Chapter Text
Roman was… confused. Deeply, profoundly, cosmically confused. A little dubious, sprinkled with weariness, and if he was being honest with himself, a whole lot of other emotions he couldn’t even begin to name. But confusion certainly held at least 40% of the cake. Maybe even 60, depending on how long this fever dream lasted.
For one, they were in a bakery. A confectionery, technically, but there were decorations designed to look like frosting on the walls and a suspiciously pink neon sign that read ‘Life is Sweet!’ So bakery worked just as fine. Cody had waylaid him into the car earlier this evening with all the urgency of a kidnapping and driven him to this random spot. Normally, Roman would be otherwise inclined to enjoy himself, and in a rare moment of optimism, had even thought maybe it was a date. Perhaps coffee and reconciliation, along with something sweet enough to melt their shared stubbornness out of existence.
Instead, he was now staring directly into the far-too-happy face of John Cena.
Not to mention Randy’s smug expression beside him, and the sight of Jimmy, Jey, Sami, and Damian scattered around the place like decorative mistakes. Now, Roman wasn’t sure what exact series of cosmic sins he’d committed to deserve this as his evening.
He didn’t hate Cena; hate was too much work, but he didn’t exactly like him either. If anything, Roman mostly felt pity. Some 20+ years of pretty much every color on the spectrum, denim jorts, and inexplicable pep would make anyone a little unhinged, and yet somehow, John just kept showing up with increasing enthusiasm. There was also the small, niggling fact that Cody always seemed to gravitate toward John Cena whenever they were in a room together. Roman didn’t even know why it bothered him so much. Cody’s expression whenever he looked at Cena was always adoration and hero worship, nothing romantic or threatening. However, Roman had not, unfortunately, reached a level of spiritual maturity that allowed him to not be irritated by it.
“What are we doing here?” Roman finally asked, loud enough to cut through whatever ‘hilarious’ thing Cena had just said that sent Cody cackling a little too loudly, while Cena turned toward Roman with that same all-American grin that made Roman want to commit a minor felony.
Around them, the others looked like they were trying desperately to blend into the décor. Jimmy and Jey, each on opposite sides of the shop with their respective partners, pretended to be engrossed in the glass display cases. Which was hilarious, because Roman knew damn well neither of them had a sweet tooth. They were simply avoiding eye contact, the cowardly twins. Not that he blamed them, he wasn’t exactly the warmest where they were concerned at the moment.
Just as well. At least they were all mature enough not to start something and trash this nice establishment.
“I actually invited everyone,” Damian piped up, slipping away from Jimmy and stepping into Roman’s line of sight, a very sheepish hand combing through his long hair.
Roman turned his head slowly, one eyebrow arched.
Damian gave a halfhearted shrug. “This is my way—”
Sami made an indignant sound from somewhere behind.
“—mine and Sami’s way of apologizing,” Damian finished, shooting his co-conspirator a look. “For the phone call thing.”
Ah. The phone call thing. The collective betrayal, slash week-long silence, and panic Roman had endured that could only be described as eight straight days of ulcer-flavored suffering.
Roman had mostly forgiven Cody, though the man was still firmly in the ‘light groveling’ stage of amends. Ignoring Jimmy, Jey, Damian, and Sami had been the icing on top of that guilt-trip cake, while sufficiently punishing the rest for participating in the crime.
“Which is sweet and all,” Randy drawled from his position near the window, “but I’ve never really stopped ignoring Roman, and I don’t ever intend to…”
His eyes darted smugly to Roman, a smile curled at the corner of his mouth. Roman shot him a glare that was, really, wasted on Randy, mostly because Randy could match the exact heat of his glares and give as good as he got, maybe better.
“So why are Dimples and I present at this apology party?” Randy finished, eyes flicking toward Damian.
“Because,” Sami sidled up to Damian, addressing all of them now, “it’s an apology slash cake tasting—”
“Aw,” Cena piped up, genuinely hurt, his massive shoulders slumped. “I didn’t know you guys had set a date.” His eyes darted, wounded, to Cody, who was sputtering on air, then turned to Roman, all earnest confusion. “When is the date?”
A rather hilarious question, really, seeing as Roman had been the one to originally ask what the fuck they were doing in a confectionery to begin with.
He turned his head toward Cody’s current mild choking, face flushing pink as he tried to regain his breath and decided, in his infinite mercy, to make things worse.
“I don’t know, Nightmare,” Roman said, tone casual and deceptively neutral. “When is this date?”
The narrowed eyes Cody shot him could’ve sliced marble. Proof positive, the faux neutrality had been a complete waste of time.
“There is no date yet.” Cody bit out. Then, thankfully for Roman’s continued survival, those blazing blue eyes redirected toward Sami and Damian.
“We’re not saying there’s a date,” Damian replied, just shy of rolling his eyes so hard they’d orbit. “It’s just an excuse to eat cake. A peace offering. Get rid of all the bitterness in the group dynamic.” He gave a pointed look toward Jimmy, Jey, and Roman, all of whom had the gall to look affronted.
