your fans can’t agree if they ship you and lando, lando and max, or max and you. little do they know, the three of you have already figured it out.
note: any MF fans out there? to be honest, he was half the reason i made this account so definitely expect more with him in the future :) warnings : swearing
fc: multiple
･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･
yourusername just posted
liked by lando, maxfewtrell, and others
yourusername: life lately
view all comments:
user: waaaah she’s so pretty
user: RIO SPOTTED
user: love that she always feeds us lando content
⤷user: max is also there
⤷user: #dontcare
user: nortrell crumbs
maxfewtrell: 🐶❤️
liked by author
lando: 🧡🧡🧡
liked by author
user: pls just admit that you’re with lando already PLEASE
⤷user: the people need to know!
⤷user: its obviously max tho
user: i’m new here is she dating both of them ?
⤷user: no!
⤷user: yes!
view story replies:
↳ maxfewtrell: I look crazy in that photo are you joking
↳ yourusername: i thought u looked handsome. i’ll delete it :((
↳ maxfewtrell: Really? Okay baby dont delete it ❤️
↳ yourusername: jk i posted it bc you look crazy lol
↳ maxfewtrell: Youre evil
↳ yourusername: <3
↳ user: are you guys together
↳ user: ignore this message if you and lando are dating
↳ user: is this proof that max and lando are dating please say yes please say yes
↳ user: PLEASE just give us an answer omg we’re going crazy who is dating WHO
↳ lando: DELETE
↳ lando: If you loved me you would delete this
↳ lando: I dont eat like a bear!
↳ yourusername: lmao 🐻
yourusername just posted
liked by maxfewtrell, lando,and others
yourusername: ¿por qué no los dos?
view all comments:
lando: Love u guys ❤️❤️
⤷yourusername: loves of my life <3
maxfewtrell: Feeling pretty lucky 🫶
⤷yourusername: luckiest girl in the world over here
user: girl no fucking way
user: WHATTTT
user: omg finally
⤷user: i didn’t realize this was an option
user: those twitter stans are going to have a meltdown when they see this
nicolepiastri It was so great seeing you again sweetheart! Come visit us soon I know a certain someone would be happy to see you 😉❤️
⤷ yn haha i’ll visit soon 🤍
⤷ estiebestie nicole piastri, the #1 oscyn shipper
⤷ hattiepiastri she is in fact the the captain of that ship
⤷ oscarpiastri Are we really still doing this? I thought we let that go when I became an adult
⤷ hattiepiastri the people want what the people want oscar
⤷ nicolepiastri We’ll let it go when you stop blushing whenever we mention her
⤷ kimi.antonelli wait someone tell me the lore
⤷ charles_leclerc so basically oscar and yn were friends when they were younger and then they just started to grow apart but everyone knew they secretly always liked each other but oscar was to shy to ask her out because he was scared of her dad and carlos
⤷ pierregasly but they lowk still like each other but they aren’t that close anymore but she still talks to him family just not him LMFAO 😭🤣
⤷ oscarpiastri Bro
lando you couldn’t post a picture of me?
⤷ yn i already mentioned you in my caption bro what more you do you want??
iamrebeccad 😍😍😍
olliebearmen drop the hair care routine
kimi.antonelli do you and oscar still like each other after all these years 🎤🎤
⤷ lando bro they never stopped liking each other
⤷ yn leave me alone
🝮
yn
liked by oscarpiastri and 729,816 others
yn woke up like this
lilymhe come home the kids miss you
⤷ yn i’ll be in australia until summer here ends
⤷ lilymhe oh no i guess i’ll have to come to australia then
rebeccadonaldson I wonder what’s in Australia 🤔
⤷ hattiepiastri us!!!! ᵒˢᶜᵃʳ
⤷ oscarpiastri Hattie I’m not even in Australia right now
⤷ hattiepiastri no but you will be in 2 days
carlossainz55 Mom said you better not be hanging out with any Australian f1 drivers there
⤷ reyesvdec I said no such thing Carlos!
⤷ carlossainz55 Mom, please…
oscarpiastri 😍
this comment has been deleted
olliebearmen what was that…
kimi.antonelli we all seen that right??
⤷ charles_leclerc yes we did
⤷ pierregasly and we got a screenshot as well
oscarpiastri 👍
⤷ arthur_leclerc you just made it worse bro
nicolepiastri You are so beautiful! I love you being here in Australia 🥰🥰
⤷ yn thank you nicole!!! i love being here in australia and hanging out with you guys
⤷ sharls_lerklerk the fact that she’s genuinely close with oscar’s parents and sisters but she doesn’t really talk to oscar is so funny 😭 like just date atp
🝮
oscarpiastri
liked by reyesvdec and 2,385,103 others
oscarpiastri Glad to be home
hattiepiastri right, right
lando translation: glad to be with my crush i’ve had since forever
charles_leclerc we’re all rooting for you oscar!
danielricciardo PUT THAT AUSSIE CHARM TO WORK
mclaren 👀🧡
georgerussell63 Ik your flexing bro
yn winner winner chicken dinner
⤷ oscarpiastri You cheated but okay
nicolepiastri I think you forgot to add your family to this post and not just your crush Oscar! 😂
⤷ oscarpiastri Mom, please
kimi.antonelli YOOO I SEE YOU OSCAR
⤷ olliebearmen bros getting bolder
⤷ arthur_leclerc he’s gaining consciousness
slutmeoutlewis just get together already bro i don’t have the time for this rn
⤷ oscarpiastri um?
⤷ slutmeoutlewis are you really going to tell me that you two aren’t gonna end up together?
⤷ oscarpiastri ummmm
⤷ slutmeoutlewis get it together brochaco
⤷ pierregasly yeah what slutmeoutlewis said
🝮
yn
liked by leahkateb and 996,481 others
yn summer lovin
oscarpiastri Should I add photographer to my résumé now?
⤷ kikagomes hold on oscar mentally millennial piastri took that picture?
⤷ yn i’ve taught him well
alexandrasaintmleux I see that little Oscar sneak at the end
rebeccadonaldson Summer loving? 👀
⤷ yn because i love australia duh
⤷ rebeccadonaldson Sure sure 😏
robertirwinphotography You should stop by the zoo sometime 😂😉
⤷ oscarpiastri She’s not American sorry
⤷ lando YES OSCAR LFGGGG YOU TELL HIM
⤷ carlossainz55 Don’t be sorry Oscar 😂
nicolepiastri Never in my life have I seen Oscar get jealous or possessive over anyone or anything
⤷ reyesvdec They’re both goners, she keeps texting me how sweet he is and how he keeps getting her flowers everyday 😂 so cute
⤷ nicolepiastri Stop it!! He keeps sending me pictures of all of the flowers laying around his apartment LOL
⤷ nandolorris69 ALL IM HEARING IS THAT SHES BEEN STAYING AT OSCARS APARTMENT??
charles_leclerc Oscar come back we love this side of you
olliebearmen everyone spam w’s in the chat we got oscar piastri getting jealous in 2026
⤷ pierregasly W’s ALL DAY BABY LETS GO OSCAR QUIT BEING A SCARDEY CAT AND ASK HER OUT DAMN IT
⤷ kimi.antonelli WHAT HE SAID #OSCYN4LIFE
⤷ danielricciardo #OSCYN TILL THE DAY I DIE
hattiepiastri is he bothering you queen?
⤷ yn not at all
⤷ pierregasly YOOOOOOOOO
🝮
yn
liked by oscarpiastri and 839,220 others
yn anyways
oscarpiastri Just had to get my daily stretch in
⤷ lando always the first to comment of course
mclaren 👀
reyesvdec But when your brother tries something like this it’s the end of the world 😂
⤷ yn well yes
hattiepiastri someone needs a pedicure 🤨
⤷ oscarpiastri People would pay thousands for my feet pics
⤷ hattiepiastri girl whatever
carlossainz55 😂
⤷ pierregasly Okay he’s not making any snarky comments we’re getting somewhere guys
reyesvdec When are you two going to get together yn? I mean it.
⤷ yn seriously mom?
⤷ reyesvdec You’ve been in Australia for almost two months now, are you really going to tell me you guys have just been hanging out as friends?
⤷ yn omg mom stop
⤷ reyesvdec What?? I’m just saying even your father and brother have asked when you two are going to stop acting like teenagers 🙄
⤷ yn wow
⤷ nicolepiastri You heard her Oscar! Do something!
⤷ oscarpiastri if you insist 😂
⤷ pierregasly YOOOO GET IN THERE OSCAR
⤷ charles_leclerc AYY GO OSCAR GO OSCAR GO OSCAR
🝮
oscarpiastri
liked by tomholland2013 and 3,724,900 others
oscarpiastri How stunning…is that statue
yn awh stop it 🙂↕️
⤷ oscarpiastri You da real art
⤷ lando wow you’ve been hanging out with yn too much
⤷ oscarpiastri I don’t think hanging out with her too much is possible
⤷ pierregasly yooooo get it oscar 🤪
kimi.antonelli RIGHT RIGHT
nicolepiastri Hope you two are enjoying your date
⤷ oscarpiastri It’s not a date mom
⤷ nicolepiastri Oh right sorry, just two people who so obviously like each other having a picnic
⤷ yn “so obviously” ?? 😓
⤷ olliebearmen is this confirmation?????????????
carlossainz55 🤨
⤷ isackhadjar his new form of communication is strictly emoji’s
reyesvdec How sweet Oscar 🥰🥰
lando i feel like i’m watching a rom com play out in front of me right now
⤷ maxverstappen1 Love story of the century
⤷ lando bro come on oscar even max verstappen is waiting for this relationship to happen
kikagomes not to freak you guys out or anything but a lot of the guys have bets going on up to 20 thousand dollars on when you guys will get together
⤷ yn of course they do
🝮
oscarpiastri
liked by rebeccadonaldson and 1,170,382 others
oscarpiastri You know the difference between a French kiss and an Australian kiss? It’s the same but it’s down under
yn oh i know the difference
⤷ oscarpiastri 😂😉
carlossainz55 What are you doing to my baby sister Oscar Piastri?
⤷ oscarpiastri Oh yanno…
⤷ carlossainz55 😒
reyesvdec 😳
⤷ oscarpiastri So sorry Mrs. Sainz
⤷ reyesvdec Oh it’s okay Oscar we were all young once 😂
⤷ yn 🤨
kikagomes friskyyyy 😏😏 i love this for my girl
⤷ oscarpiastri Your girl?
⤷ kikagomes yes MY girl. she knows where home is
⤷ oscarpiastri Australia?
⤷ kikagomes bro got the girl and forgot how to act
aussiegrit I’ve taught you well! 😂
hattiepiastri gross
georgerussell63 WHO IS THIS AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO OSCAR??
pierregasly YOOO I KNOW THATS RIGHT OSCAR
⤷ kikagomes we need to lessen your screen time
kimi.antonelli AYOOO
charles_leclerc my boy is all grown up 🥲
nicolepiastri Jeez Oscar
⤷ oscarpiastri Sorry mom
danielricciardo that hand placement though 👁️👁️
alex_albon loving this 💀 keep it up guys
olliebearmen like my body had a reaction
🝮
yn
liked by carlossainz55 and 1,538,254 others
yn i could handle a few spiders for that sweet face
oscarpiastri I’m honored ❤️
alexandrasaintmleux I love this for you 🥰❤️❤️
kimi.antonelli LETS FREAKING GO BOYS 🥳🥳🍾
carlossainz55 I guess he’s not that bad
hattiepiastri i used to pray for times like this 🥹
reyesvdec Finally!!!
arthur_leclerc slowest slow burn ever
lando the face of a guy who finally got the girl he’s had a crush on since the good ol karting days
⤷ oscarpiastri Thanks for telling everyone lan
nicolepiastri So sweet 🥰
olliebearmen i’m shaking
georgerussell63 I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see two people get together
lilymhe he just looks like the type of guy to always do whatever you say
I always forget there are maga people on tumblr, this doesn’t feel like a website you’d find them on, so to keep them away:
Reblog if your blog is a maga free zone because if it wasn’t clear enough fuck ice, fuck maga, fuck Trump, Fuck Rowling, and fuck all the other bigots I missed
author's note: what's done in the dark always comes to the light.
pairing: roman reigns x black!oc x jey uso
warnings: angst. strong themes regarding infidelity and death. themes and depictions of domestic and otherwise related violence. psychological elements. some scenes may be triggering and difficult to read. reader discretion is strongly advised.
words: 5k
song inspo: ❝ you should be sad❞ by halsey
credit: photos from pinterest and google images. divider by me.
previous + masterlist + taglist request form
Macy was always a happy baby. The type whose smile—no matter how long or how hard the day—could put a smile on the face of even the weariest of souls. Having a child, a newborn, who was born deaf was, as expected, a challenge. Heaven read all the books, consulted with her mom, watched countless videos regarding motherhood, but never had she taken the time to familiarize herself with cases regarding a baby born without one of the five major senses. Truth be told, she’d never considered it. All the preliminary genetic and other related tests indicated that Macy would be the textbook definition of a perfectly healthy baby, and she was.
She just couldn’t hear.
At the time, it was difficult. Heaven “blamed” herself. Not because she viewed having a deaf child as something bad or unwanted, but because she felt as though her baby was born without the ability to hear because she’d done something wrong. Countless conversations with doctors and specialists shot that down, but as an excited first time mother who felt like she crossed all her T’s and dotted all her eyes, it still felt like a form of failure.
That she’d failed her daughter before Macy even had a true chance in life.
Nevertheless, awareness and knowledge are often the cure for most forms of self, unwarranted blame. As was the case for Heaven. That, along with the immense support of her friends and family, her mom and Roman near the top of that list.
She learned that Macy’s inability to hear without medical assistance meant nothing except her little girl would have to navigate life a little differently. That Heaven would have to hold her a little tighter, a little longer.
Be a little bit—or a lot—more protective than the average mother. It made her watch her little girl like a hawk, ensure that Macy always had an advocate in her corner, and that line would always start behind Heaven.
Macy has been her pride, joy, and number one motivator in life. Every decision is made in the best interest of her daughter. Every route pursued only traveled if she can hold her little girl’s hand along the way. The nucleus of Heaven’s life, her world, was made complete with Macy’s birth.
Two minutes.
Two whole fucking minutes.
That’s how long Heaven is forced to watch with an indescribable amount of terror as first responders work to breathe life back into her little girl. Her sweet, funny, adorable little girl who just this morning gave her the biggest hug and kiss on the cheek before she ran to her teacher, turned around and waved happily, saying, “I love you, mommy!”
There is no wave. There is no smile. Just the sight of her baby’s small body on the ground, fleeting glimpses and glances as Macy is surrounded by EMS workers, the most sickening and nauseating feeling coursing through Heaven’s body seeing the patch of on Macy’s arm, skin discolored, red, inflamed. Burned.
How she doesn’t collapse on the scene is one of the miracles the bible talks about.
She just knows the moment she sees the frantic efforts of repeated, specifically timed compressions traded in for a shout that’s indecipherable from where she stands to the oxygen mask placed over Macy’s mouth that it’s the first time Heaven feels like she can breathe.
Because Macy is breathing.
They found a pulse.
The found a pulse.
It’s the only thing she can focus on even as she’s no long sequestered off from the scene by the men in uniform who serve to protect and defend. As she darts over to the scene, blubbering and managing to explain who she is. Her name, Macy being deaf, and her identity as Macy’s mother. All necessary information that eventually grants her permission to ride in the back of the ambulance as they rush the five year-old to the hospital.
In the midst of it all, Heaven can partially make out conversation between Roman and either the cops or firemen. Intermittent words she can latch onto.
“…..I’m…..”
“……her father…..”
“….let me…..”
“….please…..”
If not for the severity of the moment, Heaven might have advocated for Roman to ride with them, but he’s not her current priority.
Macy is.
Her sweet little girl whose pajamas are darkened and marred, soot discoloring and staining the set Heaven purchased her just a few weeks ago. The onyx color of her bonnet hides what she’s certain is additional damage and ruin, Macy’s face reddened and splattered with dark spots, remnants of cinders and coal, spotted underneath the mask that allows her to breathe. A sweep of Macy’s small body that should be curled into her bed, her favorite stuffed animal tucked into her side, that small smile that stays on her face as she sleeps peacefully.
A smile that’s greeted and healed Heaven on some of her hardest days. Macy has always been the cure for all things wrong in Heaven’s world. If only she knew the cure would also be the source of the greatest sort of heartbreak she’s ever experienced.
She doesn’t let go of Macy’s hand. Even as the paramedics work and talk amongst themselves, medical terminology that would fly over Heaven’s head any day of the week, but especially now. All she can do is stare at her sweet, brave little girl who she’d give anything in the fucking world to see looking back at her, but Macy remains still, her eyes shut, her lips set into that straight line that looks so wrong. That melodic laugh and sweet voice of hers that have greeted Heaven on weekend mornings crumbled into a silence that’s suffocating.
All of this is so wrong.
Except, the contact is broken and disturbed when they arrive at the hospital. Parked outside the emergency transport entrance, a team of doctors waiting with a stretcher to escort her into the hospital. Florida Central Hospital. The same hospital Macy was born in.
Now the same hospital where her life hangs in the balance.
Heaven remains by her daughter’s side, holding her hand, brushing her thumb across Macy’s knuckles, tuning out the sound of medics explaining the specifics of the situation to the emergency staff that will take over Macy’s care moving forward.
Care, however, that doesn’t involve her.
