The Hoes Gon Love Thissss

the hoes gon love thissss

through your eyes + au 4

authors note: thank you so much to all of ya'll showing interest in this little au 🥺🥺🥺 ya'll are the real mvp's.

masterlist

words: 4.5k // warnings: some smut, roman being possessive/borderline stalkerish

Solana is clearly naive.

Embarrassingly so, because for her to just assume she could dip out on Roman Reigns without there being any sort of consequence or him wanting to follow up was simply ludicrous.

It’s ludicrous and simply not going to fly for the Head of the Table, hence Solana’s current situation. Standing at the back of her store trying to convince Sami Zayn to deliver her very clear, unmistakable message to Roman who’s apparently waiting out back for her.

“Sami, I’m sorry you’re in….in the middle of this, but I—I don’t want to see Roman.” There’s a strange, borderline uncomfortable feeling that rises, even as the words leave her mouth. Solana knows that’s what she needs to say and should say, but there’s a part of her that doesn’t want to say it.

But, then she thinks back to Rosalia’s cruel words, hurtful but true. And it’s the reminder she needs. She swallows, reiterating, “please tell him I’m not interested.”

And while these may be words spoken from a sudden sense of finality, they seem to be more of a death sentence to the man before her. Sami’s face is growing red and ruddy by the minute. “Oh boy.” He blows out a breath and runs his hand through his still unkempt hair. “Ms. Miller—”

She gives him a small smile. “You can call me Solana.”

“I can’t call you anything if I’m dead.” Her eyes go wide, and he winces, apologizing. “I’m sorry. I just—I’ve been working hard to work my way up in the Bloodline and telling the Tribal Chief no….well, that sure seems like a good way to get my ass chewed up and spit out….or worse.”

A deep frown settles on Solana’s face as she nervously taps her fingers against the side of her legs. The last thing she wants is for Roman to take his anger at her ‘rejection’ out on Sami. She’s not worth that. 

At all.

Gasping quietly, she shares, “I have an idea.” She motions for him to follow her, Solana guiding them to her office in the back. Grabbing a pen and the notebook on her desk, she quickly gets to writing, not allowing herself to think too much. That’ll only cause her to second guess her decision, when she really can’t afford to do so. 

Roman,

I’m sorry for leaving abruptly, but that shouldn’t have happened. We’re two very different people. I’m not what you’re looking for. Let’s just end this now before it gets too far.

Sorry for wasting your time.

Solana

She doesn’t even give herself the chance to look it over, ripping it from the notebook, folding it over and handing it to Sami. “Just give him this.”

Sami looks down at the piece of paper like it may contain anthrax. He then sighs, heavily, accepting it from her. “Alrighty then.”

Grateful for his amenable nature, she offers a small smile of appreciation. “Thank you, Sami.”

He says nothing, just walks out without another word to deliver the message that will, hopefully, close up this strange, unexpected, brief chapter of her life involving a certain Roman Reigns.

Never mind the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach making Solana wonder if she’s made a mistake. 

But, she quickly pushes it away. The silly thing. Of course, she made the right decision. There’s no place in her life for someone like Roman Reigns.

It’s just better this way.

—--------

In recent months, it’s happened more often than not that Solana finds she has the condo she shares with two of her best friends, Rhea and Kayden, to herself. 

Just Solana and her 8 month old puppy, Dulce.

Tonight happens to be one of those nights. 

And she’s grateful. Because while Rhea still remains oblivious to Solana’s…..experiences with Roman, Kayden is aware and skeptical of Solana’s made up story about the evening not going well, hence her coming home early last night. It would be a believable story, especially considering this is Roman, but not for the fact that Solana sucks at lying and Kayden is a truth seeker through and through.

So having a night off of having to dodge her sly attempts to coax out the truth is appreciated.

Very much so.

Kayden is spending the night over at her latest fuck buddy's, and Rhea…..well, Solana doesn’t exactly know why Rhea has been coming home either at an ungodly hour or not until sunrise the next day. It’s sort of out of character for her normally antisocial friend, but Solana also knows that Rhea is the person who will open up about things when she’s ready, so she's just left it alone. 

But them being gone leaves Solana and Dulce with the condo to themselves. Hence her taking the opportunity to truly decompress from an eventful, stressful week. After her ‘everything’ shower, she puts her hair in space buns and pulls out the skimpy shirt and underwear set gifted to her by Rhea last Christmas. It’s not something Solana would ever wear in front of anyone, somewhat because of the emo design but mostly because it’s so revealing. A thong and barely there tee.