“Hm.” Randy’s gaze darted between faces. “I still don’t know why I’m here.”
“We figured if Roman and Cody ended up choosing a cake,” Sami said, all earnest helpfulness, “they’d at least want their best men present.”
And this time Cody did have something of substance to choke on. He’d poured himself a generous glass of wine to recover from the first near-death experience, and had unfortunately chosen that exact moment to take another sip, when Sami decided to replicate the entire process all over again.
John Cena was there in an instant, palm thumping Cody’s back in steady pats.
Cody coughed violently, eyes streaming, voice wrecked. “What?” he rasped out.
“Thank you, Cody,” Randy crooned, just as John cooed with utmost sincerity, “Aw, Cody.”
The two voices overlapped, then froze. Randy’s head snapped toward John; John’s toward Randy. A silent standoff crackled between them as they both seemed to realize the very unique problem at hand and narrowed their eyes at the other suspiciously.
And, boy, was Roman entertained as hell.
“Codeman,” Randy said finally, tone deceptively calm, voice scrubbed clean of all emotion. His eyes didn’t leave Cena even as he addressed Cody. “Who’s your best man? Me or John?”
Cody, in a move that could only be described as survival instinct, decided the smartest option was to simply cough louder. He thumped his own chest, pretending to be dying, which was probably easier than trying to answer that question truthfully. Roman rolled his eyes at the theatricality of it all.
“Um…” Cody wheezed as he tried to recover his dignity.
The swinging door to the back of the shop flew open, and in came an energetic woman in an apron, her smile wide and practiced in the universal language of customer service.
“Sorry for the wait, everyone!” she chirped cheerfully, until her eyes landed on John Cena.
“Oh. My. God,” she breathed, hand flying to her mouth in awe.
Roman bit back a laugh. Here we go.
“Hello,” Cena greeted warmly, giving a little wave, because of course he did.
That was all the invitation she needed.
Before anyone could blink, the woman practically teleported across the room, seizing his hand in a handshake so aggressive that Roman briefly wondered if Cena’s shoulder would survive it.
“Oh my god, you’re you!” she babbled, the words tumbling out in breathless worship. “I love your movies.” She was gushing, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. “My son is eight, he loves wrestling, and always has it on, so I may have caught a match or two from your retirement tour.”
Her hand was still clamped around Cena’s, shaking it with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for power tools. For someone that petite, she had shocking upper-body strength. Then again, she was a baker, and rolling pins built biceps.
“Thank you,” Cena said kindly, his usual unflappable charm on full display despite the ongoing assault on his rotator cuff, head bobbing hilariously with the movement. “Your son’s got great taste—honestly, better than me.”
The woman laughed, bashful and utterly thrilled.
Meanwhile, Randy’s glare could’ve cut glass. His jaw ticked, his eyes locked on the point of contact between her hand and Cena’s like he was calculating exactly how long it would take for her to lose that arm. Roman couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped him, low and amused at just how obvious Randy’s jealousy was.
He would regret that chuckle. At a much later time, he’d lie awake in bed and pinpoint the exact moment his life went downhill because the sound of his amusement caught the lady’s attention like a goddamn dinner bell.
Her head snapped toward him, and then Roman watched, in excruciatingly vivid real time, as her mouth fell open in a perfect, cartoonish O, eyes doing a slow, shameless elevator that swept him up and down, blatant and unhurried. He shifted his weight, suddenly calculating the distance to the exit.
She closed her mouth, swallowed, and tried to speak again. All that came out was a breathy, interested sound that belonged in a nature documentary. A sound that made Cody’s head whip around, nose scrunching in offense.
Oh hell no.
“Hi!” Cody chirped, his smile about two sizes too big, and missing the patented Cody Rhodes Smile™ and trademark dimples by a country mile.
“Cody Rhodes,” he introduced, sharply jerking his thumb toward Roman. “Fiancé.”
And just when Roman thought Cody would stop there, the man doubled down with alarming confidence:
“We’re actually here to sample cakes for our rapidly approaching wedding.”
Roman blinked.
Rapidly approaching wedding? That was news to him. Last he checked, the only thing approaching rapidly was Cody’s unhinged descent into insanity.
He wanted to raise an eyebrow, God, he wanted to, but even Roman Reigns knew when to pick his battles. Testing a territorial Cody Rhodes in public would end with a bloodbath, and he liked this shirt too much to risk it.
Still, the numerous italicized words in that sentence seemed to snap the baker halfway back into reality.
“Right,” she said faintly, blinking hard as though rebooting herself. “Cake samples.” Her eyes, however, had the nerve to drift back toward Roman, still soft and far too wistful for his liking. “What kind of cake samples would you prefer?”
She was addressing him directly. Which was a terrible idea, considering Roman didn't know any flavours that weren't ‘sugary’ and ‘spicy’, the second of which Roman even doubted was an option for cake.
He opened his mouth, ready to say something smug just to buy time, caught Cody’s I dare you glare, and his self-preservation instincts immediately kicked in.
He promptly shut his mouth, turned, and called out, “Jimmy!”