“Ma’am” Heaven stops, chest tightening once more when she’s stopped by a woman with sandy brown hair, a long, slender nose that’s slightly crooked and tilted, her deep blue eyes sympathetic and understanding. “Ma’am, you can’t go back th—”
“I have to,” Heaven interjects, attempting to move past the woman, her stomach twisting with each step taken that separates her from Macy. “She’s my daugh—”
“I understand that, honey, but hospital pol—”
“I don’t care!” Heaven snaps, once again trying to bypass yet another barrier. “She needs me!”
Macy has always been a little girl who loves nothing more than cuddles with her mom, sometimes coming up and asking for a hug at the most random of times. Affectionate in all the ways, physical touch has always been her preferred love language. It makes her feel safe, and Heaven needs to make her daughter to feel safe.
She has to.
But, when she looks and realizes that the team—and Macy—are nowhere to be seen, clearly having turned the corner, desperation merges with panic.
“Where is she?”
“Ma’am—”
“I have to be with my baby!” Another attempt to parry the woman who raises her hand, eyes briefly distracted and on two others, security who attempt to step forward and intervene. Heaven remains oblivious to it all, too and only focused on eliminating the separation between herself and the child who is her reason for being. “Let me—”
“What’s your daughter’s name?” The woman asks, hands on Heaven’s arms, working to gain her attention. Heaven, meanwhile, continues to struggle against her hold. “My daughter’s name is Stella. She’s seven—”
An inappropriate amount of anger rises to the surface, Heaven’s watery eyes narrowing. “I don’t care!” She doesn’t want to hear shit about a child that’s not her own. That’s not her sweet Macy.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Nothing.” She continues, Heaven just about ready to use all her fucking strength and toss this woman to the ground. “Including letting the people who can save her life save her life.”
It’s that last statement, however, that does something. The wrestling and attempt at freeing momentarily paused.
Blue eyes soften once more. “You have to let them do their job, and they can’t do it with you there, mama bear.” Empathy that travels and settles, gently pushes to the corners and edges of maternal desperation. “Let them do what they need to do so they can save your baby.”
Heaven is fully aware of the perilous nature of the situation. No one stands in the PICU for reasons other than calamity and woe, but it’s the reality that that’s where they are—that her feet are planted firmly on the hill of yes or no. One or the other.
Life or death.
Death.
Lurking in the shadows, looming and salivating behind the paramedics who worked quickly and tirelessly to fend off the entity that hid in the corners of the ambulance as they rushed to the ER.
Them finding Macy’s pulse wasn’t a rescue.
It was just a potential delay.
“Macy,” she whispers, broken and jagged like glass dropped and shattered. “Her….her name is Macy.”
Happy laughter echoes in the back of her mind, Heaven willing to do just about anything to reach and grab it. To graband cuddle her close to her bosom like she did when Macy was a baby, big eyes studying this newfound world with all the innocent, infantile curiosity.
What Heaven wouldn’t give to feel Macy’s little fingers digging into her sides as she hugs her tight, her head tucked under her mother’s chin. The purest and strongest form of love flowing and swimming between them. To hear her voice.
A wrecked, devastated sob crawls up from the pit of her stomach where her heart lays on the floor. Intermittent, slow, struggled beats that continue only for the purpose of survival. The edges of her eyes, cracked and dried, suddenly overflowed with wet liquid that spills down her face and onto her shirt. Bleeds into the scrubs of the nurse who holds her as she breaks down once more.
A lifeline extended, but it’s not the one she grabs. Eyes focused on the swinging branch of relief that seems to escape her every time. Because it’s not the right one.
It’s a swift transition that registers much slower in perception vs the actual reality. The soft, unfamiliar embrace that holds her up in more ways than physical. Suddenly hard and warm, a tighter, intimate embrace, a steady branch that dangles in front of her, slowing and stilling to where a reach on her part is no longer necessary.
It already has her.
Heaven looks up through heavy pants, blurred vision making out the outline of sharp, defined features, the glow of warm brown pulsing and radiating in comforting rays. His gaze is mollifying, his arms protective, his embrace a salvation.
She cries harder, head against Roman’s chest, his lips pressed to the top of her head. Clarity in his voice is lost among her insurmountable agony. Heartache that cripples and thrashes and pummels, knees throbbing and weakening with every vociferous wail. A gradual descent to the floor that welcomes her knees with gentle embrace, Roman remaining with her, allowing her to sob into him.
“We can’t lose her,” she cries, the words hollow and spine-chilling. “We—we c—can’t.”
Heaven doesn’t know which is worst. The fact that he says nothing, or the fact that there’s nothing he could say anything to heal a heart that will never fully recover.
—————
Time continues to move at a standstill. Heaven is in the passenger seat, partially aware, somewhat present, entirely, emotionally numb. She’s cognizant enough to recognize when the nurse guides she and Roman to the private family waiting room. Is aware as one by one, two by two, and groups of more arrive in a variety of waves until the room’s capacity is stretched and tested, seats groaning under bodies exceeding what’s acceptable until the floor welcomes the soles of shoes that pace and screech into it, wearing it down the like weight of Heaven’s emotions smother her.
How is it possible for someone to feel everything and nothing all at once?
Distant sounds and echoes of the same questions, worded slightly different depending on the inquirer that can all be summarized with a simple, damning set of two words.
“What happened?”
It’s what she’s asked herself from the moment she saw the notification on her phone.
Each motion met with responsive declaration.
“We don’t know.”
Not from her, but from Roman, as he continues to hold her. Her empty, wide, wet eyes focused on the wall, counting the lines across, the rivulets in the paint, the swirls in the laminate flooring. Counting numbering to help occupy the time that continues to stretch and extend, each passing minute another notch against her dwindling sanity.
Similar sentiments to the man who hasn’t let her go since he arrived at the hospital.
The pained, whispered tone of his deep voice, bogged down with the same anguish that has her teetering the tightrope between sanity and madness, descends lower and lower into despair with each reiteration. A continued, painful reminder of the unreachable answer and explanation that, objectively, might make sense. Faulty wiring. Electrical malfunctions. Things that one reads about in articles with sensationalized headlines but never imagines extended empathy towards a separate experience could become one’s reality.
Never in a million years could Heaven have anticipated something like this happening.
Not to her.
Not to Roman.
And especially not to her sweet, innocent Macy.
Another wave of tears as she clutches his shirt and clings to his body the way a helpless child does in the face of greatest fear. The way she’d give anything for her baby girl to hold onto and cling to her. That’s her job. Her role and duty in this life is to protect her child. A job she’s failed in the worst way possible.
Emotional and some level of physical paralysis seizes her, the contractions of her chest and Roman’s hand continuing to caress up and down, gentle strokes on the back of her arm, the occasional feel of his lips on the top of her hair, the only acts that sneak through the foggy haze of emptiness that stands guard around her.
She’s never felt so overwhelmed and empty at the same time.
Roman remains her anchor, holding her up when all she wants to do is surrender to the ocean, the waves violent, turbulent, the riptide just beyond the horizon of stability. Her feet dig into the ground, vying and defending staunchly, but the absence of that infectious laugh, happy smile, and little arms that circle around her waist like the act is a necessity to function haunts her.
She can’t escape it.
Macy’s absence is suffocating.
But, the cloud of numbness that’s wrapped around her body is briefly disturbed. A strong disturbance, because one minute she’s leaning into Roman’s chest, and the next, the warmth is stripped away, the strength that kept her upright whisked away. Benumbed expression gradually slipping away in light of the scene that plays out before her not in the suspended speed that she’s felt shackled by from the moment she screamed for her daughter’s life like her life depended on it.
But, something different.
Something much….much different.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?”
The magnitude and volume of Roman’s furious roar smashes through the haze of consciousness and beyond. Her mouth dips into a frown, frantic and rushed footsteps squeaking across the floor from the others present, two voices standing out amongst the others.
Jimmy and Nathan.
Both of which are attempting to pull Roman off of whoever is on the end of his determined fists that rain down blow after blow.
“WHAT”
Thud
“DID”
Thud
“YOU”
Thud
“DO.”
Snap
A sickening ‘crack’ sound fills the room like a twig crunched under the weight of a boot. It’s only when another joins the effort to rescue whoever Roman is on the brink of killing that she sees it.
Sees him.
“Jey….”
Her husband lays on the floor, blood gushing from his nose that’s twisted grotesquely to the left, a lump on the left side of his forehead, puffiness on the hills of his cheeks preemptive swelling that’s already forming.
Her gaze shifts to the left where Roman is being held back by his son and two of his cousins, Rikishi with hands raised in a placating manner, deep frown and sorrowful voice attempting to feed peace into the personification of rage.
Nose snarled, red blooming across his face, sheet of sweat on his forehead, hair tumbled out of the hair tie, Heaven can’t recall a time she’s ever seen Roman so furious. The character he plays on television is the result of his masterful craft. A performance that’s already being inked in the history books.
This isn’t a performance.
It might be the most realest thing she’s ever witnessed.
She grips the partially leather, partially metal base of the chair underneath her, the chill blasting across and against the warmth of her clammy palms. Her sneakers press into the ground, her movement unstable, knees wobbly as she stands. It’s the first time she’s done so since they entered the room.
But, as more of Roman’s relatives—she hadn’t realized just how many of them filled the room—-move to help Jey to his feet, an almost simultaneous moment of recognition.
Roman stills. He lifts his head, the slightest crease in his nostrils, a subtle contraction and dilation. Brows caving, full lips dip into a deeper frown.
“Are you drunk?”
A calm, simple question that shields a myriad of emotions that are anything but calm. Jey is huffing, hand over his bleeding nose, but it’s the way Heaven looks at the glances of the family members previously attempting to help, now sharing an expression similair to Roman’s.
It’s why she takes a step forward, needing to be in closer proximity to see if she can detect what and why Roman would ask such a thing. Except, the moment she does is the moment she realizes that the sterile aroma of the sequestered room for both the hopeless and hopeful has been infiltrated.
Punctuated with an all too familiar scent.
One that takes her back to the flashbacks and repressed memories that arose to the surface and crashed into her like the waves against the sand.
He is drunk.
Jey is drunk.
Jey, the man who she left Macy with, her legal father, stands before them inebriated. The strength of the alcohol reeks off his body, drifts from his being and settles into the floor and walls with the familiarity of a close friend. His close friend.
And suddenly the uproar and chaos arrives with a turbulent, heightened intensity. Her fists are swinging wildly and aimlessly in his direction.
“You son of a bitch!”
Heaven can hear herself just as she can feel the hands attempting to pry her off of Jey. Softer. Smaller. Female family members. Tala’s voice attempting to deescalate and coax, each valiant effort bouncing off her body like a ball on the court.
“You did this!” Shirt wrinkled, chest moving up and down in quick, rapid movements, tear filtered vision still manages to focus on the man who looks at her with undeniable regret.
She’s not sure a person has ever looked so remorseful.
If only she gave a fuck.
“This is your fucking fault!” Heaven growls and shoves at the women, in the moment, too far gone to recognize behavior unbecoming and uncharacteristic. She was reared to respect her elders. The same sort of respect she’s worked to instill in Macy. But, Macy isn’t here.
She’s not here because of the deadbeat standing feet away from her.
“Heaven.” It’s the first thing Jey has said, one hand on his side, the wince on his face at the light pressure indicating his pain. Good. She hopes Roman broke his fucking ribs like he did his nose. “Baby, I—I’m sorry—”
Triggering words that are the call of the wild, Roman once more attempting to lunge for Jey. Nathan, the barrier that keeps him from moving forward, standing in front of his father. Words from Jimmy who continues to try to calm down his irate cousin ricochet off into the void. Roman’s voice deepens, dropping an octave, gritty and raw like his emotions. Like everyone’s emotions. The grief is universal. “You were supposed to be watching her!”
Jey’s eyes never leave hers as he jerks away from safety and enters into the danger zone, stepping towards her. “I—I—” He stammers, the stumble of his body not lost upon her. He’s not just drunk. He’s wasted. His ability to remain on his feet no doubt birthed by the adrenaline of the fire that all but consumed majority of her home but pales in comparison to the flames that lap at tension that’s replete and unforgiving.
The latter exactly what she feels towards him.
The tears that blur his vision do nothing but infuriate her, Heaven’s hand tightening into a fist.
“She’s my daughter, Heav. I would nev—”
“She’s not your daughter!”
Several dreams—nightmares truly—have occurred over the years since Macy’s birth. Some regarding Heaven’s labor and delivery among a list of other things every mother fears occurring, one of which happens to be playing out in real time.
Well, two, now.
Because the other content of said dreams have revolved around the truth of Macy’s paternity spilling out the secret jar. A sacred, life changing thing she’s kept on the top shelf—made up of shame and fear—for the longest.
But, the shelf is gone, and so are the emotions. Singed and scorched like her home to where nothing remains but charred indifference.
It doesn’t, however, negate the fact that the boisterous ruckus that riddled the room has been flattened into the type of silence one only finds at the graveyard. A fitting analogy. Cemeteries. The place where everything that is transforms into what was. Death is the ultimate form of defeat and finality. There is no coming back. No option for a return or retraction.
Just like the damning words that have escaped her mouth, a truth poured out for all to know.
Including the man in front of her.
Jey is a cornucopia of emotions, all of them turbulent swirls in his glazed eyes. She wonders how much of it is claimed by true contrition or ardent disbelief.
Either one remains irrelevant.
She steps forward and jabs her index finger into her chest. “She’s my daughter.” Heaven’s eye contact is unwavering even as she points to Roman who watches silently along with everyone else, confounded gazes piecing into her skin. “She’s his daughter.” Jey lifts his chin, the blood trickling into his beard, black and dark gray tinged crimson. “She’s our daughter.”
A final declaration that decimates any spark of “what if” and “maybe.” There is no ambiguity. No misunderstanding. Just the truth.
Jey’s jaw drops open once, twice, and a third time. Heaven faintly overhearing whispers and Rikishi’s quiet ‘what?’ that are overpowered by Jey breaking his silence.
“W—wait—”
His voice, however, is the nails on the chalkboard that makes her want to claw her eyes out. Or his. It doesn’t deter her. It just infuriates her even more. The anger rolling of his battered frame. “You left her in that house—”
“What the fuck di—”
“I would have died before leaving her—”
“Heaven, what did you ju—”
“Roman would have died before leaving her—”
“Heaven!”
“Fuck you, motherfucker!” She screams. Her body shakes, years worth of pent up emotions, feelings, memories, everything hurtful and in between broiled to the surface. She has both nothing and everything to lose at this point. Because of him. It’s all because of him. And, she’s done trying to convince herself otherwise. Heaven takes another step forward, chin raised, words clipped and sharp. “You’re not her father. You never were, and you never will be.” Her voice is hollow like the void in her chest. “You’re a drunk, pathetic, lying, cheating, abusive, sad excuse of a man.” Another step in his direction. The last time she will ever willingly do anything towards him. “And a weak bitch.”
To say that what happens next occurs in slow motion and escapes her realm of visibility and awareness would be a lie. Just like every brutally honest, punctuated word she allowed to slide off her tongue with fatigue riddled ease, she’s aware of it all. The curl of his upper lip, the way he briefly looks away, head turned enough just for her to see the short, blonde curls at the nape of his neck. The clench of his fist, one, two, three, four knuckles. White bleeding into tawny. But, vision takes a step back as taste and sensation rush to the front. Her eyes clench shut, salt and metallic liquid pooling in her mouth, a profound throb in her mouth and nose, the entire bottom half of her face both numb and hammering. She stumbles back onto the floor, the power in his hit propelling her near the chairs that she reaches for only to fall short, as she falls to the floor. Eyes still clenched shut, Heaven gasps only to cry out in pain from the motion of her mouth attempting to open. Wet, red liquid staining her fingertips and dripping onto the floor.
The shock wears away though when she feels bodies swarm around her, Tala’s frantic voice in her left, Nathan to her right. Tempestuous and livid, his roar is directed towards Jey but his focus remains on assisting her.
“Man is you fucking crazy!”
Except it’s lost among the final round of rumpus.
“I’LL KILL YOU! YOU UNDERSTAND ME, YOU LITTLE BITCH?” Roman’s shouts of unbridled ire slam across the room in palpable waves. There are no adequate words to describe the intensity of his wrath. “DON’T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH HER!”
Except, there is a challenge amongst the ruckus. A newfound challenger.
“FUCK YOU AND THIS LYING ASS BITCH!”
An equal amount of rage, except not from Roman.
It’s from Jey.
Hand covering her mouth that continues to groan with intensifying paid, blood seeping through her fingers, Tala’s hand on her back, Nathan no longer at her side but joining the ruckus.
Heaven only then realizes what chaos has unfolded.
Roman and Jey are going at it, several other family members around, almost all of the men, attempting to intervene to pull them apart, but they’re two alphas refusing to waver. Roman’s long, muscular arm, that vein in his forehead and on his forearm protruded, deep purple a stark contrast amongst the valley of bronze, attempting to use Jey’s short hair as an anchor. Right arm swinging at and on him, landing more hits than Jey’s attacks on him. And, he’s not the only one.
Jimmy restricts Nathan who has never looked more like his father than in this moment. Two titans beseeched at the call of defiled honor. Her honor.
Frantic squeaking and the addition of bodies as hospital security pours into the room. Men in uniform working to separate two men that couldn’t give two shits even if they wore full fucking arsenal and gear. Nothing is coming between Roman and Jey.
Nothing except a sentence that slices through the tension with the ragged, rugged remains of its butchery.
“Hey!” Jey screams, being tugged and dragged away by security, face swollen and bloody, the only part of him unscathed his hubris. “That’s fine! T—take her hoe ass! I been already had her and your wife, uce!”