It’s also an intentional thing, walking around so exposed, more skin on display than usual. Something to aid in building back up her body confidence that was almost entirely squashed under the overwhelming weight of those infamous text messages.

Solana does her best not to revisit those dark times, arguably one of the hardest periods of her life. She can’t go back. Has come too far and made too much progress to regress. Even more, he isn’t worth it.

Never was.

Filling her Stanley cup up—a gift from her bougie ass cousin Jade—with ice, Solana grabs a water bottle and empties it, topping the icy water with two lemon packets. Tossing the used packets in the trash, she grabs her phone and ventures through her many Spotify playlists, settling on the R&B one. Turning on her Beats headphones, she slides them over her ears, smiling at the opening notes of Fantasy by Mariah Carey.

Walking out the kitchen, phone in one hand, Stanley cup in the other, she hits the lights and hums along to one of Mariah’s many bangers. Her smile grows and hips naturally move to the rhythmic, infectious beat as she hits the light switch in her bedroom, walking over to her nightstand where she deposits her cup.

Shuffling over to her attached bathroom, she flicks the switch and goes to put away some of the products used during her hour spent in there for the shower and everything after. Cleaning and Mariah end up being the perfect combination, Solana’s singing and dancing increasing and evolving into a brief, silly little moment of her using her hairbrush as a microphone. A nice, little nostalgic throwback to so many summers ago that she spent with her cousins, staying up much later than what they should have, giggling over trivial things like boy bands and school gossip.

Much simpler times.

Before she grew up and realized that maybe the idea of men—and love—would always be better than the reality. At least, for her.

Pleased with the clean state of her bathroom, Solana turns off the lights and dances and sways her shapely hips while sauntering back into her bedroom. 

“I’m in heaven. With my boyfriend, my laughing boyfriend. There’s no beginning, and there is no—AHH!”

Eyes wide, hand against her chest, Solana is rendered speechless and barely avoids a heart attack at the sight that awaits her.

Roman.

In her home.

In her bedroom.

Sitting on the chair by her vanity, Dulce in her bed just a few feet away, sleeping like everything is fine. Like there’s not a complete stranger in her room. 

Her brother and dad were definitely right about one thing. Dulce is for comfort. Not protection.

Solana just continues to stare, in a brief state of shock while Roman simply states with a smirk.

“Don’t stop on my account, baby.” Oh my God. “I was enjoying the hell out of that show.” His light brown eyes travel over her body, as she rips off her headphones. “Very, very much.”

It’s that statement that reminds her of her attire. Or lack, thereof. A humongous wave of embarrassment and borderline humiliation wash over her as she reaches for her robe on the bed, hurriedly putting it on and tossing the headphones down on the mattress.

Roman chuckles at the action, standing up from the chair, reorienting Solana to the situation. The potential severity of the situation. 

“Roman, what are you—how did you—” She has so many questions. A ton. A million. But, the first one is how. “How did you get in—I –made sure the doors were all l–locked.”

He stops halfway, scoffing, “sweetheart, you can’t be that naive. Locked doors don’t do shit. Especially not for someone like me.” A sort of frown then falls on his face as he shares, “you really should have a security system. I’ll have one put in tomorrow.”

Solana can barely process him telling her that he’s getting a security system installed in her home, because he’s back moving toward her, a small slice of panic forming. 

Moving back against the closest wall, she cautions in the least intimidating voice ever. “I–I’ll scream.”

Again, he pauses, that wicked smile reappearing. “Oh, I am going to make you scream, but it won’t be out of fear.” Solana’s stomach flutters, but she can’t tell if it’s because of his suggestive comment or just the asinine nature of this entire situation. 

And, it’s when he’s directly in front of her, one hand planted on the wall above her that she finds it in her to ask, “Roman, what—what are you doing here?”

In her house. In her room. In her life. She’ll take an answer for any of them at this point. 

Meanwhile, he simply responds like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve been avoiding me.” Solana wouldn’t call it avoidance as much as she would call it trying to pretend he doesn’t exist and what happened between them never occurred.

Tried to play all of that off as some bad dream. Or maybe just a dream, because nothing about how he made her feel back in that locker room could ever be even remotely close to bad.

But, she can’t tell him that.

Of course not.

So, she does the possible worst thing someone could do in this situation. 

She lies.

Sidenote: Solana hates that he’s so close to her for a plethora of reasons, the major one being that he’s close enough to touch her. A dangerous, dangerous thing. It's.....distracting

“I—I haven’t.”

Roman makes a ‘tsk tsk tsk’ sound. “Lying to me never turns out well for people, but you’re pretty, so I’ll give you a pass. This time.” She swallows, practically unable to stop their locked gaze. “Why?”

