laughing loud enough to turn heads. “Aight, aight, Uce, I’m out—don’t spear me, damn!” The group erupted, Solo even cracking a rare chuckle as Jimmy hooted, slapping the grill with his tongs, Isla blushing hard as Joe’s grip turned fierce and warm, his lips brushing her ear with a possessive edge. “He’s lucky I like him, or he’d be eatin’ dirt,” he muttered, and she giggled, heart racing at the heat in his voice, the way he pulled her closer like she was his whole world.
“Thanks for the save,” she teased, nudging him, her blush fading into a smile as she sipped the lemonade, tart and cold against the day’s heat.
“Always got you,” he said, softer now, his hand lingering on her hip as he steered her toward the blanket, the crew’s chaos fading to a hum behind them.
Sunset streaked the sky orange and pink, casting long shadows over the yard, and they settled on a picnic blanket, sharing a plate—grilled chicken glistening with sauce, potato salad creamy and cool, cornbread crumbling warm in their hands, the buttery scent rising up. Joe tossed a giggling toddler into the air—Jimmy’s niece, her pigtails bouncing, her squeals piercing the dusk as he caught her, grinning wide, his laugh deep and unrestrained. “You’re gettin’ heavy, little mama,” he said, setting her down gently, ruffling her hair as she ran off, shrieking for more. Isla watched, heart swelling, picturing their own—a tiny Anoa’i with his dark eyes, her shy smile, tumbling through this yard someday, Joe scooping them up just like that. Naomi caught her eye, smirking knowingly, and mouthed, “Soon, girl,” with a wink that made Isla’s cheeks burn.
Joe slid back beside her, feeding her a bite of cornbread, fingers grazing her lips as he grinned, the crumbs catching the fading light. “Good, huh?” he asked, voice soft, watching her like she was the only thing here.
She laughed, swatting his hand away after the bite, the sweetness lingering on her tongue. “You’re gonna make a mess—stop it.”
“Worth it to see you smile,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners, pulling her close against his side, kissing her temple slow and warm, his arm a shield around her. The image of him with that little girl—father, husband, hers—crashed over her like a wave, and she froze, breath catching sharp in her throat, the plate slipping from her lap to the blanket. She saw it clear as day—their kid running to him, her calling them in for dinner, this life stretching out forever—and the weight of it, the perfection, choked her. She slipped away, heart pounding, to a quiet corner of the yard by the oak tree, pressing a hand to her chest as her breath hitched, tears prickling hot behind her eyes.
Joe followed, a steady shadow in the dusk, his hand gentle on her arm, turning her to face him, concern etching his features. “What’s wrong, beautiful? Talk to me.”
Her eyes glistened, voice breaking as she met his gaze, the words tumbling out raw and unsteady. “You with that little girl—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted, Joe. This life, us, a family—I see it so clear, and I’m terrified it’s not real, that I’ll wake up and lose it all.”
He pulled her into his arms, embrace unyielding, warm and solid, lips pressing firm against her forehead as he held her tight, his voice a low, fierce murmur against her skin. “I got you, Isla. This is real—we’re real. Ain’t nothin’ takin’ this from us—not now, not ever. You hear me? That future’s ours.”
She clung to him, his words a lifeline threading through her fear, his body chasing the shadows away as she buried her face in his chest, breathing him in—sweat, smoke, the faint tang of lemonade on his shirt, all him. The crew’s laughter faded to a distant hum, the world narrowing to just them, her fingers digging into his back as she whispered, “Don’t let me go, Joe—please.”
“Never,” he said, tilting her face up, kissing her soft and slow, sealing the promise as the sunset bled into twilight around them, the oak’s branches rustling overhead like a blessing.
A sharp BEEP BEEP BEEP shattered it. The barbecue dissolved, Joe’s face fading into black as the alarm screamed, relentless. Isla jolted awake, heart hammering, a flickering neon sign outside the Chicago hotel room casting jagged red streaks across the walls, the air cold and stale with last night’s takeout—grease and soy sauce clinging to the silence. The clock flashed 6:30 AM, digits glaring in the dimness, cutting through the haze. She groaned, hand brushing the plush panda—not Joe’s skin—its soft fur a cruel mockery under her fingers, the black-and-white patches blurring as her eyes adjusted. No ring, just bare skin where the gold should’ve been, the absence a punch to her gut. The loss roared through her, a hollow ache igniting fast and fierce, stealing her breath.
“Damn it,” she hissed, fists clenching, frustration boiling as she pressed her palms to her eyes, chasing the dream—his growl in the dark, the kitchen’s warmth, Toby’s purr, the creek’s ripple, that little girl’s laugh ringing in her ears. It had been so real, every touch, every word, every heartbeat, and now it was ash, leaving her shivering in this sterile cage, the neon’s hum a taunting buzz in her skull. She kicked the covers off, sharp and angry, hair tangled as she sat up, grabbing the panda and clutching it tight against her chest, rocking slightly as tears pricked hot and unrelenting. “Not fair,” she muttered, voice thick and breaking, the words spilling out like a plea. “It’s not fucking fair—I had it, I had you.” Her fingers dug into the plush, nails biting fabric, the soreness she’d felt a phantom now, mocking her with its absence, a cruel tease of what wasn’t there.
She squeezed her eyes shut, replaying it—the way he’d pinned her, the taste of cornbread, his laugh with that kid, the promise by the creek—and a sob caught in her throat, sharp and jagged, her chest heaving as she fought it down. The hotel room pressed in, walls too close, the neon flickering like a heartbeat she couldn’t reach, and she hurled the panda across the bed, watching it tumble with a dull thud, her breath ragged. “Come back,” she whispered, barely audible, hands fisting in the sheets as the dream slipped further, fraying at the edges.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting through the fog—Joe’s text: Morning, beautiful. Breakfast in 30? Need you before the day starts—missed you last night. 🖤 A bittersweet smile tugged her lips, the dream’s weight crushing her chest as she stared at the screen, thumb hovering, the words blurring through unshed tears. She typed back, Morning, Joe. I’ll be there—missed you too. 🥰, hands trembling, the sting softening but the longing blazing—a fire she couldn’t douse, a hunger that gnawed deeper with every breath. She swung her legs over the bed’s edge, bare feet hitting the cold, chipped tile, and stood, snatching the panda back into her arms, clutching it like a lifeline as she shuffled to the mirror. The neon outlined her silhouette—alone, no ring, no Joe, just a girl in a hoodie too big for her, eyes red-rimmed and fierce. It had been a dream, nothing more, but his voice—“You’re stuck with me, beautiful”—echoed loud and unyielding, a future she’d claw her way to, one damn day at a time, no matter what it took.
💖 Whew, fam—what a ride, right? 💖
Joe and Isla just gave us soft, spicy, and shattering—I’m still shook from that alarm clock gut-punch! What wrecked you most—those steamy sheets, the creek vows, or the Bloodline roasting each other? Did Isla’s panda moment break you, or are you begging for this life to be real? Spill your fave scene (or your loudest “MAKE IT HAPPEN” wail) in the comments—I need your feels! 💬
Reblog if Joe’s “beautiful” has you weak, or if Toby’s your MVP—spread the love! 🔥 Want more Joe x Isla? Comment “Add me!” for the Open Arms taglist—I’ve got you! Oh, and if you’re hooked on Roman Reigns, my other fic Everything I Wanted flips the script—he’s an undefeated underground fighter, snagging Estrella as collateral for her mom’s $30,000 debt with just one month to pay. It’s all grit and heat—check it HERE! 🖤 Y’all are the best—thanks for riding with me!