Heaven immediately searches out both Roman and Nathan, father and son bearing little evidence of the pitiless fracas but fighting even harder against the combination of relatives and security to get to him. To get to Jey.
Nathan’s only giveaway for pause at the second statement that Heaven is too frazzled to really latch onto is the flash of confusion in his eyes. It’s what Jey says next, however, that brings father and son to a still.
“That might be your daughter, but that’s my fucking son!”
Hand reaching and grabbing at her, that of family and hospital staff, are disregarded as Heaven’s stomach settles at the bottom of a pit that seems to get deeper and deeper.
What did he just say?
“Surprise, Nate! I’m your real fucking daddy!” Echoed shouts from the hall they manage to drag Jey into, but a million and one thoughts along with the arrival of two new individuals who wear white coats and forlorn expressions aren’t enough to hold Heaven’s attention long enough when something else catches her eyes.
Splotches and droplets on the white flooring, the distant voice of the women around her who call for someone else as Heaven touches her face, blood still leaking from her nose and mouth.
That’s not what raises alarm and makes everything around her collapse into nothingness, blurred haze the realm that surrounds a crystal clear focal point.
It’s what’s coming from in between her legs. Her crotch. Blue denim soiled and darkened with a new, different, deep color.
pairing: dad!Hugo x mom!reader x Hakim x Liverpool FC
summary: Hakim comes to the training camp with Hakim
note: idk where this idea even CAME FROM
Hugo pushed open the door, moving sideways slightly to let Hakim toddle his way through, his little trainers making little so no sound as he stomped in through the glass doors towards the stairs where Hugo took him under one arm and skipped down, placing Hakim on the last step where he launched himself off, earning a clap from Hugo.
“oh my goodness” Curtis says noticing the small human walking steps ahead of Hugo “is that little Ekitike!”
“it’s not too early for him to be awake?” Domik asked
“he was up early for some reason so he’s here with YN to drop me off but he wanted to say hi to his uncles before he goes back home” Hugo explains watching Curtis pick Hakim up
“go for it” Hugo laughs “i could go for a peaceful night of sleep”
“he’s in that restless stage?” Dom asked looking over at Hakim who was playing peek a boo with Curtis
“yup” Hugo says popping the p “i have no idea how to tire him out enough to make him sleep through the night”
“warm milk?” Dom asks
“tried it” Hugo says with a sigh “also the bedtime stories, the walks, counting sheep, no naps”
Allison walks past, greeting Hakim who tries to reach for his headband desperately with a whine as Allison hands it to him
“are we Liverpool babysitters club tonight?” he laughs
“i wish” Curtis humors “i’d rather run after this one than do drills”
“who are we running after?” Ryan asks joining the group with Mo behind him
“oh is this the little terrorist we see on the spam?” Mo cooed as Hakim had now forgotten about the headband and now wanted to be picked up
“the one and only” Hugo laughed picking Hakim up “say hi uncle Ryan”
“Nayan” Hakim tried earning a clap from the men surrounding him as he giggled at their praise
“yay now say Dominik Szobozlai” Dom tried mouthing
“alright let’s try something easier” Mo laughed “say uncle Mo”
“Mo!” Hakim said
“yay!” Mo cheered making Hakim clap
the men continued trying their names around Hakim as Jeremy finally entered the training facilities, bag in hand he skipped toward the group of men and before he could even get a word out
“PIMPOM!” Hakim yelled out jumping in his fathers embrace
“hey little Ekitike!” Jeremy laughed ruffling Hakim’s hair “thought he’d be at home”
“he is going back, just wanted to see his uncles” Hugo laughs “mama is probably waiting”
“mama?” Hakim’s eyes widen suddenly searching for you
“and that’s his cue” Hugo says “say bye bye”
Hakim yells out his goodbyes, hanging off his father’s shoulder as he waves goodbye to the Liverpool fans over it.
Please spread this around. Don't let ANYONE lie and say my community is anything but ASTONISHINGLY UNITED in rejection of ICE's behavior. This crosses generations, race lines, party lines, class lines. THAT is how bad ICE is. THAT is how bad we want them gone.
THAT is how loudly we are DEMANDING they leave!
Do you understand what a crowd like this means in a small city like Minneapolis??? In weather that hurts to breathe???
authors note: might want to read this one in several sittings. it's...a lot.
pairing: roman reigns x black!oc x jey uso
warnings: angst. strong themes regarding infidelity. psychological elements. unhealthy relationship dynamics. some scenes may be triggering and difficult to read. reader discretion is strongly advised.
words: 19k
song inspo: ❝without me❞ by halsey
credit: photos and gif from pinterest and google images. dividers by me.
previous + masterlist + taglist request form
Humming along to Anita Baker’s husky, sultry voice, Heaven runs the Dyson vacuum over her area rug, navigating around the larger pieces of furniture that she couldn’t or didn’t feel like moving to the side. The widows are opened, curtains tied back, allowing the breeze to make its way through the home.
A reset of sorts. With a five year-old child who loves to get into and everything at points and struggles to remember the importance of putting toys back where they belong, it’s usually at some point during the evening Heaven does a quick, less comprehensive cleaning. Once a week, however, she prioritizes a good mop, vacuum, laundry, and all of the other things to be checked off the list.
Usually completed in the evening to avoid Macy coming behind her and creating yet another mess, the start of this week is a little different. Having to go into work later than earlier, Heaven opted to utilize the opportunity granted to her after dropping Macy off at school and coming back to an empty home.
It’s also the perfect source of distraction. For her to not think about the conversation that was seconds away from happening just two days prior. A conversation, though spared the first time, can only be evaded so much longer.
The doorbell ringing overpowers Anita’s gushing over loving her beau just because and the loud whirring, buzzing of the vacuum, TV already on mute, prompting Heaven to check the watch on her wrist and frown.
She wasn’t expecting any guests today.
Asking Alexa to pause the music, she hits the switch on the vacuum and walks over to the front door, leaning up to look out the peephole.
Oh.
Confused but also pleasantly surprised, she unlocks and opens the door.
“Nate.”
Her “nephew” stands before her, head down, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, white, short sleeved shirt that stretches across his chest spelling out OTC. “I thought you’d be getting ready to head back to Cali.”
He looks up with that same wry smile he’s had since he was a little boy. The one that makes his nose crinkle and pearly white canines stand out against his smooth complexion. “Even if I was, you know I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to my favorite aunt.”
Heaven rolls her eyes, partially flattered. Roman is just one of seven siblings. Three girls and four boys. She also knows for a fact that Nathan has just as close a relationship to his actual aunts as he does with his dad, so to be considered so high up on his list of favorites means a lot.
“Well don’t just stand there,” she chides. “Give me a hug.” He steps forward, Heaven lifting her hand off the door to accept his hug. They embrace for a minute before she steps back, hands on his arms. “Come on in, baby.”
She turns around, already knowing he’ll close and lock the door for them. Her eagle eyes quickly hone in on one of Macy’s stuffed animals sitting under the entryway table. “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”
Leaning down to pick up said toy, she turns around just in time to see him shake his head. “Naw, I’m good, auntie.” He looks around the house, craning his head to look past her. “Where’s Macy?”
“You know she’s at school,” Heaven answers. “Your dad is actually picking her up for me, cause I have to go into the office later today.” It doesn’t happen often, Heaven preferring to work while her baby is at school so she can pick her up and hear all about her day. But, with her boss taking on a high profile case, recent shifts in her schedule haven’t allowed for that.
“Gotcha.” He nods. It’s the way he presses his lips together, not speaking immediately after that alerts her this surprise visit was not without purpose.
“Nate…” She trails off, smile slipping gradually. “What’s going on?”
Once more, initial reluctance as he motions down the hall and to her living room. “Let’s sit down.”
Heaven nods, leading him into her living room where the TV plays an old rerun episode of Judge Judy. She grabs the remote off the coffee table and turns it off before sitting on the sofa, Nathan lowering down in the love seat opposite of her.
“I want to ask you something, auntie, and I want—I need you to be honest with me.”
Her frown deepens. She can’t recall the last time he utilized such a tone with her, the closest thing coming to mind being when he was a senior in high school and had a pregnancy scare with his girlfriend at the time. He was nervous to tell Roman and hadn’t even considered telling his mom, so he came to Heaven, anxiously confiding in her his worries about doing the very thing his dad always advised against.
Nathan is Roman’s greatest gift in life, but he’s never shied away from being honest with his son regarding how hard it was being a teen parent. Always encouraged Nate to not make the same “mistakes” he did, thus the thought of perhaps doing just that had the then 17 year-old a mess.
Heaven offered support and words of advice, assuring him that whatever the outcome was, it wouldn’t change two things that would always remain the same.
One) Nathan’s parents love for him.
Two) Heaven always being there for him.
No matter what, she had his back.
Thankfully, it was just a scare, but it’s something she’ll never forget.
“Of course,” she finally answers. “You know I would never lie to you, Nathan.”
Never.
She cares about and loves him too much to do that.
Except, nothing could have prepared her for what comes out his mouth next.
Hands clasped together between his spread legs, he lifts his head and locks gazes with her.
“How long have you and my dad been sleeping together?”
For the first time in 48 hours, Heaven is once again in the space where breathing is a privilege that escapes her. She stares at him, partially present, partially elsewhere. In a different place where reality is warped and wrong and typically reliable things like coherence and hearing are optional.
He couldn’t have asked what he just did.
“Wh—” She stops, mouth gradually opening and closing, words failing to come together. “I—what—what do you—”
He shakes his head. “I saw ya’ll yesterday.” She doesn’t move a fucking inch. Can’t. Doesn’t know how. She barely knows how to breathe. “I saw him follow you into the bathroom.”
Her eyes shut.
Heaven isn’t quite sure what it is about the past two weeks, but it just feels like hit after hit. Jey fucking up with Macy. Roman finally confirming he knows that Macy is his daughter. Now, this?
Yeah….the sins of the mother is a term that’s never applied more than it does in this moment.
It’s an on the spot, unexpected confrontation, but regardless of her being caught off guard, feeling—and probably looking—like a deer in headlights, she gave Nathan her word.
She’s never been one to go back on her word along with never being a fan of lying to kids if avoidable.
That can’t change now.
“It’s….” She whispers, palm nervously smoothing down the denim of her jeans. “It’s been a while.”
But, once more, Heaven is reminded just how much the young man in front of her is like his father. A disciple of specificity. “What’s a while?”
It’s an uncomfortable thing to think about let alone discuss, especially with Nathan of all people, but it’s just where they are. He saw them. Nathan saw them. There is no making an excuse, coming up with a scenario that doesn’t track, dots not connecting.
She would never insult his intelligence like that.
“A couple years.”
Silence.
Heaven is unsure what to say, if anything needs to be said or what can even be said at this point. She just stares at Nathan, watches the tsunami of emotions swirl in his light eyes. There’s a good almost two minutes of stretched silence before he scoffs and falls back into the chair.
“Damn,” he curses. Her chest tightens, eyes burning from the tears threatening to fall.
There’s a tremendous amount of embarrassment that accompanies her actions. Rightfully so. But such sins being exposed to someone she's seen evolve from a sweet, smiling baby to the fine young man he is now, it’s an entirely different level of embarrassment.
It’s shame.
“You know what’s crazy?” A rhetorical question. “I feel like…like I should be pissed. At you. At my dad.” He continues, listing off the perpetrators one by one. “Like, I should be ready to fight him for cheating on my mom, because that’s what boys are supposed to do, ya know?” He blows out a deep breath and shakes his head. “But, I’m not.”
A pang in her chest followed by a quiet. “Wh—what?”
There’s another pause that feels liken eternity versus the actual duration that can’t exceed a few seconds.
“I’m not upset with you,” he explains, the expression on his face one of disbelief. “I’m not even upset with my pops. I—this is probably gonna sound fucked up, but a part of me is like….relieved?” His lips dip into a frown, tongue against the hood of his mouth as he tries to put the words together. “Almost like….like I’m happy.”
If there was ever a time where confusion is warranted, it’s now. Heaven already had no idea what and how to say this, but in the face of this response, feeling confounded has never been such a relatable thing.
“Happy?”
Another shift occurs as he grows quiet.
“When I was a kid, I used to think all the time about how I wished you were my mom.”
Her jaw drops as does that feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Nathan…”
“Auntie, you know and I both know I don’t have the best relationship with my mom.” She remains quiet, unwilling to invalidate his feelings or sentiments. Especially when they’re valid and true. Poor. She would argue he has a very poor relationship with Camryn. “It was you who was always at my games cheering me on. Always checking in and supporting me. You’re the one I went to when I thought my girlfriend was pregnant. I ain’t even think to go to her. Whenever I’ve needed something, it’s always been my dad, my aunts, my uncles, and you. You’ve been a better mom to me than she’s ever been.”
“Nate….” She trails off, feeling the tears rolling down her cheeks, not from the honor that comes with being thought of so highly but the pain he must carry at not feeling like his own biological mother is someone who can provide him a safe space.
Heaven loves Camryn like a sister. She is a sister. But, she also understands how they got to where they are and why her son feels this way.
Camryn was only seventeen when Nathan was born. A baby having a baby, so it was expected she didn’t do everything right. And, she didn’t. No one in that situation would. But, even as Nathan grew older, graduated from the early, more demanding years of parenthood and entered elementary school, Heaven noticed how Camryn continued to lean on her parents in way that didn’t always feel and seem necessary. Having them pick him up from school and only bring him home when it was time for bed—even on days where she didn’t have to work—so, he could wake up and catch the bus. Asking Heaven to keep Nate over the weekend so she could attend out of town conferences and other work related matters.
At some point, assistance became dependence.
Camryn depended on those around her to care for her son.
Nathan spent more time with his grandparents than he did his own mother. When he was still a toddler, it made sense in that Camryn was juggling a lot what with trying to go to school while working. But, once she earned her degree and entered the workforce, the thought and hope was that she would have more time to spend with her son. Meaningful time.
Because even when she was around, she wasn’t always emotionally and mentally present.
Financially, Camryn did her absolute best to make sure Nathan was provided for. That he wanted for little. He might not have had designer anything growing up, but he had clean clothes, a few pairs of Nike sneakers, and he never went to bed hungry. But now, a mother herself, Heaven recognizes and understands fully that kids have a multitude of needs that must be fulfilled outside of financially. Shoes will eventually be worn out, soles deteriorating beyond the point of repair, having to be replaced and thrown out. Official NFL apparel can be worn many a times but will eventually fade, be outgrown, and banished at the bottom of a messy closet. Video games are monotonous and capture attention for a period, but all games eventually reach a point where the enjoyment fades and attention is snagged elsewhere.
Materialistic things can be purchased and repurchased time and time again, but they hold nothing in comparison to the playoff games missed, bleachers filled with everyone in town except the one that matters most, nighttime prayers cited alone, and handmade gifts rewarded with a small smile and perfunctory nod of acknowledgment.
Heaven witnessed firsthand the smile dim on young Nathan’s face as he eventually gave up on trying to get his mother’s attention. She also remembers how she would step in and ask questions to reignite his excitement and make him feel seen and heard. Stayed up with him until they both passed out during their weekend sleepovers. Kept anything he made or gifted her on the fireplace mantle or on the refrigerator for all to see.
All of it done in the name of love. Not performance. Love.
She just never realized how deeply her actions would impact him.
Would still remain with him as a grown man.
“My dad was gone half the damn time, and I still felt—hell, still feel—more loved from him than her.”
“Nath—”
“And, I never really saw my parents act in love and shit like I did with my friends parents. I just overheard them argue.” His jaw ticks, voice even and brimmed with vulnerability. “But, you know what I did see?” She doesn’t say anything, just continues to watch and listen intently. “I saw how he always seemed happier when he was with you. I’ve seen him be more genuinely affectionate with you in one interaction than I have my parents entire marriage.”
Heaven still sits in the seat of silence, unsure of what to say that doesn’t invalidate Nathan’s feelings nor perspective. A discordant perspective that charges up an enigmatic bag of perplexity. She knows that her close relationship with Roman has never been a secret to anyone. They’ve been best friends since childhood. She just never considered the possibility that such closeness relayed as something beyond just a lifelong friendship. Nor that it would be his own son who would detect such a thing.
Nathan has always been a sagacious young man, so she shouldn’t be anymore taken back than she already is by this entire conversation.
But, she is.
He continues, eyes settled onto her. “I know all of you guys grew up together and stuff. That you’ve all been friends for a while, but I gotta be honest, I don’t know how my dad ended up with my mom when it’s obvious who he really wants to be with.” A beat. “Who he really loves.”
Heaven could fall and collapse into the floor, could allow it to swallow and consume her whole. Anything to put as much distance between herself and the truth that’s been tossed into her face, cards laid and splayed out like a game where her bluff has been called. It’s the most unexpected and startling thing to hear, mostly and predominately because of who the messenger is. Nathan may be a young man now, but he’s always be a baby to her.
From the mouth of a babe…
But, while she feels immersed in a crumbling cave of truth, Nathan shrugs, his voice teemed with empathy. “If you love him, and he loves you, why not be together?”
A million reasons as to why the only thing simple about such thing is tying the words together to create said question, but that part of whatever….this is should be reserved for only those who need to be involved. Heaven hates that Nathan found out the way he did, and while she’s grateful for his….understanding, he doesn’t need to be involved in the full extent of this mess she’s created for herself.
Even if said mess does involve his father.
Thankfully, Nathan remains true to Nathan, offering an exit off the emotional freeway and onto humor highway.
“I mean, personally, I think you could do a lot better—”
“Nate.”
“Uncle Jey is short, and pops just a few more grays away from Macy thinking he’s Santa Claus.”