She didn’t realize the first statement was actually a question, but that’s irrelevant now. “I—I told you. I—” She blows out a breath. “What happened was—was a mistake.”

“Bullshit,” he’s calling her bluff. “You don’t believe that.”

Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. But, there’s nothing confusing or conflicting about her next statement. “I’m not—I’m not like that, Roman. I don’t…..sleep around. I—” Solana has to stop herself. The last thing she needs to be telling this man is that she’s still a virgin. Something tells her it’ll up the ante. “My fiancé or—”

He cuts her off, asking, “are you still engaged?”

That might be the easiest thing he’s ever asked her. “No.”

“Good.” He shrugs, adding casually while shrugging one shoulder. “Wouldn’t have made a difference. I would have just killed him anyway.”

Horrified. Solana should be horrified by that chilly statement. No doubt something he would 100% do. Men like Roman have no moral compass. They live by their own primal, selfish wants without regard for others. And yet, something within Solana, that might not be too far off from Roman’s lack of morality, causes her to mutter, “I–I should probably be more disturbed by that.”

Roman’s eyes narrow with curiosity. “Do you want me to kill him?”

“No.” That’s also an easy answer. Well. Sort of. “But—”

“But?”

She shouldn’t say it. Absolutely should not say it, and yet, something dark within her makes it creep out, sneaks it past her inner morality police. “If you had asked me a couple months ago, I might have given you a different answer.”

Awful. It’s an awful thing to say about another human being....even if that human being is a piece of scum.

Finding out the truth about her relationship, finding out the facade of her relationship nearly broke her. Solana's heart was shattered into a thousand pieces that she’s still working to regroup. She’s far from where she was when her world fell apart but is still not exactly who she was prior to the ruination.

She’s not sure she’ll ever be. 

Meanwhile, Roman makes a sound, sharing, “maybe I’ll kill him anyway.”

And this is why Solana didn’t want to say anything. Because it’s like dangling candy in front of a kid. Still, what motive would he have? 

Solana is partially confused and needs to not think about his touch, thus her going for a relevant distraction. “For what reason?”

With a dark chuckle, he traces random patterns against the belt of her robe. “He obviously hurt you. That’s reason enough for me.”

Solana frowns. This man makes no sense. No sense whatsoever. 

Her voice is low, heavily weighed down by confusion and something else she can’t identify. “Roman, what—what do you want from me?”

“A lot.” Her stomach is knotting all over again. That is not the answer she was expecting. “But, let’s start with why you left.”

“I told you—”

“The truth, Solana.” His voice goes hard as does his expression. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

She believes it. 

Swallowing, she realizes the truth is something that he’s going to get one way or another. Might as well concede now.. “Your…..your sister—”

He briefly looks away, muttering something in a language she doesn’t recognize. His gaze is then back on her. “What did she say?”

“Nothing nice.” It’s not the specifics, but it is an answer. A truthful answer, just like the next part of her statement. “But—but, she wasn’t wrong either.” Solana shakes her head, once again reiterating, “if–if you’re looking for an easy lay, then—”

“Solana, I can get that anywhere and with anyone. Respectfully, if that’s what I wanted, I wouldn’t be standing here in front of you.” 

She believes it. Because it makes sense. There’s no shortage of women who would gladly give Roman whatever he wants, however he wants it, and whenever he wants it. And yet, he’s here with her….for what?

It’s a question she finds herself verbalizing. 

“Why—why are you here then?”

Roman just looks at her, his eyes twinkling with desire. And right there, Solana knows she should have gone with the scream. 

The scream of fear.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you…..” His volume lowers, but Solana is too caught up on what he said versus how he said it. “How good you smell, how good you look….” She closes her eyes the minute he dips his head, Solana unconsciously grasping his shirt. “How good you tasted.” She releases a shaky breath that matches the light tremble of her thighs when he asks, “you been thinking about me?”

Yes. Far too much. An embarrassing amount. “N–no.”

Roman’s deep voice hums against her ear, like he can hear her betraying thoughts.. “Hmmm. I don’t think that’s true.” 

Solana should stop him the minute his hand starts to mess with the knot of her belt. Should push his hand away or offer a verbal protest instead of just standing there, letting the robe fall open, revealing herself to him. 

She opens her eyes just in time to see Roman soaking her in, eyes slowly and gradually going over her body the same way he’s done the past few times. 

“You wanna know what I think?” She’s so thankful he doesn’t wait for a response, cause he’d be waiting for a minute. It seems Mr. Roman Reigns is a voice snatcher, especially when his hand moves to her belly of all places, tip of his finger moving across her pudge. “I think you left because you liked it.”