His cousin, who’d been trying to blend into the pastry display, froze mid-step.
Roman gestured him over with a hand. “Come here, man. You’re great with this kind of thing.”
Without further explanation, he thrust Jimmy bodily into the line of fire, using him like a human shield against the approaching baker.
Jimmy blinked, utterly bewildered.
The woman’s eyes widened in excitement. “Oh!” she gasped, like she’d just discovered the Holy Grail. “I didn’t realize it was a Bloodline thing!”
Roman could feel his soul leave his body.
“Yeah,” Jimmy said, visibly scrambling to catch up, shooting Roman a murderous look over his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s a whole… thing.” He nodded enthusiastically, clearly stalling for time. “How about we go pick out some options everyone might like—”
The baker’s face lit up, nodding so eagerly it bordered on religious devotion. Jimmy clearly regretted opening his mouth because his smile faltered immediately.
“—me, you, and Jey,” he added quickly, amending on the fly as her eyes started sparkling with dangerous levels of interest.
From across the shop, Jey shot him a chagrined look that Roman was only able to decode due to his close proximity to the twins for some forty years.
“Yeah,” Jey said a little too forcefully. “Jey too.”
Roman watched the three of them disappear toward the back kitchen, their silhouettes already arguing with their eyebrows; a silent, twitchy Morse code language that Roman swore only twins and demons understood. He caught maybe seventy percent of it on a good day, and that was being generous.
“I take it back,” Randy drawled, arms crossing, eyes gleaming with entertainment. “Thank you for inviting me here, Priest. Best afternoon I’ve had in weeks.”
Cody turned to him sharply, his tone flat as a pancake. “Are you serious right now?”
Randy grinned, all teeth and mischief. “You people are living proof that anarchy is a spectator sport.”
“My best man isn’t here,” Roman interjected, tone dry as sandpaper as he looked at Damian.
Damian held up his hands, placating. “Don’t worry. We invited him—he’s on his way.”
That didn’t fill Roman with much confidence, but he let it go for now.
“Look, Roman,” Sami began, running a hand through his hair with a weary sigh that carried the weight of a thousand bad decisions. “We’re really sorry about how last week played out.”
Damian jumped in immediately, the hopeful edge in his voice practically shimmering. “And we’re hoping that the fact you accepted this bribe means we’re at least halfway to being forgiven?”
Roman blinked at them slowly. He’d been called many things in his lifetime, Tribal Chief, Head of the Table, God’s favorite, but ‘easy to bribe’ had never been one of them. Plus, he had a vested interest in seeing them sweat a little more.
“I didn’t accept anything,” he said, tone neutral, with just a hint of cruelty. “Cody dragged me here.”
Roman watched Sami collapse a little inside and Damian huff a frustrated breath, and couldn't quite stop the twitch in his lips.
“But,” he added lightly, just to keep them dangling on the hook, “we’ll see how the night goes. Depends on how good these cakes actually are.”
That tiny olive branch was enough to reignite the fire in Sami’s eyes, and he nodded with sudden conviction before promptly vanishing toward the back, where Jimmy, Jey, and the baker had gone.
Roman’s smirk lingered as he watched Sami go, only to turn back and meet Damian’s narrowed, judgmental eyes.
“You have forgiven us,” Damian said, voice laced with accusation. “You’re just making us work for it.”
Roman folded his lips, humming innocently. “DP, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The bell above the door jingled, and a sharp gust of cold air swept through the room.
Suddenly standing in the doorway was Mox, a thick scarf looped around his neck, a beanie crushed down over his ears, and a faint dusting of snow clinging stubbornly to his beard. In his iron grip, he had a thrashing, indignant Seth Rollins by the collar, who, true to form, was dressed like a disco ball, all iridescent fabrics and unapologetic shine.
“Mox! Let go of me!” Seth snapped, his voice dripping outrage as he twisted in place. “I am not your emotional support rag doll!”
Mox tugged his scarf off one-handed, exhaling in the warm air. “Salutations, all,” he said, casual as ever, not bothering to release Seth despite the latter’s continued flailing. His eyes found Roman’s across the room. Roman, who already looked like he’d aged ten years since entering this bakery.
“Rome,” Mox said with grave seriousness, “I found a rat outside.” He gave Seth’s collar a meaningful shake.
Seth wrenched free with a flourish that nearly took out a tray of eclairs. Mox, looking only mildly disappointed to see him escape.
“I beg your fucking pardon,” Seth snapped, immediately smoothing his outfit. “First of all, this is couture, not vermin wear. Second of all, I was invited, you lumberjack piece of shit!”
The room turned into a sea of side-eyes, all of which found their way to Damian, who didn’t even pretend to look guilty. He was leaning casually against the counter, one brow raised, expression flatly unapologetic.
“What?” Damian asked, gesturing loosely toward Seth. “I’m confused. I thought we liked Seth now?”
Randy’s smile grew, inch by menacing inch, as he took in the scene before him, “I would have been so mad to have missed this.” He leaned in to whisper to Cena.