“Nathan!”
“Yeah, you right. No one would ever mistake his mean ass for Santa”
She shakes her head, smile settling as she takes in this little boy she still remembers asking her to measure him every time he came over or she was over there. The excitement that twinkled in his eyes whenever he grew an inch, tallies kept and collected in the name and goal of one day being just as tall as his dad. Nathan always wanted to be just like Roman, and he is, but better. He took all of the good, wonderful characteristics of his father and used them to forge and cultivate the fine young man he is now.
Nathan doesn’t stay very long, leaves in the wake of Heaven suddenly having so much more to think about.
Decisions to be made.
But, once more, another unexpected twist she could have never predicted.
“Jey?”
Coming down the steps after putting away a load of laundry, Heaven is met with none other than the sight of her husband. At the bottom of the steps, dressed in a two piece Nike sweat suit, suitcase on either side. He lifts his sunglasses to the top of his head.
“Sup, girl.”
The greeting and happy smile on his face should melt away the ice that keeps her frozen in place, but if anything, it forces her to remain exactly where she is until he climbs the steps and is before her.
“Missed you,” he murmurs, snagging a kiss and pulling her in for a hug, hand slipping to and squeezing her ass. It’s the touch, ironically, that breaks the spell. The differences. The way she always melts into Roman’s hard body whenever he’s near, draws him in for a second kiss, never able to get enough of him.
Right now, however, all she wants to do is get away from him.
When Jey steps back, reaching and pushing back some of her hair, she manages to ask what probably is the wrong thing to kickstart the conversation. But, it’s all she has. And, it’s the truth. “What….what are you doing here?”
Something flashes in Jey eyes followed by an explanation that objectively makes sense. “I don’t like how we left off. I was tripping, and I’m sorry.”
Words that most women, most wives, would love to hear from heir husbands. The precursor to intimacy reignited, physically and in other ways, but for Heaven, it’s just another set of words.
Words with no meaning.
If she had a dime…
His hand shifts behind her neck. “Let me spend the day with Macy.”
It’s those words that trigger a level of interest.
“What?”
Jey shrugs. “I feel like everything is on you all the time what with me being gone and shit. Figured I’d give you a break.” He grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Go to the spa. Do some shopping. Get a fancy meal at one of them uppity restaurants we always joked about robbing one day.”
Heaven smiles. A deliberate, detailed plan they’d concocted one day while sharing Chinese takeout for dinner together after checking their balance and realizing they had little money to get actual groceries but enough for some Lo Mein and Orange Chicken to hold them over until payday.
Better times….those were much better times in many ways, but history was never intended to move beyond the then and there.
What exists before her is the here and now.
The place that holds apprehension about entrusting Jey to keep Macy for the day. “I don’t know, Jey…”
Not to mention Macy is already expecting to spend the rest of the day with Roman. Time she always looks forward to.
Always.
“Please,” he urges. She watches the way his smile dips. “You gotta give me a chance to do better, Heav.”
Heaven grows quiet. Chance feels like a card that’s been swiped and used so many times that not a reader in this country would grant authorization. Decline every time. But, it’s impossible for her to distinguish what feels more like complete failure in all areas or just the marital realm. He’s hardly been the best father to Macy. That’s just a fact. Nor has he been the best husband in recent years, but can she really use his shortcomings as a spouse to prevent him from trying to make parental recompense?
Does Macy deserve that?
Questions that eventually lead to her quiet agreement. “Okay.” Jey’s 100 watt smile returns as he claps and rubs his hands together. “But, you have to—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know,” he dismisses, hands to her shoulders, turning her around and guiding her up the steps. “Come on. Gotta help you get your shit so you can get gone.”
She sucks her teeth, looking back at him just in time to see his eyes dart up from her ass. “Excuse me?”
“I gotta run to the grocery store and get some stuff to cook for me and lil’ bit before I pick her up from school, and I need you out the house so I can focus.”
Heaven stops once they’re both a few feet away from Macy’s open door. “How the hell you gon’ kick me out of my house, Jey?”
“Easy,” he scoffs, Heaven yelping and laughing when he throws her over his shoulder. “Like this.”
“Jey!”
—————
Roman is irritated.
Some might say that that’s his natural stance and disposition. Bouncing back and forth between annoyed and angry. In some ways, that is true. He’s always been somewhat easily irked by trivial things that shouldn’t be a thing in the first place. Especially if he has to deal with and handle said things. However, for the most part, at least as it pertains to family, the title of ‘doesn’t get along well with others’ doesn’t apply. With his family is where he’s always felt the most relaxed. The most at peace.
Which is why he’s irritated as fuck currently.
Recent years have catapulted him to heights and waters uncharted and unvisited in his field. He’s cemented his spot at the top of the mountain. Shut down any doubt about who exactly he is. Blessed. He’s blessed in many ways, especially with the doors that continue to be opened.
Hollywood and acting being the latest door.
He’s done a few things here and there over the years, but wrestling has always been his main priority—career wise, at least. However, he’s not getting any younger and the toll such a physical sport—along with him playing contact spots since he was five—is something he has to keep in mind. He might be in the best shape of his life currently, but if he wants to maintain that, he has to operate as he always has. With sage and discernment.
Roman didn’t get to where he is by behaving recklessly and acting without thinking first. Left brain thinking has always been his baseline. Facts and data feed decision making. That’s how he is. How he’s always been.
For the most part.
Sometimes…sometimes variables can’t always be accounted for.
Like emotions.
Like love.
Roman leans back in his chair, surveying his office, the only sound that of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room that rang and signified the top of the hour around fifteen minutes ago.
His eyes do a quick surveillance if the room. Sweeps past the dark brown leather sofa, the bay window on the opposite side of the room, and the shelf filled with the story of him. Accomplishments in the form of gold, ribbons, certificates, and more, starting from the Joe Montana signed football all the way up to the ESPY award he was granted a few years back.
But, it’s the set of three framed photos on the corner of his desk, neatly organized, laptop screen ajar, screen dark, legal pad with notes he’d taken during the teleconference, that snag and maintains his attention.
The one on the left a photo of himself and Camryn, Nathan standing between them in his blue cap and gown. His high school graduation. Fast forward a couple years, the next photo, same placement with the same core individuals—plus two. Heaven is smiling and leaning into Camryn. They’re on the left side of Nathan, wearing a black cap and gown this round, Roman on the right, a smiling and giving a thumbs up Macy in his arms.
And to finish it off, the most recent addition that replaced the other one he now has framed on the wall behind him. Macy, not even two, in her uniform smiling, hands clasped together as she was mid clap when the photo was snapped. He and Heaven on either side of her. It was her first day of the, in Heaven’s words, “bougie ass school” that had a low acceptance rate and nothing but five star reviews on Google and Yelp. An early enrichment program for young children to aid in them entering preschool with a set of skills and knowledge that would help them be ahead of the curve. When they toured the facility and met with the staff, Heaven was impressed and open to the idea.
Until they sat down and she was shown the numbers.
“Absolutely not,” she said the moment they got in the car, Macy in her carseat occupied with her tablet, completely oblivious the conversation between her parents. “Our Georgia Tech tuition didn’t even cost that much.”
Naturally, he told her he’d pay for it, which she also shot down, but it didn’t make much of a difference. The minute he saw Macy happily interacting with what would be her teacher, the way Heaven’s face lit up seeing the facility and all of the state of the art, up to date technology that one would never find in a regular public school, he knew he was going to make it happen. The program itself, only a year, was one of a kind. Too good an opportunity to pass on.
He paid the tuition in one lump sump, CC’ing Heaven in the email sent confirming Macy’s enrollment.
Roman reaches over and traces the dark frame of the last trio of family photos.
Macy standing on the steps of the front door, one of the (many) merch shirts he’s purchased for her, jeans, and matching Nikes—also from him. The blue straps of her backpack reminding him of how adamant she was about that one in particular. Sold out almost everywhere they went, he had to pull some strings to get it for her. Some kind of special edition thing from one of her favorite characters. Heaven told him not to worry about it, that Macy would be just fine with the one she’d picked up from Target.
But, that was unacceptable. He ensured it arrived just in time for the first day of school.
Her hair is straightened, half up and half down, her nails painted a bright pink that contrasts with the white trim outline of the chalkboard in her hands that reads, “Macy’s first day of Kindergarten.”
It’s one of his favorite photos, but his personal favorite from that day is the one of the three of them together. Himself, Macy, and Heaven.
Roman’s smile shifts, the irritation returning full force as he’s reminded all over again what initially soured his mood.
When he first agreed to sign on for his first major film, he was fully aware of the fact that it was being filmed outside of the US. That wasn’t a dealbreaker. He’s traveled all over the world with WWE. When he learned the studio settled on Australia being the primarily filming location, there was a slight moment of irritation. He’d been before and wasn’t a big fan of the long ass flight, but private jets make things significantly more bearable than commercial flights.
Okay, fine.
However, the latest update and change in plans is what really has him over this whole thing. The estimated time of filming. They’d initially asked him to commit to up to two weeks, with the goal being a week to a week and a half if he was alright with long days and late nights of filming. Sure. As someone who used to wrestle 5 to 6 days a week, sometimes morning and nights, Roman is no stranger to grueling work days. He could manage as such, especially if it meant he could return home sooner rather than later.
But, now, the estimated filming has been changed to 3 to 4 weeks, more likely the latter over the former.
And therein lies the problem.
Being away from home for a period of time is one thing, but being away from home for a month on the other side of the fucking world is something entirely different.
It’s too fucking long to be away from his family.
To be away from his kids.
Nathan is 23 and in the off season, so he’s more likely than not to be popping in and visiting home more over the summer. That’s time he’d like to spend with his oldest.
And, there’s Macy….
Roman was already trying to figure out a way to convince Heaven to let him fly them out to visit while he’s away. Something he already knew was gonna be an uphill battle what with her having to miss work for a couple days, Macy missing school, so on and so forth. But, that was when it was only a week or two of separation. This is a month.
Visit or no visit, that’s too damn long for him to be away from home. To be away from her.
Heaven as well but especially Macy.
Running his hand over his face, recollections of the other obstacle he’s had to deal with and mull over the past few days flutter in. Longer than that if he’s being honest with himself.
Roman suspected the minute he found out Heaven was pregnant that he was the father. It just made sense. Their affair started a few months prior to when Macy would have been conceived.
The math supported the undeniable truth.
He'd been stuck home for a short while nursing an injury but also taking requested time off to figure shit out. He wasn’t happy creatively and felt like he’d done most or all he could do as far as success went, thus the early retirement considerations. Always smart and diligent as it pertained to finances, well-advised investments early on in his career as well as partnerships and more meant he’d have to do very little to sustain his way of living.
Not to mention Camryn’s six-figure income, though he never depended on that. It was just something else to consider.
Amongst the importance of considerations was his overall satisfaction with where he was. Roman felt stagnant and like progress was a thing that’d been stalled. Like, there was no moving forward, because he’d reached the end of the line. Yet, a small part of him also felt like there was something he was missing.
Though already knowing how the conversation would go, he broached the topic of retirement with his wife, completely unsurprised at her first response.
“So, what does that mean for us financially?”
Roman still has yet to figure out when exactly Camryn became so money based. Started to assess things in units of dollars signs and currency. He understood it, to a certain extent, as Lord knows they had their struggle years. But, they were far from poor, and even if he did stop making as much annually retired as he did working full time, they sat on a massive savings account and multiple streams of income. But, Roman had figured that out already. He wasn’t looking for financial advice. He was just looking for advice, period. Support, even.
But, it wasn’t found with Camryn.
It was found with Heaven.
He was over at her house, helping her complete some rearrangement of her furniture, as he was almost completely recovered from his injury and the idea of her doing heavy lifting when she didn’t have to rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t even say anything, didn’t even speak of what’d been sitting and weighing on his heart. She just knew.
Roman still recalls the furrow of her brow, the way her full lips, so soft and pretty, dipped into a frown as she asked him, “what’s wrong?”
And, she listened. She listened in a way his wife hadn’t in a long time. If ever.
“What makes you happy, Roman?” She asked, as they sat next to each other on the floor of the bedroom she was remodeling, furniture pushed to one side, half empty box of the pizza they’d ordered and mostly drank water bottles on the other. “That’s what’s important. Not the money. Not the fans. You. You and your happiness.”
If he could have gotten those words tattooed on his body, he would have, because years later, it’s that same profound sentence that kickstarted his diving into the complete reinvention of his character that’s skyrocketed and kept him at the top of the mountain.
Because of her.
Not his wife. Not even his mom and siblings whom he loves to pieces, but the woman who’s always held this light and kindness about her that drew him to her. Once upon a time, Roman didn’t see much difference between Heaven and Camryn. They were both his friends. Both people he enjoyed hanging out with. Both people he cares about deeply.
But, along the way, as they navigated their way through life the best they could, changes occurred. Understandable and expected as evolution is a natural part of human existence, but while some individuals enter and emerge from metamorphosis with a newfound sense of self that’s gradually improved as time goes on, there are others who experience a sort of regression.
Or, a complete 180.
And, not for the better.
Camryn was always confident. Always knew and recognized her beauty. Same for Heaven. Beauty that only progressed into a level that had the guys checking boys for making crude comments here and there. Except, while Heaven only smiled bashfully, sometimes making a playful comment to lean into it, Camryn took it to a whole other level. She became the textbook, stereotypical “popular” girl.
And not the type that everyone knew and loved.
While everyone at school knew who Camryn Jackson was, not everyone liked her. That was for damn sure. A cheerleader since they were in elementary school, being an athlete and hanging out with Roman and his cousins, also popular athletes, gave her an automatic boost. But, it was Camryn recognizing what pretty privilege came with and allotted that significantly heightened things.
She wasn’t as fun to be around. Eye rolls, gum smacking, and talking down on others that Roman had never been a fan of. Sure, there were times where she was more tolerable, especially and primarily during the summers.
But, that was because Heaven was in town.
It felt like she was the equalizer that kept Camryn calmer and minimized the changes in behavior and personality that made being around her not that fun anymore.
Heaven….
Roman closes his eyes and taps his fingers in melodic motion against the hollow desk.
It’s always been her.
Camryn was a crush, but Heaven….Heaven was so much more.
He missed her during the school year, looked forward to summer solely because it meant getting to see and spend time with her for three months. Even as kids, she’s just always been a fun person to be around. The type that always adds. Never subtracts. And, as they got older, puberty kicking in, hormones all over the place, he realized one of his closest friends was also the girl he could never stop thinking about.
But, it was always one-sided, because while Roman sometimes felt like all he could see and think about was her, she was a full time resident of Jeyland.
Roman’s not stupid. Never has been. He could tell that she liked Jey. Knew that Jey knew she liked him. But, his cousin never acted on it.
No, not until Roman finally built up the courage to tell Heaven that he liked her as more than just a friend.
Pacing back and forth across the floor in his bedroom, focusing on the MJ poster above his bed, using it as a reminder to go for it, he waited until his older sister was off the phone with her stupid boyfriend to call Heaven.
But, the minute she answered the phone and Roman shoved aside feeling like he was gonna hurl all over his new Adidas, a bombshell.
“He likes me!” She squealed into the phone, Roman scowling as if the excited girl on the other end could see such reaction. “Jey likes me!”
He can still recall the way his stomach dropped. How that gut punch feeling remained and only worsened as she relayed a phone call that’d only taken place an hour earlier where his cousin had apparently told Heaven that he liked her and wanted to date her.
Something she agreed to.
She sounded so fucking….happy. Because she was. Thrilled.
Her joy, however, was his grief.
The minute Roman got off the phone with her, he was biking over to his cousin’s house, confused as all outdoors and needed answers.
And, he got them, but they didn’t make him feel any better. Jey realized he was being “stupid” and Heaven was a “great girl,” and he wanted to “give them a chance.”
Roman didn’t disagree on the part about Heaven being great. She was beyond that. Amazing.
She is amazing.
Always has been.
But, as much as he wanted to push, wanted to tell Jey to fuck off and remind him of the fact that he knew Roman liked her, all he could think about was the way she gushed on the phone. She was happy. This was what she wanted. Jey was who she wanted.
Not him.
It was a tough pill to swallow, but he forced it down his throat with the 32oz that was Camryn.
They didn’t get together right away. He drowned his sorrows in dating other girls before finally giving the closest thing he could get to Heaven a chance. And, it wasn’t terrible. Back then, Camryn was annoying but tolerable. Enough.
She just wasn’t Heaven.
And try as he did over the years to get over his crush, get over her, being around Heaven every summer, seeing her be all boo’d up with his cousin didn’t help. The only thing that helped him maintain the farce of being okay with any of it was the thought of losing her friendship. He knew that if he said something, he’d make things awkward, potentially ruin what they did have, and it wasn’t worth it. Not having Heaven as his girlfriend was one thing, but not having her as even a friend was something entirely different.
He would never do anything to risk that.
What he couldn’t do though was continue to deal with Camryn. It eventually reached a point where he couldn’t justify even to himself why he stayed with her. He wasn’t faithful. He’s also pretty sure she cheated at least once or twice. Maybe not physically, but she definitely flirted more than someone who had a boyfriend should have.
Roman certainly made his way through most eligible girls in town. That was no secret to most, but nearing the end of his high school experience and wanting to get more focused on football, he knew some changes needed to be made.
Starting with breaking up with his girlfriend.
Except once more, his plans were thwarted, this time with something completely life changing.
Camryn was pregnant.
He thought it was a joke. Thought it some sick, stupid prank or silly ass thing she was saying just to gauge his reaction. But, she wasn’t. She showed him the positive pregnancy test.