Oh my God. 

Solana’s head falls back against the wall behind her, her hand flattening against his abs. 

Roman continues to taunt her and call her bluff. “You liked the way daddy made you feel.” She goes to grab his wrist the minute his hand dips inside her underwear. “The same way I’m making you feel now, huh?”

He’s not lying. Even if she wanted it to be a lie, the truth is unavoidable and inescapable, right there, real and tangible as he grazes his fingers over her lips. 

Soaked. 

Of course. 

“What you need to understand, baby, is that daddy can do this cat and mouse shit all day.” Roman’s words are accompanied by him moving his hand to slide her panties to the side as he slips one of those deliciously long, thick fingers inside of her, making her arch against him. “I always get what I want, and I want you.” She chews on her bottom lip as he enters another finger, her walls contracting around him. Roman groans, “that lil' dick fiancé of yours certainly wasn’t fucking you right cause this pussy way too tight.”

Roman practically growls, moving his other hand from the wall to lift her left leg, widening it, giving him more access to her, his reach inside of her deepening. “Look at how you’re gripping my fingers right now. This cunt needs me.” This new depth has her eyes watering as he thrusts his fingers inside of her, while his thumb flicks at her clit. “Got you this wet from barely doing anything, and you really want me to believe you ain’t been thinking about me?”

Rhetorical. It’s gotta be rhetorical. He can’t honestly expect her to say or respond to anything in a logical manner with how he’s making her feel right now. Overwhelmed. In a good way. A majestic, glorious way.

Solana goes to grip his arm, her fingers unable to touch. He’s so built. “Roman….”

“You said you don’t sleep around, and that’s okay, cause when it's all said and done, you still won't be sleeping around, because the only one who's allowed to touch you from now on is me." She whimpers, that familiar feeling from that night in his locker room coming over her all over again. Her thighs are practically jelly, those tears finally leaving the confines of her eyes. “This tight little pussy is mine.”

That one sentence, possessive and controlling, should not be the thing that sends her over the edge. That has her gripping onto him as her orgasm rips through her body, that has stars shooting behind her closed eyelids. But, that’s exactly the case. Roman has to practically keep her upright as he watches her come all over his hand.

His lips ghost over the outline of her jaw. “I could never get tired of watching you come.” But the minute he pulls his fingers out of her used, puffy vagina, and Solana opens her eyes to see him licking them clean, she nearly comes all over again.

This man is going to ruin her.

He uses that same hand, damp fingers going under her chin to lift her head, making her look at him.

“You ran because it freaks you out that you’re interested in me the same way I’m interested in you.” And before she can even begin to sit on that, he throws her for another loop. “I’m not gon’ make you do anything you don’t wanna do, but just know this, you will want it before it’s all said and done.” 

Solana swallows, completely wordless and wholly stunned at just how the hell this happened yet again. He says a couple things, gives her a few touches, and she spreads her legs without second thought. Like her vagina has its own mind and thought process, completely uninterested in whatever logic may be going on upstairs in her brain.

She’s (her pussy) just trying to get hers, and Roman just happens to be very…..very good at that. 

Unfortunately.

“Now let’s try this again.” Roman slides his arm through the back of her robe to pull her closer against him. Her hand moving up his abs to his chest seems to elicit the slightest hiss from him. A reaction that has her both confused and excited. “I’m asking you to have dinner with me.”

Her eyes widen. He’s asking her. Giving her a choice. Not a demand. And while it should feel good to some extent. Nice to have some autonomy. It’s still…

The answer is obvious. The same reason she ran out that night. The same reason she gave him that letter. Roman is not the type of man she needs to be messing around with. He’s dangerous. Beyond dangerous. Unpredictable. Older. She could probably create a generous list of reasons to tell him no. To take this 'out' he’s giving her.

And yet……

She’s briefly pulled from her thoughts when he brings his hand to her face, cupping her cheek. His expression is soft, such a marked contrast for everything about him that’s so hard and dark. “I just want to get to know you, La'u Ma'asoama.”

She hasn’t the slightest clue what he just said, but everything about it from the delivery to the almost pleading tone of his deep voice does absolutely nothing to help her resolve.

Solana’s voice is light. “J–just dinner?”

He nods. “Just dinner. I promise to not touch you.” Roman smirks, finger tracing the outline of her lips. “Unless you want me to.”

She closes her eyes. That’s the last thing that needs to happen. She needs to decline, needs to return back to the days where the thought of even entertaining someone like Roman would never even cross her mind. He represents everything in her life she never wanted for herself.