The three positive pregnancy tests.
And just like that, everything fucking changed.
If he’s being completely honest with himself, the first thing that came to mind once the shock wore off was an abortion.
They were fucking kids. They couldn’t have a kid of their own, and as ashamed he is now to say it, he tried to talk Camryn into having one. None of that illegal, sketchy shit. But, talking to their parents, telling them the situation, and scheduling the procedure.
She slapped him so fucking hard that it left a bruise.
She wasn’t trying to hear any of that. Called it a 'sin' and cited it going against her moral and religious beliefs, which he found comical considering he was pretty sure premarital sex was also a “sin,” but she never saw issue with that.
Still, while his behavior didn’t always reflect it, Roman was raised to respect the rights of women. Especially with they wanted to do with their bodies.
He couldn’t tell her what to do, and he damn sure couldn’t make her do something she didn’t want to do. The only thing that remained was forced acceptance.
As his father so eloquently said on the back porch of the house, his old man sitting on that creaky, dated bench he and his older brother put together when he was just a boy, “you were man enough to make this child, so you’ll be man enough to take care of this child.”
Roman is the first to admit his relationship with his father was….complicated, to say the least, but the words were ingrained into him. More importantly, the desire to break the cycle. He still felt like a kid in many ways and was, but that didn’t negate the fact that he had to step up.
And, he did.
He knows that he hasn’t done everything right. That there are a handful of things he would have done differently with his son, but he’s always done his best to be there for Nathan as much as he could. To ensure his child didn’t grow up with the holes in his heart that Romand did. Holes created by his own complicated relationship with his father. Some mended before his old man died.
Some….not so much.
But, while he did his best to be the best dad he could be, Roman recognizes that he’d fallen short as a husband.
In many ways.
Blame doesn’t lie mostly on one side or the other; however, it doesn’t mean there isn’t a handful of wrongs he’s committed in his marriage. A wrong that started, if he’s being honest, when he proposed and asked Camryn to marry him.
Years down the line, he can now admit to himself that he didn’t want to. Never wanted to. He did it out of a space of forced obligation. Because she kept dropping hints—some subtle, some not so much—about wanting to be a wife. About wanting all the members of their family to have the same last name.
She didn’t want to keep being seen as his baby mama, and he understood that. Recognized it came with a stereotype that bothered her.
So, he finally bit the bullet and did the deed. Even then, he knew it was wrong. Knew it was wrong to marry a woman he wasn’t in love with. He loved her, sure, in the sense that she gave him his first child and sacrificed a lot on her own end while he figured his shit out. But time, maturity, and age have helped Roman recognize nothing good can come from being with someone out of a sense of obligation and duty. He married Camryn because he felt like he owed her, not because he loved her, and it’s something he’s not sure he’ll ever forgive himself for.
It was wrong, and she deserved better.
She still does.
He should have let her be with someone who wanted and deserved her. Not someone who only saw faint hints of the woman he really wanted in her smile. Camryn was only ever a substitution for the person he’d always wanted.
Always loved.
It’s impossible for him to retrace the steps of his life and figure out when he first fell in love with Heaven.
The first time they had sex?
The day she told him the very words he needed to hear to change the course of his career—and life—in all the ways?
When they first started this messy, muddy years long affair?
The day Macy was born?
Too many to count. Each with a weight and precious, permanent place and space in his heart and soul.
He just knows that he craves Heaven when she’s not around and only wants to focus on her when she is around. His life feels the epitome and definition of complete when it’s him, her, and Macy. Nathan is always with him no matter what, but his son is grown and living life now.
Now his focus is on his youngest child.
The child who doesn’t even know that she’s his child.
Jaw clenched, that pang in his chest returns as he revisits his words to Heaven. Words he’d sat on long enough and could no longer physically bear to withhold any longer.
“Do you know how much it fucking kills me every time she calls me her uncle?”
Though the timing might not have been the best—is there ever really a good time?—he meant what he said.
If he’s being honest with himself, married or not, they never should have let it get this far. Not the affair part. Roman is past the point of judging himself for that shit. Jey doesn’t deserve Heaven. Never has. He has an amazing, beautiful woman that he takes for granted.
Roman is almost 95% sure Camryn is cheating on him, too, and he 100% doesn’t care.
Neither of them are happy with their spouses, so if they’ve found happiness with each other, who the fuck cares?
But, the fact still remains that there is a substantial difference between carrying on a years long affair and carrying on a years long affair that resulted in a child Heaven passed off as Jey’s when she’s not Jey’s.
Macy is Roman’s daughter, and he’s fucking tired of having to hide that shit.
He’s not embarrassed or ashamed, either. He’ll schedule a fucking press conference and announce it to the world if need be. He’s just tired of having to do shit behind the scenes and in the shadows. Macy will be six this summer. He doesn’t want another birthday to pass where he has to cosplay as a loving uncle when all he is is a father who would do fucking anything for his baby girl.
The same way he’d do anything for her mother.
Roman doesn’t want to be with Camryn any longer. Never did. Never will.
The wishing tree of chances Heaven has allotted his dumbass cousin over the years is nothing but twigs on the ground that Jey, to throw salt on the wound, has all but stomped upon at this point. Heaven might still tell him from time to time that he doesn’t deserve her, but she doesn’t deserve all the shit Jey has put her through either.
Half of which, he’s almost certain, he doesn’t even know about.
He doesn’t think anyone does.
Two knocks on the door break him from deep, below the surface level reflections and contemplations. The beginning stages of some tough but necessary changes, because Roman is done loving in silence.
Rolling his shoulders, a distracted “come in” resulting in an unexpected visitor.
“Hey,” he says, distraction swapped out with confusion. He was expecting the maid.
Not his son.
Nathan nods, welcoming himself into the office and looking around before focusing on his dad. “You busy?”
Roman shakes his head. “Naw.” Even if he was, his son always comes first. “What’s up?”
It’s when Nathan doesn’t say anything immediately, just plops down in the leather chair opposite Roman’s desk—and his father—that Roman knows immediately. “What is it?” He just knows that something is wrong. It’s exposed in the way Nate shrugs and leans back in said chair, tapping his nails against the arm. “Nate, you know I hate that beat around the bush bullshit.”
His lips curl into a sly smile. “I know. Where you think I get it from?”
Roman chuckles. His son gets a lot from him, the shared minimal patience for unnecessary fluff near the top of the list.
“To be honest with you, I’m trying to think of how to say this.”
And just like that, any hint of humor is wiped away.
“You get someone pregnant?”
Nathan’s features twist into a deep scowl. “Naw. Come on, dad. Do I look that stupid?” Recognizing how his words can come across and the irony of who he’s saying such words to, he mutters a quiet, “my bad.” But, it’s as Roman prepares to remind his son that spitting shit out is always the best route to opt for, Nathan beats him to it. He shrugs his shoulders, hood shifting from the movement. “I guess I should just say it then.” His eyes flick down from the Persian rug to his father’s assessing gaze. “I know about you and Aunt Heaven.” The reaction that should exist between a bombshell of a statement and Roman’s immediate response is stolen by Nathan issuing his disclaimer. “And please don’t deny shit. I saw ya’ll at the party. Saw you follow her in the bathroom. I also already talked to her.”
The final sentence is what does it. Tugs Roman from the sinking sand that is his thoughts. Shock overpowering the ability to digest what he’s just heard. Her name being the needle that shatters the hold and allows him to process past the initial surprise.
“What?” He whispers, sitting up in his chair. “What do you mean you talked to her?”
“Whoa.” Nathan lifts his hands, obviously reading the readiness for the man in front of him to shift from zero to one hundred. It’s a telling reaction. He can’t recall a recent time where his dad has ever indicated such reactivity over his mom. Telling, indeed. “Calm down, pops. It wasn’t like that. You know I would never disrespect auntie like that. I just wanted to….I don’t know…. hear her side before I got yours.”
Guilt takes a seat at the head of the table as Roman scales back his reaction. This isn’t the fucking time or place to be getting upset with his son. If anything, he should be the one on the receiving end of the vitriol.
And, it’s that realization that allows him to sit on what really has just been said.
Nathan saw them.
Nathan knows about his affair with Heaven.
Knows that he’s cheated on Camryn.
Camryn.
Nathan’s mother.
He grows quiet to make room for the shame. The first time he’s felt as such he first took his wife’s cousin and his cousin’s wife to bed.
“Nate…”
Nathan shakes his head. “Look, before you say anything. I’m not mad. I mean….is it messed up? Yeah. Is this shit bound to be a whole thing if and when it gets out? Oh yeah. But, it’s like I told aunt Heaven.” Roman sits on and latches onto each word, one after the other another building block on the mountain of stunned.
He’s not upset?
“I’ve always felt closer to her than mom. Closer to you over mom, and I…” He pauses, lips pressed together before he blows out a breath. “I know I probably should be upset with you. Be that son that’s ready to throw hands over his mama, but you and I both know that’s not the relationship I have with her.” Nathan’s voice dips, the way his eyes focus on the floor once more irritate Roman to no end. Frustration aimed and directed solely at the woman responsible for the situation his son is describing.
Roman has tried to talk with Camryn over the years about her need to work on her relationship with Nathan. Has told her they need to go to family therapy or some shit. That he’d even go with them, and each time she’s shot it down. It was actually the sole reason behind their latest argument that resulted in them barely speaking during her short visit home.
“He’s just like you, Roman.” She’d dismissed, long nails clacking against the keyboard as her eyes darted from the screen of her laptop to the screen of her phone, work the priority instead of the shattered relationship with her only child. “He’s not good with emotions.”
There’s some truth to that, but there’s more truth to the fact that their son has such a poor relationship with his mom because of mistakes Camryn made while raising him. It wasn’t until Nate was in his last year of high school that he started to open up more about how absent Camryn really was at points. How she left him in the care of his grandparents any chance she had. How even when she was present, the focus on him was short-lived or split between that damn phone in her hand. If she landed an opportunity work wise, it always canceled out any plans she had with Nate.
The fact that Roman spent most of his son’s life away and on the road and still has a closer bond and relationship with him than Camryn who was always physically present speaks volumes.
It’s equally heartbreaking as it is frustrating.
“Aunt Heaven has always been more of a mom to me than she ever was.”
Another devastating blow for a father to hear.
“Nate—”
“I love her, and I love you, and I know ya’ll love each other so why stay miserable with two people you don’t even wanna be with when you could just be with each other?”
Roman chuckles. Nothing about the webbed circumstances he’s found himself in is comical, but the innocent naivety of his son’s question brings about a much needed respite from the emotional toll of it all.
“If only it was that simple, son.”
“I mean, I think it is. Our family is going to be a mess in the immediate aftermath, but….” Nathan shrugs, eyes locked on his father. “You know I’ll always have your back, dad. Always.”
————
Jey looks through the rearview mirror, catching just in time the perched mouth and eye roll of the woman behind him who blew the horn. He sucks his teeth, tempted to flip her off but deciding against it.
He just sucks his teeth and makes a right, immediately cursing in seeing how packed the parking lot is. He remembers pick up lines being longish and no spots being available around dismissal time when he was a kid, but that was public school. This fancy ass private school Heaven has Macy in can’t have more than 200 kids, and they have a chartered bus service that be bringing the kids home, so why the hell all these people here?
Driving around for damn near 15 minutes before he lands a spot has Jey wishing he’d have just listened to Heaven and used the pickup line, but he’d opted against it, not really feeling like sitting all that time. Granted, it ended up being about what and what by the time he’s walking in the building and is greeted by some old ass lady looking him up and down like he’s lost.
Once he provides his name and ID to verify his identity, her disposition changes. Inauthentic smile, batted eyelashes ,and all. Bypassing and ignoring the kids that sit in the seats outside the dean’s office who make requests that bounce off her like a ball on the court.
It’s familiar.
Jey definitely remembers being one of those kids.
Except, they’re not who he’s here for.
Only one in the madness that is a group of children being escorted through the secure double doors that lead into the main part of the school, dividing the entrance corridor from the halls that lead to classrooms, is who he’s here for.
She’s smiling and holding the hand of her teacher, a smile on his face when they lock eyes.
“What’s up, lil’ bit?
To be honest, Jey didn’t know what to expect in that he can’t remember the last time he picked his kid up from school. However, there’s a level of surprise at the way Macy’s smile dims when she sees him, the furrow of her brows and dip of her lips.
Jey serves as the divider, children moving past him on either side as he closes the gap between her, flashing the teacher with thick rimmed glasses and thin lips a smile.
“Whassup,” he introduces, offering his hand as Macy continues to look up at him with that same perplexed expression. “I’m Jey. Macy’s dad.”
Blue eyes widen and look downward. “Macy, I didn’t know your dad was in town, honey.”
“She didn’t know,” he answers, the woman’s gaze back on him. “I wanted to surprise her.”
Saying the words aloud and assessing how the woman opens and closes her mouth help him realize how anticlimactic this surprise really is. Again, there was no specific expectation regarding a reaction, but the non-reaction is….something.
She offers her name, something he’s not really paying attention to, before she bids Macy goodbye and walks away to see the rest of the children off.
Crouching down, Jey smiles and opens his arms.
“You gon’ give me a hug, girl, or what?”
She does as such, but the hesitation preceding the action is not missed upon him. At all. There’s an almost awkwardness that mingles in and replaces what should be a heartfelt moment. She doesn’t relax in his embrace.
She tenses.
Pulling back, forgoing any chance for him to pick her up, Macy cranes her head to the left and right, smile gradually returning. “Is uncle Roman in the car?”
Jey’s smile drops. “What?”
Her smile deepens, apples of her cheek lifting, voice filled with excitement. “Mommy said he was picking me up today.”
He does his best to keep his voice even, playfully flicking her on her shirt when his eyes land on the necklace around her neck. A nameplate. Gold. Each letter of her name embedded with diamonds. Real diamonds.
Damn. Heaven must have dropped a bag on that.
“Well, not anymore. Daddy’s picking you up today.”
Her smile dips as does her voice. “And, then we go see uncle Roman?”
What you asking about him for when I’m right here?
The immediate response he wants to give is neither helpful nor appropriate for the situation or the child in front of him, so he scales back the irritation and offers an explanation instead.
“Naw. Not today. You and me gon’ spend the day together.”
She doesn’t say anything, just rubs at her nose, another item catching his attention. “Damn,” he murmurs, reaching for her wrist, gently turning it to observe the gold Alhambra shape, four-leaf clover that make up majority of the bracelet. He can’t recall the name of the brand, but he’s seen some of the women wear them at different events.
He also knows they’re expensive as hell, too.
“Girl, where you get this from?”
Heaven does alright for herself with her job, makes decent money, but just how much is she pulling in?
Except, that question is shoved to the side when Macy beams and answers happily, “uncle Roman!” Her little fingers hover over the necklace that she lifts up and displays proudly. “He got me this, too! And mommy’s got one, too.”
Jey grows quiet, once more having to remind himself. Time and place. Because there will most definitely be a time and a place, because why the fuck is Roman buying his wife and child expensive shit like this?
He can buy shit for his family all on his own.
Another tidbit to pocket and revisit later.
A conversation definitely needs to happen with Heaven.
“Aye, guess what?” Jey glances in the rearview mirror to see Macy looking out the window, kicking her feet in her car seat, hand on the straps. “We making tacos for dinner tonight.”
Her eyes light up once more. “You know how to make Uncle Roman’s special tacos?”
Jey’s fingers flex around the steering wheel as he focuses on the road. “No. I’m making my special tacos.”
He sucks his teeth, fed up with the car in front of him, swerving past and blowing the hour before jumping in front.
“Well, can you make soft tacos like mommy?” She asks. He doesn’t bother trying to catch a glance at her expression, already irritated by the reference to someone not him again. But also this extra request. When he was a kid, they ate whatever his parents offered. Wasn’t no exceptions. You ate what was put on your plate, or you didn’t eat at all. Period.
“Hard tacos make my tummy hurt,” she adds. Jey wonders if some part of his irritation was visible through his side profile, thus him clearing his throat.
“Well, that’s cause you ain’t had your dad’s special tacos.” She’s bound to like them better than whatever the fuck Roman makes, cause since when in the hell does his ass cook anyway? “You gon’ love em.”
“Is mommy gonna have dinner with us?”
He shakes his head, switching to one hand on the steering wheel, the other grabbing at his phone to check his notifications while he sits at the light.
“Naw. I told you. It’s just you and me tonight.”
“Well, what time is she coming—”
“Macy.” Jey raises his voice, turning to look back at her, flashing a smile in seeing the way she grips at her dark blue uniform skirt. “Just….chill, alright? Your mama needs some time for herself.”
Except, it’s perhaps the wrong way to say, her mouth dipping into another frown. “Is she mad at me?”
“No. Of course not. She just….” A honk from behind alerts him that the light has turned. He’s seconds away from flipping the person off but decides against it. Jey rolls his shoulders. “She wants us to spend some time together. That’s all.”
Jey wanted that, too.
He still does.
To some extent.
He just didn’t know it would be this….complicated.
———
Ever since Macy was born, it’s felt like Heaven has been on him about spending more time with her, especially in the past year or so, and he knows she has a point. That she’s not entirely wrong. He just wishes she understood how demanding his job is. Jey isn’t like Roman and can just pop in and out whenever he pleases. For whatever reason, the fucking fans still feel like he has to prove and continue to show how and why he’s at his cousin’s level, and that takes work.
It means showing up whenever he can and proving them wrong every single time.
But, Jey can also recognize he could do better with visiting more. Spending time with Macy.
Except maybe not, because the agenda he had in mind is far from what’s occurred thus far.
Jey doesn’t think he’s ever met a kid who doesn’t like video games.
Until Macy.
Or, rather she just likes playing these weird ass, silly games on her Switch that he didn’t even know she had until she smiled brightly and shared happily while drinking some of her chocolate milk, that dingy looking ass bear—Cream or something—tucked into her side.
“Uncle Roman got it for me!”
And therein lies the problem. Not that the chocolate ice cream he picked up from the grocery store was the wrong kind cause apparently she likes chocolate milk but not chocolate ice cream. Not the way she picked at her dinner and barely ate any of her tacos, Jey having to fix her a bowl of cereal instead, as he didn’t buy any tortillas. Not even how when he suggested they watch Toy Soldiers, one of his favorite movies as a kid, and he had to turn it off twenty minutes in, Macy, bear in hand, her face buried n the side of his shirt, teary eyed and refusing to look at the TV.
Because she was scared.
No. All of that was annoying, sure. Felt like setback after setback, but he could deal with it.
What he can’t deal with is the constant references to his wife and cousin.
It’s “Uncle Roman” this.
“Mommy” that. Every other fucking sentence out her mouth is a reference to either of them. Whether it be something his overstepping ass cousin has purchased Macy or something “mommy always does.”
Jey feels like he’s the tennis ball in a match, being served from one end to another, never able to land and find a resting spot that’s for him.
Nothing coming out of Macy’s mouth is about or towards him, and it’s irritating as shit.
Blowing out a breath and scrubbing the leftover food on the dishes, he turns to the left, nodding to the sound of Nas rapping in his left ear where one AirPod is plugged in.
Macy stands besides him, in her two piece silk pajama set. White clouds set against a light blue sky with smiling crescent moons sprinkled in between. Her white, fluffy bonnet hides the two braids he put her hair into after her shower. She’s holding up her tablet.
“Can you put the password in?”
Jey looks over at the clock on the microwave. It’s almost 8:30pm.
“Ain’t it kinda late for you to be on that thing?”
Her eyes widen as she shakes her head and smiles once more, bouncing on the heels of her feet. “I gotta call Uncle Roman and tell him goodnight and call mommy and tell her goodnight.”
Jey stills, hitting the handle to shut off the water as he grabs at the towel on the counter, back towards her while he dries his hands.
“Not tonight.”
He grabs at his phone, quickly swiping left the notification from the number he still doesn’t have saved despite almost three years of back and forth. He did at one point, but every time she goes on one of her rants and runs to social media posting sly shit, he deletes it.
He needs to just go on and delete her.
Jey turns around just in time to see Macy no longer smiling, her eyes still stretched and lips pressed together. “But, why?” Her voice is significantly softer as she holds her tablet to her chest. “I always tell mommy and Uncle Rom—”
“Damn, Macy, can’t you go five fuckin’ minutes without talking about them? Shit.”
His voice is sharp, sharper than the knife floating in the water along with the other unwashed dishes. But, it’s the words themselves that cut deeper than any of the fancy cooking knives Heaven has sitting in the knife block on the opposite counter near the microwave.
“Macy….”
Jey carefully kneels down in front of his daughter whose pout and watery eyes cast a thick layer of shame and embarrassment over him.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I—I didn’t mean that.” He shakes his head, mindful of the way she tenses once more when he places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I just….I want to spend time with you. Just you. I know you love your mama and uncle, but I was hoping….” Words and expressions of sentiments have never been easy, and the presence of an unknown but felt entity between himself and the quiet little girl can be neither ignored nor acknowledged. It’s just….there. “I’m just sorry, lil’ bit. I was being a dickhead. You can call them after ya’ bedtime story.”
He watches the way she she wipes at her eyes, still holding onto her tablet, voice quiet and coated with a layer of apprehension. “What’s a dickhead?”
“Hey, hey,” he starts, going to pick her up, grateful to hear her giggle. “That’s a bad word. You can’t be saying what I say just cause I say it, alright?”
Tickling her stomach grants him laughter that alleviates some of the tension that befell the kitchen. Jey carries her to her room where things feel and seem to be finally going in the right direction. Feels as though after some rough terrain along the way that they’re finding smooth sailing. Macy laughs throughout his storytelling, attention snapped and snagged as he reads one of the many books on her pink and green bookshelf. Various voices and all for each individual character.
Chuckles at the way she claps happily when he promises to finish the story tomorrow night, leaving on what’s an objectively silly cliffhanger for a chapter, but for a little kid like herself, it’s got her foaming at the mouth for more.
For a moment, the smallest slice of a moment, he starts to feel it. Starts to feel less like he’s checking off item after item on the ‘dad’ list and more like he’s just doing what feels right. What feels natural.
And just like that, it’s gone.
It’s gone because it’s as he’s on his knees next to Macy, also on her knees, both of them with hands in praying motion as she says her nightly prayers, that he feels like he’s at square one all over again.
“….And, Jesus, please extra special bless Uncle Roman and mommy, cause they’re the bestest uncle and mommy ever. Amen!”
It’s not the closing statement, though it’s nearly identical to the opening statement. No, it’s not even her praying for damn near everyone she’s ever met, including the lunch ladies at her school and the stuffed animal on the floor besides them, also praying. It’s the fact that despite the litany of individuals she included in her lengthy prayer at no point was he mentioned.
Not once.
Her own fucking dad and nothing.
But, Roman…Roman was damn sure mentioned.
“I gotta call uncle Roman and mommy!”
Still on his knees, it’s only when Macy climbs back onto the bed, laying the bear near her pillow and reaching for her tablet on the nightstand that Jey snaps back to attention.
He snatches the tablet out of her hand.
Now, it’s Macy whose smile is also whisked away. “Hey—”
“It’s time for bed,” he says, voice curt. A quiet curse is caged within when he goes to turn off the tablet and is confronted with her lock screen that’s a selfie of her, Heaven, and him.
Roman.
Macy remains sitting in the middle of her bed while Jey forcefully jabs the button on the top, eyes not leaving said screen until he’s met with nothing but black.
“But—but you said I could ca—”
“Roman went to bed early, and your mom is at the movies. She can’t talk.” The lie rolls off his tongue, the meeting of their eyes revealing her slumped shoulders, watery eyes, and pouted lips.
“But—”
“Look, the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you can talk to them, alright?” He starts, iPad under his arm as he goes to pull back her bedding, patting the purple sheets. “Come on.”
There’s a moment of delay followed by her quiet obedience, climbing over to where the blankets have been pulled back, exposing her Disney sheets. Jey’s prepared to tuck her in when she lift her hands to her ears.
Shit.
He forgot about that.
She doesn’t hand them to him, just reaches and places them in the case on her nightstand.
“Alright,” he starts, clearing his throat and pulling the blankets up to her neck as she turns on her side, away from him, pulling her bear to her chest. “Goodnight.”
When she offers no reaction, he starts to repeat it with the additive of a kiss to her temple and then remembers.
She can’t hear him.
Jey remains there, standing and surrounded by a flurry of emotions, the dominant one overpowering that nagging voice in the back of his head that says he needs to make shit right. That he needs to apologize, but the way his eyes land on the photo on her other nightstand, of Macy and Roman, it kills any desire to do as such. He hits the switch on the lamp, closes the door, and walks out without another word.
The minute he’s in his master bedroom, he tosses her tablet onto the bed and slams the double doors shut behind him.
Jey knows that he’s not home a lot. Knows that there are some things he can do better, but how the fuck is he supposed to do that when his overstepping ass cousin seems to have warped Macy’s mind to the point where he’s all she can think about?
If it’s not Heaven, it’s Roman. If it’s not Roman, it’s Heaven. If it’s not either, it’s both. Jey can count on one hand how many things Macy asked him about, how many times she tried to get to know and bond with him.
All her ass wanted to do was talk about two people that wasn’t even with her ass today.
He was.
Not that it made a difference.
Kicking the edge of the bed, he curses and plops down on the mattress, a creaking sound and the headboard hitting the wall behind the only sounds to fill the room. Jey blows out a breath and prepared to close his eyes when he notices something. A few feet away. On the nightstand of the bedroom set he remembers he and Heaven picking out from Ashley furniture when they brought the house. It’s a book. Paperback, thick, hanging near the edge, inches away from falling off, but it’s not the pending tumble to the ground that locks his attention and temporarily redirects his frustration.
It’s the memory. The familiarity.
He remembers when Heaven placed said book on the nightstand. One of her latest purchases. Remembers the comment she made about adding it to her growing reading list. A comment made…..shit, when was he last home?
And, that single mental question triggers an assessment of the room in its entirety. Bed perfectly made, drawers of the dresser all shut, hamper in the corner near the window empty. Standing up and looking down, he peels back the comforter and sees the same soft gray sheets that were on the mattress the last time he was home.
Untouched. It all looks so….untouched.
Because, it is.
Because it’s obvious the master bedroom he shares with his wife is not the room she’s been staying in, which leads him to venture down the hall, bedroom number three the winner.
The minute he walks in and is hit with the scent of her—soft, floral, and sensual—he knows. Doesn’t need to look at the white and gray decorative pillows that are perched in the middle of the bed. The sight of her still unpacked suitcase in the corner of the room next to the stacked bookshelf by the window. He hasn’t a clue when she decorated and furnished this room. The second biggest in the home, they’d kept it empty, feeling it too big for an office or guest bedroom, leaving it for storage and other miscellaneous items.
Why she’s seemingly moved out of their room and in here is beyond him, but outside of all the telltales of it being well lived in, it’s the clear vase sitting on the dark gray dresser, however, that steals the spotlight. Beautiful, fresh flowers extending so high it almost feels like they’re gonna touch the damn ceiling.
Red roses.
Jey walks over and grabs at the card, jaw twitching and anger stirring when he immediately recognizes the handwriting.
My Angel.
-R
He reads it over and over again, imagining the stroke of the pen in his cousin’s hand, the precision taken as he focused on each letter. No scribbled, absentminded note, or even the request to have it typed. No. This was handwritten and most likely hand delivered as well.
The latter thought being what drives him to rip the note into half and swipe his arm across the dresser, knocking the vase to the ground, water spilling and soaking the carpet. Red petals drenched and bleeding out.
It’s inconsequential, however, as Jey continues to explore. Drawers. Shelves. Her closet. There’s not an inch left untouched, Heaven’s room nothing but a tornado of mess and secrets exposed and laid out. The expensive ass jewelry Jey didn’t purchase and knows damn well she didn’t purchase. Lingerie sets still in boxes with handwritten cards attached.
The same handwriting.
Books with folded notes serving as bookmarks.
The same handwriting.
Closet lined with clothes that carry her scent.
His, too.
When all is said and done, the crunch of broken glass, shattered items, and betrayal are the only sounds that creep through the room. The door slammed shut behind him with such force that it causes the pictures on the wall to tremble in the wake of his bedlam.
Standing in the kitchen, ripping open cabinet after cabinet until he pulls out the biggest wine bottle, the fury that controls him has his entire body shaking. He has to down the first glass in one take, unable to trust himself to not drop and shatter it like the truth that’s been unleashed upon him.
Jey isn’t stupid. Far from it. Roman has liked Heaven since they were kids.
Obviously.
And, they’ve always been close, maybe closer than some people would like for their spouses and relatives to be, but because of the long history between them, Jey never thought too much of it.
He also knows his cousin. Knows that Roman is no stranger to stepping out on Camryn, but it was always with a sense of ease and access. Women on the road. Strippers at the club. A different flavor depending on the city they were in.
Jey also knows his wife.
Heaven’s name could be seen as prophetic in many ways. She’s always been the embodiment of purity and honesty. Always the type of woman who valued her morals and values.
At least, she did.
Because maybe Jey doesn’t know his cousin.
Just like he doesn’t know his wife.
Drink after drink, spiral after spiral, rage, anger, jealousy and the child of hatred brew and stir together creating a dangerous concoction of impulsivity and spite.
Stumbling to the sofa, cigar he was smoking discarded somewhere, phone in hand taking its place, eyes blinking away fogged vision, he navigates to the Dropbox app on his phone.
“Damn,” he slurs, thumb scrolling through hundreds of photos, most of which are from earlier in his life. iCloud holds the most recent, but the app he still makes sure to maintain access to has been the haven for memories that go back as far as high school for years now.
Many of which are with his friends, his cousins, his family.
His wife.
A smug smirk falls on his face when he lands on the one he was looking for when he first thought to open the app he hasn’t touched in God knows how long.
Not a photo.
Naw. He quickly scrolls past all them pictures of that lying ass bitch smiling, hugging, and kissing on him like she ever really gave a shit.
A video.
It’s the video he wants.
The video he finds.
Liquor blurring specifics, he can’t recall when exactly it was taken. High school? Early college? Definitely before they were married.
“Damn, Heav,” he groaned on said video. “Suck that shit, baby.”
Jey’s dick stiffens in his shorts watching his now wife and then girlfriend open and lift her eyes as he caressed the top of her hair before moving it back and forth, her gagging and gargling battling with his quiet groans and moans. “Keep going, mama.”
She did as such, hand appearing as she started that dangerous combination of fisting and sucking at the same time, eyes watering and tears spilling down her cheeks.
Fuck.
The video alone got him ready to bust, but that’s not what he wants.
Naw…..
He can get that from anyone and anytime.
This ain’t about that.
It’s about exposure.
Jey saves the video to his phone, scrolling through the pages to open up his Instagram. Too long to upload in its entirety, he clips it just enough to upload size and posts it to his story and his page with a simple caption.
@RomanReigns dis ur girl?
————
Heaven goes to the office for a little while. Gets some work done. Not a lot.
She then tries to take Jey’s advice. Takes herself out to dinner.
She tries, but by the time the pretty waiter with striking green eyes comes to the table to ask what she’d like to drink, she’d already laid down a crips twenty dollar bill and left the establishment.
She has no appetite. Hasn’t all day.
The conversation with Nathan sticks to her skin like latex on a warm, steamy day. Uncomfortable and inescapable, her thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once. The beach is what calls her, the night sky dark and illuminated by stars that twinkle brightest in the corners tucked away where most avoid. Too far from the nightlife and activities that draw many to the city that, much like New York, never sleeps.
Visits to the beach were some of Heaven’s favorite moments during her youth. Laying out on a towel, on her stomach or back, giggling and gossiping with Camryn. Always caught off guard when one of the guys either dragged them into a game of beach volleyball or threw them over their shoulders and ran them into the ocean, Camryn always cussing them out for messing up her hair. Heaven can still taste the salt water as she emerged, braids soaked, laughing and slapping Jey or Roman on the chest.
Memories.
She has so many…..memories, each one accompanied by confusing and overwhelming sentiments due the man whose text regarding if she plans to come over this evening that sat untouched on her lock screen and is now completely hidden by her switching the phone to Do No Disturb.
Heaven needs to think. She needs to contemplate. She needs to figure this shit the fuck out.
Once and for all.
It was never supposed to happen, let alone extend for this long.
What occurred in college was supposed to be one of those things that she’d lock away in a box, discarding the key to ensure it was never revisited. She doesn’t revisit that time. Doesn’t want to, but perhaps she should have. Perhaps how awful she felt about cheating on her boyfriend at the time with his cousin, who also happened to be her cousin’s man, should have been the thing she never allowed herself to forget.
Maybe.
Or, maybe even recalling and keeping it up on her mental bulletin board wouldn’t have done a damn thing, because Roman Reigns was always destined to be a part of and in her life one way or another.
Jimmy. Jey. Roman. They’ve been her closest guys friends since she was a child and while Jey was always the one who gave her the most butterflies and whose name she doodled in Lisa Frank notebooks while sitting in class, something….something about Roman called to her.
It was a voice she heard but ignored in favor of the boy she wanted.
Or, thought she wanted, at least.
Heaven isn’t prepared to say she doesn’t love Jey. She’ll always love Jey. They’ve shared and spent so many years together. He’ll always be the one who was her first in so many ways, but the fact of the matter is that she’s not in love with him anymore. Hasn’t been for some time now.
She’s in love with Roman, and she has been for much longer than she’d like to admit.
Love has always existed between them, but it’s morphed and molded into something all-encompassing and consuming. Akin to that of lovers who connect and feel on the deepest level. There’s a part of her that craves Roman in ways that both terrify and confuse her. A level of connectivity and attachment she’s never even felt with anyone before.
Not even her husband.
He’s always been so easy to talk to, someone for her to lean on and pour her troubles into, knowing he was always prepared and ready with open arms and a basket of space that knew no ends. Heaven could always touch the tip of the iceberg with Jey.
But, she can drown with Roman.
Be completely submerged to the point of suffocation yet never feel any of the effects, because his is her shield. Jey is a place. Offers something but never everything.
Roman is refuge.
He is the place where concerns, fears, and worries are eliminated one by one. His touch, his insight, his guidance, his advice, his support.
Jey is the structure, but Roman is the foundation.
He gives without request. Soothes without effort. Is because he is.
Heaven could sit down and easily write down line after line of reasons as to why she loves Roman. Categorize and group them based on their time as friends, time as lovers, and now both. There is no one she feels a deeper gravitation to and hold with than him.
It used to frustrate her. Cold shoulder after steamy nights and trysts squeezed in between moments that should have been spent with the individuals they made vows to. Used to anger her when he would mingle haughty, petty statements in between deep, thorough thrusts that had her clinging to his body like a baby bird who knows nothing beyond the comfort and safety of her mother’s love.
And, perhaps it still does. But, the irritation is—and always has been—immensely overpowered by the sanctuary that is him.