And yet, it’s hard for her to think of anything alarming that's happened that would justify her saying no. Not from what she’s personally experienced with him. He’s direct, yes. Has a filthy (talented) mouth, most definitely. But, he’s yet to be rude or mean or exhibit any of the other horrible things she’s heard about him making her wonder if maybe…..just maybe, there’s more to Roman Reigns than meets the eye.

He was right about one thing.

There's definitely an interest on her part. 

“O–okay. ”She finally concedes, stomach fluttering at his smile. He’s so handsome. “But, can—can it be some place private? I—” She’s not sure how to tell this man that at her big age of 28, she’s nervous about her family finding out about…..whatever this is. Doesn’t want to risk anyone seeing her with Roman Reigns, of all people. On a date, nonetheless.

Roman, however, just scoffs. “I hate people, Solana. I especially hate being bothered when I’m busy.” That’s not surprising at all.  “And I plan to be very busy with you.” His thumb caresses the apple of her cheek. “It’ll be private.”

He needs to stop touching her so much. She’d very much like to be able to think straight with lucidity, and that’s clearly not a possibility when he’s touching her. 

“O–okay.”

“Good girl.” And he definitely needs to stop referring to her as that for……reasons. “I’ll text you the details.”

Her brows furrow. “You–you have my number?”

He shrugs like it’s an obvious thing. “Of course.”

Never mind the fact that this man has her number, something she’s always prided herself on in only allowing those close to her have such close contact. It's besides the point, because she has another pressing question. “So—why didn’t you just….call or–or something instead of…..” She doesn’t know why she has a hard time finishing her sentence. Calling him out, in a sense, on literally breaking and entering into her house.

Cause that’s exactly what he did.

And yet, she’s still standing here, entertaining him when she should have just called the police or something. Not that that would make a difference. It’s a known fact that the Bloodline has practically the whole state of Florida on payroll. Police departments included.

Roman shakes his head. “A phone call doesn’t let me see this pretty face.” Her breathing is once again interrupted when he flits his thumb across her lips, separating them ever so lightly. “Or touch you….”

Lord.

He smiles at her poorly hidden reaction to such a touch, dropping his hand. “And don’t worry about Rosalia. I’ll take care of her.” If she wasn’t his actual freaking sister, Solana might be a bit fearful of what the ‘take care’ means. 

The Bloodline may be ruthless, but they don’t play about family. Going after blood is strictly prohibited outside of the most extreme cases. And Roman’s sister essentially calling her a whore is far from extreme.

“One more thing.” Solana gasps when he suddenly turns her around and tugs off her robe, the soft plush falling to the ground, leaving her exposed yet again in front of this man. 

“R–Roman!” Before she can try to cover herself, Roma tugs her close, her back pressed up against his front. Solana refuses to acknowledge the hardness pushing into her back. 

He then drops his mouth by her ear again, murmuring, “you don’t ever have to be insecure around me.” Roman moves his big hands over her thick thunder thighs. “These gon’ keep my face when I’m eating.” He steps back just enough to palm her ass, sharing, “I’m gonna love seeing the recoil of all this ass you got when I’m fucking you from behind.” More movement to the front and upward, Roman palming her breast through her flimsy top. “Can’t wait to feel all up on these big titties while watching you ride my dick.” And finally, he dops both hands to her belly, gathering her rolls. “And this……It’s all you, so I fuckin love it.”

She’s beyond grateful he doesn’t let those big, talented hands travel to the space between her legs, because it’s just plain embarrassing how he’s got her pussy throbbing and wet all over again from some not so innocent touches.

Roman Reigns is clearly no good for her. 

And yet, the slightest frown appears on her face when he releases her, stepping back, eyes quickly snapping back up from her ass as she turns around.

His smile is smug and borderline arrogant. Or maybe knowing. Because arrogance implies a greater sense of importance that doesn’t match actual abilities. And Roman most certainly has some sinfully delightful abilities. 

Their gazes are locked as he murmurs, “Goodnight, Solana.” She licks her lips, ready to return the parting term when he simply walks past her and out the door, closing it behind him.

It’s only then that she leans back against the wall, hands to her face, trying to process just what the hell just happened.

Because, truly, what the hell just happened?

This is me. Kinda jealous of all the writers who can write quickly because I can't.

reblog if you believe fanfics are as valid as books that were published and sold by authors who write as their main careers. I'm trying to prove a point

do you ever look at a man and think i need you in the most disgusting, vile, pathetic, animalistic, disturbing, vulgar and morally questionable way possible

he looks saur good omg

It’s Black Women and Roman Reigns Day