Roman has been everything and more for her in the past six or seven years. Macy might be her heartbeat, but Roman is the ribcage around it. Sturdy, strong, protective. A barrier from everything that needs to stay out and a harbor for everything that must remain within. One cannot exist without the other.
Macy. Roman. Herself. The three of them represent a symbiotic relationship that cannot be destroyed not disturbed. Heaven made Jey fit.
Roman just belongs.
And, she’s tired of trying to convince and tell herself otherwise.
It all started the wrong way, and the road of betrayal is littered with sharp, slicing lies and thick, dense layers of decrepit that threaten to drag and overwhelm. Nathan finding out the way he did, regardless of his seemingly approval of said relationship, represents the worst sort of scenario. But, the pitiless truth is that his manner of discovery lies low on the scale of awful. The true direful nature of it all still remains, and that lies in the sharing of truth with Camryn and Jey.
They deserve to know.
They need to know.
There is no way around it.
About the affair and about Macy, but that’s the thing. It won’t just be a conversation and reveal to spouses. It’ll be the public broadcast of what’s occurred to all within the family. Texts, phone calls, and frantic knocks on front doors. Camryn and Heaven’s family is far from small, but it’s not extensively large either. The mass that is the Reigns and Uso family, however, is colossal. In under twenty four hours of reveal, even those relatives still on the island will learn of the great scandal.
Not to mention the trickle down effect.
What will this mean for Macy’s relationship with Jey’s family? His parents adore her, and she them. What will happen to Heaven’s relationship with her paternal side of the family. Just as her parents have undying and unending loyalty to her, her aunt and uncle are the same. They ride for Camryn just as hard.
Will Roman’s family accept Macy, or will the knowing of the disloyalty and dishonor that brought her into this world be the very thing that destroys that relationship?
Heaven is fully prepared to be shunned and cut off by most. She understands it, and she’d bet that Roman does, too.
But, it’s the domino effect and its impact on Macy that makes her heart hurt and eyes water. Macy is innocent. Just a sweet, precious child who loves all and and loves hard. She won’t understand any of it. Won’t be able to comprehend any of it. And, just the thought of her many questions regarding why she can’t see this person, how come they can’t go over to that person’s house and other valid, crushing inquiries are devastating.
It has Heaven suddenly back at square one.
Back at the idea of not shattering and ruining three families. Of not breaking up her family.
Of staying with her husband.
It has her questioning just how hard—if at all—she’s tried to make things work. Attempted to mediate the issues that caused her to fall in the arms and bed of another man. And, if not, doesn’t she at least owe him that much?
Owe Macy that much?
How confusing will it be to explain to her that Uncle Roman is actually her daddy and Jey is just…..Jey. She’s too young to grasp fully what even the adults involved won’t even be able to fully process.
It’s just so so unfair.
And, messy.
Vibration between her legs draws Heaven’s focus to the phone tucked between her denim clad thighs. She starts to ignore it but remembers that her phone is on DND, thus only favorite and selected contacts are able to bypass the otherwise silenced notifications.
It has to be important.
Sniffling and wiping at her eyes, she grabs the phone, met with a photo that makes her smile and tap the green button.
Heaven clears her throat and does her best to pull on the ‘everything is alright’ mask. “Hey, mama.”
“What’s wrong?”
The smile is instantly dashed and replaced with the frown that befell her face the minute she started admiring the ocean and found a secluded spot to sit and think. “What—what do you mean what’s wrong?”
Noise on the other end paints a vivid picture of the older woman most likely finishing up her nightly cleaning of the kitchen, because if there was one thing Shelia Jackson was always going to do before retiring for the night, it’s make sure her kitchen is spotless.
“I was taking a bath and you fell in my spirit. I meant to call you earlier, but you know I’ve got this big case I’m working so I’ve been working longer days.”
Just one of many. Between her mother, one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the state of North Carolina, and her father, also one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the state of North Carolina, their days have always been ate up mostly by work.
Heaven typically woke up just in time for school and to see her parents off to their respective firms. Usually ate dinner with one or the other, rarely both, as the compromise between the two was that they’d ensure their one and only child would never eat dinner alone.
Many other things were spent alone, but that was always a non-negotiable, and Heaven appreciated it a lot. Like many kids who have two parents working demanding and high stress jobs, there are certainly a handful of things she wishes could have been different, but at the end of the days, she never questioned her parents love for her. She always felt it, and that was more than enough.
“I’m….” She shakes her head, palm flattening and submerging underneath the sand. “I’m okay, mama.”
The pause is everything Heaven needs to hear to know what comes next.
“Heaven Savannah Jackson. I am a Howard University graduate with three degrees behind my name. I’ve successfully worked and defended more accused than I can remember. And, I have been a criminal defense attorney for more years than you’ve been alive, child. Don’t insult my intelligence, lil’ girl.”
Despite the eloquent and no-nonsense read from the woman Heaven has never really been able to hide anything from, the small smile makes a brief reappearance only to settle into something emotionally charged when her mom repeats her initial question.
“Now, what is wrong?”
So many things. What has never felt so right in her life is also the very thing that is most objectively wrong in it, too. A layered, complicated, convoluted dilemma that Heaven doesn’t even know how to begin to describe.
Nor does she necessarily want to.
But, she also knows that she has to start somewhere, and if there was ever a safe space to offer unconditional positive regard no matter what, she knows it’s with her mom.
“I—umm.” She takes a deep breath, licking the corner of her mouth. “I feel torn, mama.” The understatement of the century. “Jey and I…..” She looks ahead, watching the waves slap against each other under the moonlit sky. “He’s my husband. I—I should want to make things work, but I….” She closes her eyes, chin dropped to her chest, fingers pressed into the teal case of her iPhone. “I don’t know…”
Always one who’s valued clear, concise communication, Heaven is fully aware that she’s not making much sense. Fragmented, alluding statements only muddying the water, but it’s hard to articulate what she doesn’t even fully understand.
“Baby, let me ask you something.” Shelia’s voice is collected, refined, and put-together in a way one would expect from someone of her caliber and status. It also contains the perfect amount of maternal nurturance. “How long are you going to continue to award temporary changes with permanent forgiveness?”
Heaven grows quiet. Taken back and stumped by her mother’s statements and words of wisdom over the years, rarely able to see beyond the horizon, to visualize the strong, always accurate point being built up and eventually made, this is no different.
But, it’s significantly more confusing than prior conversations.
“What….what do you mean?”
A heavy sigh followed by more movement, quiet barking of Lola, her parents three year old Golden Doodle, as Shelia steps onto the porch, sitting on that old rocking bench Heaven used to love to read on as a child. “I know you love, Jey. You’ve loved him since you were a teenager, but how many times have ya’ll gone through this now?”
Heaven’s brows dip, the confusion floating to another level. “Gone through what?”
Tight lipped and sitting on a variety of secrets over the years, while knowing her mother is and will always be a safe space, not even she knows the truth about the affair. About Roman being Macy’s real father, so what is she referring to?
“Every couple years, you come to me upset, vague but clearly unhappy with your marriage, and I just don’t understand how many “I’m sorry, baby. It won’t happen again” do you need to hear before you accept that some people are exactly who they are regardless of what they try to tell you?”
Heaven was sitting and latching onto every word up until that point. That statement. The one single thing that has her eyes opening and chest in a state of inescapable stillness.
“I’m sorry, baby. It won’t happen again.”
“I’m sorry, baby.”
“It won’t happen again.”
Differing variations of the sentence play in her head on repeat like a sick game of ring around the Rosie. Much like the true lore behind the kids nursery rhyme, sinister and dark connotations cloaked beneath laughter and giggles.
Heaven stares ahead, pupils gradually dilating, presence shifting from where she’s sat on the sand for how long, the phone in hand suddenly so much lighter.
The statement no longer heard in the voice of her mother.
But, that of her husband.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he cried, on his knees as she sat on the edge of the bed, looking away, tears streaming down her face. “It won’t happen again.”
A memory she can hear and see so clearly that it feels more like a motion picture playing in front of her versus a recollection she’d stored so deep in the back of her head that she’d completely forgotten.
Until now.
“I’m sick of this shit!” His voice was a flurry of rage and anger as she pressed retreated back into the stainless steel refrigerator, body trembling, sweaty palms on the cool alloy. Her eyes clenched shut and a loud, broken gasp when his fist landed on the fridge, centimeters away from her face.
“Jey, ple—”
“Shut up!”
Heaven gasps quietly, bottom lip quivering, her hand moving to her stomach, widened eyes glossed over as another memory slams in like the salty water against the band of space where land meets water.
Sitting against of the bathroom door, eyes clenched shut, hand over her mouth, the sound of glass shattering, thuds from furniture being turned over and against the nearest wall.
“Always t—talkin t—to me like I’m a—a goddamn child! I don’t—don’t need nobody—fuckin’ h—help.” His slurred, angered words accompanied by additional items being destroyed, the dinner she’d made them painted across the tile of the kitchen floor.
“Heaven!”
The end of the most recent slams into her with a force that makes her drop her phone, hands over her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
It all comes back at once with a weight so overwhelming that she can’t find the force to push back or keep her head above water. It’s gushing and shoving her down. Each recollection of moments that were splattered in between a period of her life she’d somehow completely repressed.
The dichotomy and challenge of loving a man who was the best of the best when he was sober and a minion of the devil when he was drunk. Liquor turned him into a monster that led to many arguments, inebriated tantrums that left her cleaning up the aftermaths the next day.
Sobriety granting him clarity and an endless amount of apologies accompanied with promises to change. To do better.
Late night rages followed up with beautiful flowers, handwritten cards, and a soft touch that, for a moment, made things feel better. Like, the glimpses of who he could be was not who he was.
But, the sustainability of the promises to do better, to get better, to stop drinking, never carried for longer than a few days.
Heaven can’t pinpoint where exactly realty starts and stops, awareness of her surroundings eclipsed by the throbbing pang in her chest. The faint sound of her mother’s panicked voice from her phone lying in the sand just enough to warrant a slim amount of awareness.
Reaching for the phone, her hand shakes to the point that every attempt to grasp results in it falling back to the ground. It takes several attempts before she can lift it to her ear, Shelia frantically asking what’s going on, what’s happening, and other understandable questions regarding safety.
But, Heaven has nothing to offer except a quiet, pained six word response.
“I have to call you back.”
She jabs the red button and allows the phone to collapse once more before the tears spill over in full force.
Legs to her chest, face in her thighs, her tears soaking the denim, she’s clobbered with pandora’s box of traumas once hidden away in places unknown and inaccessible. The sentiments, emotions, and sensations from arguably one of the darkest periods of her life laid right before her. Pieces of a puzzle coming together that she hadn’t even realized she possessed.
An abundance of shame sitting at the feet of her soul.
The true origin story of what led her away from her husband and into the arms of another man.
A story that, somehow, someway, she’d removed from the archives. An adaptation that a single sentence that themed a significant, painful chapter in her life.
“I’m sorry, baby. It won’t happen again.”
She cries harder.
It’s all coming back to her.
Jey’s drinking problem that turned him into a monster she didn’t recognize. The conflicted feelings experienced when daytime rolled around, and he was a completely different person. The funny, caring man she’d fallen in love with so many years ago. The man she chose to remember. Heaven latched onto the version of him that made her feel loved and wanted and discarded the other side of him that made her scared, made her want to cower, made her question everything that they’d built.
She fought so hard to nurture, heal, and support Jekyll in the hopes that Hyde would eventually find no peace or space in their lives. In her life. And, she had. She’d helped Jey overcome his demons.
Or, did she?
The mental juxtaposition of what she knows Jey capable of along with a glance down at her phone, screen lit up revealing her lock screen, the photo on her lock screen, changes everything. She stills, eyes stretching, stomach dropping.
“Macy.”
An athlete for a number of years in her youth, Heaven can’t recall a time in her life where she ever moved as fast as she does now. Snatching the phone from the ground, climbing to her feet and running through the sand, keeping her feet high enough to avoid the interference of the uneven terrain interrupting her speed. She faintly overhears a bystander asking if she’s okay but ignores it entirely. Her key fob is dropped onto the dark asphalt twice before she yanks the car door open and throws her purse to the side.
Heaven jabs the start button, foot pressed on the break, car roaring to life and is prepared to shift to drive when a loud sound startles her.
Any other time, she’d ignore it.
She wants to ignore it, but the fact of the matter is that there’s only been one other time in her life her phone has made such a sound. Heaven is familiar with all of the various iPhone notification options and has carefully selected each one for each specific purpose.
Including the one right now.
Face damp, eyes wet and red, she snatches the phone.
And for the third time tonight, she feels like she’s been suspended from reality and into a dimension dark, unknown, and asphyxiating.
“No.”
————
It’s a slow, gradational process. The heavy, deep slumber steadily decreasing and stepping down into a level of phases from zero coherence—full immersion in the deepest cycle—to slowly building awareness. The awareness of his breathing—hindered. The feel of the sofa underneath his big body—warm. The perspiration that has him drenched, clothes sticky and clinging to his skin—also warm. Jey blinks several times, the first not registering, as no human being can initially, truly be aware of waking to such a sight. The ones that follow are the ones that stick. That makes him aware to what looks and feels like hell on earth.
Dark, smoky, hot, the paint on the walls weeping down, dark edging at the tops of the ceiling burnt to the point where they drip off in hard crips to the grown. Shades of orange and red, waves of heat and flame, the air in the room snuffed out and running for dear life like the way the fire eats at his home.
His home that’s on fire.
Eyes wide, he jerks back into the back of the sofa, almost toppling over the back. Forearm to cover his mouth, hearty, heavy coughs as he struggles to stand up. The heat is everywhere, radiating through the sole of his sneakers, dancing up his skin. The smoke thick, dense with visibility waning by the second.
He turns to exit out the living room, making a left for the foyer, the arched entrance to the kitchen nothing but an inferno straight out of a horror film. Furious and unforgiving, its stretch and reach determined to infiltrate every corner until nothing is left. To consume until nothing is left. Jey starts to head for the door when he stops, eyes widened, another set of coughs tumbling out.
Macy.
The alcohol still wafting in his system is a barrier, impairs all of his faculties, including his mobility. He nearly topples onto the steps in an effort to run upstairs and grab his daughter, but the momentum is suspended when the reality dawns on him once more.
The stairs are no longer visible, burning and cindered under the fire, flames high and stretched, creating a fiery blockade.
He has no way upstairs.
But, an already dire situation graduates from horrific to incomprehensible when Jey looks up, makes out the figure at the top of the steps. Each lap of flame flashing and blaring, eclipsing and then illuminating, each glimpse granting a picture of terror.
“Macy!”
She’s crying, face flustered, hugging that same bear he couldn’t get her to put down for more than five minutes all day.
“Fuck,” he curses. Jey watches her cough violently into her right arm, the left still securing the bear. “M—Macy, you gotta—you gotta—you gotta listen to me, lil bit. Lil bit!” Confusion blends with frustration and fear at Macy’s refusal to look at him, even as she no longer coughs, but hugs her bear and continues to cry. Then, he remembers.
Her hearing aids.
She takes them off at night.
She can’t hear him.
“Fuck!” The roar of his curse is challenged by the sound of something falling and breaking in the distance. What it is, he can’t allow himself to think of such. He slams his fists into his head, at a complete loss at what to do and how to communicate with her, because there is no way to communicate. He doesn’t know sign language, nothing more than a word or two, and even that would be arduous and challenging. Even more, he doesn’t have the time, because they are running out of time.
He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or the smoke inhalation, but something—perhaps both—are at war with his ability to remain upright. To remain conscious.
“Imma—Imma be right back,” he shouts, grateful when her glassy eyes land on him. “I’m—I’m gonna get help!” He points towards the hall that leads to the front door. “Just—just hold on, okay!”
“I’m scared,” she cries, her shoulders trembling. “Help me, daddy! Please!”
Jey isn’t sure such words will ever hit him as deeply as those four. He has to get help.
“I will, I—I promise!” He starts to back away, seeing the way her eyes widen. “I’ll be back!”
Her pleas and begs are lost among the grumble of the raging, unforgiving fire. His sluggish frame, however, barely makes it out the front door before he’s dropping to his knees, his heavy body to the ground, the blurred view and burn of the pavement all that registers before it all fades away.
——————
Nothing feels real, and everything is too slow.
The pace and speed at which time naturally flows suddenly works against Heaven in a way she never thought possible. The timing of the stoplights that make her scream in anger and slap at her steering wheel whenever the car in front fails to make it so that she can make it. The incessant tapping of her foot on the floor of her car, the way she slams onto the gas, speeding and whizzing by, uncaring of the horns and profanities thrown her way. They can say what they want, the cop she sped by as he was writing out a ticket for the person who hadn’t been lucky enough to evade the constabulary, irrelevant. The way she’s almost certain this is the first time her speedometer has ever exceeded 100 MPH.
She doesn’t care.
All she cares about is getting home.
Getting to her.
Getting to Macy.
Heaven knew the minute she received the notification on her phone. ‘Warning’ written in all caps. The notice that both the smoke and fire detectors had been activated. That a fire was detected and emergency services were en route to her home.
She knew all of this. It’s the not knowing, however, regarding what she’ll be walking into that feeds part of her many, powerful, potent emotions. But, nothing even the most sophisticated of AI explanations and examples could have prepared her for what awaits.
She can’t even make it in front of the house. Has to park two houses down. The street barricaded by police. Their patrol cars—one, two, three, four—she counts while running down the street uncaring of the crowd that’s gathered in the middle of the night to see what horror has befallen the typically quiet neighborhood. Two large firetrucks, one parked in front of her home, on the street, the other in the C curved driveway.
The state of her home doesn’t even register, doesn’t draw her attention or focus. The only thing she can think and focus on is getting her baby. Having her sweet little girl in her arms, feeling the way Macy nuzzles her face into Heaven’s chest.
That’s all she needs.
But, once more, there’s a barrier.
“Let me go!” Heaven’s fist beat at the man restraining her, indifference towards the uniform he wears. Inconsequential to her task at hand. She needs to get through.
“Ma’am—”
“That’s my home!” A panicked shout, still accompanied by the way she shoves against him, the inhibition of his hold suffocating. “Let me go!”
The officer—a Caucasian man, a few inches taller than her, deep green eyes staring down at her, his thin lips moving into a scowl. “Are you the homeo—”
“Yes! Heaven Uso. 4532 Copper lane. That—that’s—that’s my home! My—my daughter—” Facts and information thrown out of desperation when the constant glancing back and forth between the officer in front of her and the scene unfolding behind him are stalled when she sees something.
Sees Jey, oxygen mask on his face, sitting on the outside of an ambulance as the EMS workers tend to him.
Him.
Him.
Just him.
“Where’s Macy?” The question is aimed towards no one in particular, but that’s a piece of information unknown to the officer, and the minute something flashes in his eyes—something akin to sympathy—that a level of fear she’s never encountered comes over her.
“No….”
A final push, this one met with zero resistance, as she darts past him, the distance that stretches between herself and her home, set ablaze, is something that can’t be closed quick enough. But, once more, another source of interference.
“LET ME GO!”
Heaven’s voice roars and slams into the man restraining her, the thick gear of the firefighter absorbing the force of her blows. It doesn’t stop her from thrashing and using every bit of strength in her body to get past him, to get to her baby.
Her baby that is clearly still in that house.
“MACY!”
It’s the only word that can leave her mouth, the only name that she suddenly knows, the single, sole word in her vocabulary, and it’s shouted repeatedly, frantically, direly, but at some point, it registers that she’s not alone.
Not the crowd of neighbors or the number of emergency service workers, including the one that continues to maintain his vice grip, barking out incoherent orders to the other firemen.
But, that of the man near the firetruck in the driveway, proximity that’s much closer than anyone not a part of the first responders. Who, like herself, struggles and fights against the three firefighters restraining him, holding him back the same way she is being held back.
Roman.
He screams for their daughter with the same amount of heartbreak. Heartbreak that’s extrapolated and explosive at the sight of fireman rushing out of the house. Three, the one in front, holding a small body against his massive frame.
Macy.
He’s holding Macy.
Heaven already feels like she can’t fucking breathe, but existing amongst this earth, something that should be organic and natural, is yet another impossibility when the first responder rushes her daughter over to the EMS workers.
When Macy is laid on the ground, Heaven and Roman both fighting and desperate to get to her, screaming her name to only be met with silence.
But, it’s only when Heaven realizes what’s being done to her daughter that she nearly collapses to the group.
your baby father doesn't take too kindly to you downloading tinder. nevermind his own girlfriend.
content warning: smuuuut. infidelity. (?) manipulation. toxic relationship.
pairing: toxic!babydaddy!roman x black!ex!reader.
note: condolences to mia cause.... yea. key west will be a nonlinear au/miniseries. requests are open for these two if u wanna send!
The silky fabric of your pink-striped Victoria Secret pajamas catches the heel of your foot as you stride to the front door seconds after the doorbell rings.
You mutter a greeting once the swing of the door reveals a very pristine, put together Roman. Much too formal for such a routine, casual stop. A navy short-sleeve knit polo shirt that stretches to the will of his bulging biceps, pressed black slacks, a thick black Rolex around his wrist topped off with his signature slicked back bun.
Your mouth waters when your eyes land on the brown bag of takeout gripped in his hand from your favorite hole in the wall, Green Turtle.
“Sup.”
You grab the bag from him and close the door when he walks inside and sets his sights on his crawling seven-month-old, Lorelei. He bends at the hip, lifts her into his embrace and smiles once she squeals at the rapid ascend.
You remove the contents of the bag behind the kitchen island while silently watching the interaction between the two. You watch as she repeatedly beats her pudgy palm against his mouth with a coo and how he eats it with every swat.
When he catches your eye, he digs into his pockets and tosses three thick wads of cash each encircled by a rubber band onto the counter. He mentions something about whether or not the security system’s still giving you any issues, that there’s a new one currently in his trunk he brought to install.
You give him an unconvinced look.
Given the nature of the man you’ve grown to know like the back of your hand, you can’t tell if the initiative is out of his genuine inclination to protect you and his baby or his manipulative desire to have you and the house under his constant surveillance at all times. Or, and more likely, a combination of both.
Classifying the relationship you have with your child's father as ‘complicated’ would be an understatement.
You two met at Sunburnt, a tiny surf shack that you own and run with your cousin just off the shore in Key West. He came in one day with his wetsuit peeled to his waist, drenched hair sticking to the skin of his tanned shoulders, chewing a saccharine chunk of gum between his molars and asking about sex wax for his surfboard. If you felt him staring as you showed him around the shack, you didn’t mention it. Instead, you were busy stifling a smile as Namina widened her eyes in swooning jest behind his back across the room. You found out he surfed at the beach on the other side of town, so it was interesting when you started seeing him around the one the shop’s by more often.
By the time he was a regular, you’d learned that he was a child of the ocean inside of a wrestler’s body. He told you he was raised and born in town and whenever he gets a break from the fast life, he comes back to Key West for grounding. That apart from the ring, surfing has his heart.
You quickly learned of his tough disposition. He isn’t as tender, internally or externally, as you’re used to. As you’d like. But he’s action-oriented. Solution-oriented. A protecter. A provider.
He tugs on the edge of your skirt. He pulls on the hemline of your tee. His hand engulfs yours when he holds it. He fucks you straight to sleep. Your name is engraved on the foot of the passenger side of his Camaro. He walks through crowded parties with his palm at your back. He puts dents in men who look your way. You love him.
Eventually, it gets bad.
He starts getting jealous. He tells you to take down certain posts. You’re fighting in public. He doesn't like your friends, calls them hating ass hoes. He tells you they’re in your ear while trying to make a play in his phone. You break up until he lures you into having one last conversation for the sake of closure, and then you’re just skin and flesh in a foggy car again.
Even when you decided to call it quits over his controlling tendencies for good after three years, he couldn't find it in him to exit your life. He’d drop by Sunburnt with a takeout bag from Green Turtle for you during lunch. Whenever he was out of sex wax for his board, he’d come to the shack although there’s a strip of other surf shops and pretend not to be disappointed when you’d pass him over to Namina to assist.
Your pregnancy was the result of a dark night of the soul, so to speak. A temporary lapse in judgment, a moment of weakness. It was months and months after the split and you were feeling touch deprived. He was the solution.
He sits Lorelei atop the island and takes a seat on the stool beside the counter, watches as she takes the guacamole-dipped tortilla chip you hand her and start viciously attacking it.
He furrows his brows at the infant, “she not feeding you or something?”
You smack your teeth, “she’s teething, asshole.”
“Oh.”
As you dig into your respective bowls, your eyes rove around his formal attire once more. “So. What’s the occasion?”
Lorelei babbles and coos.
You watch him swallow a bite and watch it quickly travel down his throat before he washes it down with a bottled water. His eyes never parting from yours, “Mia. She’s having her birthday dinner tonight.”
Your brows raise in acknowledgement, “first public outing a year and a half in. That’s a big step.”
“You counting?”
You feed Lorelei another chip, deciding against dignifying that with a response.
“It’s not a step at all. She’s not my girl.”
“She’s not your friend.”
Mia and Roman were set up by her father, one of Roman’s esteemed mentors within the wrestling business. A woman who comes from a long lineage of old money and extensive influence. Unfortunately, that has no bearings on the explicitly casual and noncommittal attitude he’s always had within his relationship with the woman despite her wishes. Although, there are times in which he undersells their relationships to himself.
You’ve never left the picture. She knows it.
She’s had her sights set on him since you two were together, patiently waiting in the wings for her opportunity. When you left him, she got it. She just didn’t expect the stonewalling. The avoidant attachment.
He had made it clear at the beginning that whatever they had going on was casual. Still, it didn’t any less hurt to find out he’d gotten you pregnant during their situationship. And as quiet as it’s kept, the ceiling for how much she’s willing to tolerate if it means she can keep him is exceptionally high.
You’re so amused at how adorable Lorelei looks with guacamole smeared all over her mouth and cheeks that you grab your phone and snap a picture for safekeeping. You stand and grab a wet wipe from the counter behind you before returning and standing by a seated Roman to quickly show him the picture.
As fate would have it, in the split second it takes for you to unlock the phone and lean it towards him, a match notification from Tinder drops from the top of your screen.
In an effort to play it extremely cool, you quickly lock the phone and tuck it into the pocket of your silk pajama pants.
“What was that.”
You take the baby wipes and clean Lorelei’s face once she begins rubbing her eyes with her fist and start to fuss, quiet.
“Why are you on Tinder?”
Meekly, “I’m a single woman, Roman.”
In a move that sucks a loud gasp out of you, while you have your back to him, he swiftly pickpockets your phone and unlocks it using the date he has tattooed below his collarbone. He opens your notification center and clicks on Tinder and watches as it takes him to your existing conversations, his heart beating out of his chest and his jaw tight. An empty folder of chats except the notifying match reveals a newly installed profile.
“Roman!” You go to snatch your phone from him when he exits Tinder and open the FLO app but your tone startles an already fussy Lorelei and she starts to wail.
He stands up while holding it just out of your reach and you're defeated by the realization that you’re no match for his height and build. You grumble underneath your breath about him being absolutely fucking unbelievable and grab the crying infant before taking her upstairs with an attitude.
In the FLO app, he sees three things: you’ve been having regular periods, you’re currently ovulating, and there’s an absence of little hearts on the days of your monthly calendar. No sex.
By the time he makes it up the stairs, you’re turning off the light switch and inching the door of Lorelei’s bedroom closed. He follows you into your room and extends his palm with your phone on it for you to take. When you go to snatch it, he jerks his hand back and crosses his arms, his tone low and menacing, “so, what? you just needed some dick?”
That has to be it, he realizes. He bought you this house, he sends you money on a weekly basis, he spends two days of the week with his daughter as per your custody agreement, he pays the bills, he makes sure you’re up to date with your maintenance. Why the fuck else would you want another man in his house?
“I’m not doing this with you Roman. I-It’s none of your business.” Except you’re unconvincing because with every word your voice becomes more and more shaky and it has everything to do with the fact that you know he’s historically made everything that concerns your love life his business since your split and the closer he inches towards you, the less space you have between the door and your back. Except the way he’s looking at you is all too familiar and it lets one butterfly loose in your stomach.
Before you know it, your eyes are fluttered shut because he’s nosing at your sensitive neck and biting at your hot earlobe and the silk of your pajama pants are air thin against the bulge under his slacks. You murmur at him to move and pitifully try to distract him with reminders that he has somewhere to be but you never once tell him to stop as he slides his big hands under your sleek button-up top to grope the swells of your breasts.
He sucks red bruises into your neck as you pant and whimper, rolls your nipples between his fingers, and grumbles about deleting that shit and him being right here into your earuntil a puddle forms in the gusset of your panties.
He detaches his mouth and takes his hands out of your shirt.
His voice booms, “get on the bed.”
You swallow before slowly getting on and laying on the foot of the bed.
He digs his phone out from his pockets and fumbles with it for a second until vulgar audio begins to expel from it. When you pick it up and view it at eye-level after he tosses it on the bedspread, your core clamps down around nothing. It’s a depraved old home video of you where you assume the back of the phone is being supported by a stray pillow. The only thing in the frame is a side-profile close up of your torso-and-up while on all fours except your belly is flat against the mattress and you’re hugging onto a pillow for dear life. He’s out the frame, but he’s behind you. You watch as your body jolts with every thrust, your hooded eyes glued on the camera right as you cream on his dick with your bottom lip rolled into your mouth, only the whites of your eyes visible.
In the heat of your trance, you don’t notice he’s at the foot of the bed until he’s pushing your knees to your chest and his solid length is deliciously rubbing against your now pulsing core.
“Who else gonna make you feel like that? Like this?”
Your hooded eyes flicker from the video recording to his, your pelvis mindlessly starting to roll against his. He smirks. Thank God you’re ovulating.
You raise your hips to assist when he peels your pants off and arch your back when he tugs your panties to the side with one finger. He attaches his mouth to your swollen clit with his hands pushing your knees to your chest. He sucks with a force that lights a subtle flame at the center of your stomach and weakens the muscle in your upper thighs.
“Fuckkkk.” It feels so good.
You can feel the combination of his saliva and your arousal drooling into the crevice of your ass and making a mess of your duvet. He eats until your torso quivers and the second you try to writhe away, he pulls back and slaps your drooling cunt. Two intimidating pools of black overcast by furrowed eyebrows and offset by a pink, shiny mouth, “stop.” His hands wrap around your hips and tug your body back down before reattaching.
Your eyes roll back and you cry out when he hits your special spot with his two fingers and rubs rough figure eights onto your clit with his other hand, “this is what you wanted. You wanted me to see that. That’s why you showed me, right?” You’re too dazed to answer, but the implication makes your pussy clench around his fingers. “Yeah. I know. I always do.”
And when he calls you a slut and tells you that you were just too fucking polite to tell him to cancel his plans and give you some dick, you’re whining and fumbling at his zipper until he catches on.
He tosses you over until you’re on all fours and strips until every one of his articles of clothing are in a puddle on the floor. He barks an order for you to put him in when you feel his thick and hot shaft against the flesh of your supple ass. With your face against the duvet, you reach under your body and between your legs to grip him in your hand. He groans when you spare him a couple strokes before tucking him against the wet folds of your pussy to lubricate him.
You both exhale out a sigh when he slowly sinks into you. It’s been so long and he’s still so big. You ball the duvet in your hands when he finds a solid, delicious pace, “fffff. Mmm.”
He’s transfixed by the filthy image of him sliding in and out of your hole. You’re already fucking creaming. All that can be heard in the room is him pounding into your little pussy, wet flesh, the creaking of the bed, and your pitiful moans. He leans over your arched back to push on the nape of your neck, “tell daddy this is what you wanted.”
The harsher angle that ensures there’s no space between your pelvis shoves you deeper into the duvet with a yelp. “This… this is what I wanted, daddy. Oh god.” Your mouth parts with a whimper when stops thrusting and just gyrates his hips against yours— his fat dick massaging your sweet spot.
His stomach clenches and he bellows a deep groan when you reach under you to knead the full balls slapping your clit. He’s obsessed. You’re his. Nobody else can have you, “you like that big dick inside you don’t you baby? Daddy making that little pussy feel good?”
You nod with your face against the duvet, “s-so good. Daddy’s gonna make me come.”
“Mm. Rub that little creamy pussy and come all over your Daddy’s dick then.”
You move your fingers from his balls and start rubbing your clit as he pounds you hard into the mattress. When you orgasm, you clench the sheets in your fists as you see stars and cry out into the duvet.
He slows to a stop and slowly pulls out. He chuckles when your body collapses onto the comforter, your legs quivering in aftershocks.
You feel yourself being lifted and loosely realize that you're now at the center of the bed. He crawls on after you and between your legs. In a particularly vulnerable moment, after he tucks the duvet over both of your bodies and you're floating back down from your high, you lock your lips with his in a sultry but passionate kiss. It’s long and sloshes the waves in your belly in all sorts of directions. He presses your knees into your chest and raises his torso so the duvet is curtains over his towering, elevated body before sinking back into your sodden cunt.
You’re staring at each other with parted mouthes and hooded eyes, groaning and moaning as your glares flicker from your squelching cores to one another. You tell him you love him, he tells you he loves you too. You wrap both wrists around the forearms keeping your knees pinned to your chest under the comforter, lost in pleasure.
It’s 9:45PM when his phone rings. You shake your head and pout as your body jolts with each thrust. He answers, places it on speaker, and tosses the phone on the bed.
“Roman…? You’re like half an hour late. Everyone’s here and they’re asking about you... where are you?”
He halts thrusting and lets a string of saliva slowly ooze from his tongue and onto your clit. With your brows furrowed, you take one hand off his forearm to rub his spit onto your sweet button, “I told you I was going to stop by Y/N’s to see my little girl, Mia. You know I only get her for two days out the week.”
There’s a look of realization in his when you two lock eyes after you cover your mouth with your palm. His dick found your sweet spot. You try your best to remain mute as to not notify Mia of whats really happening on the other side of the phone but he just feels so good inside of you. As fucked up as it is, him doing this to you while having her on speaker just makes your pussy pulse around his dick that much harder, “I know… but I just thought since we made plans…”
The sensation of your clenching core around his cream-covered dick forces him to stare at the ceiling with a dropped-jaw as to not come too early. He takes a second too long to respond, “A… Am I expected to just neglect my responsibilities when my family needs me? That’s the kinda man you need me to be? That’s… that’s ridiculous.”
Too quietly for Mia to pick up on, little sprinkles of yes yes yes drift from your mouth when his hips start slapping against yours. You’re about to lose it. One hand rubs your clit, the other slides under your button-up to grope your breast as he massages your sweet spot with every thrust of his fat dick. You’re moaning and panting with your eyes fluttered shut. The image alone is enough to makes his balls swell. You’re right where you’re supposed to be. Under him.
“No, no, no. I don’t want you to think that. I just… no, you're right. I guess it isn’t always black and white. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ll call you later.”
A second after he hangs up, he starts thrusting harder. “You liked that didn’t you? You like almost coming on Daddy’s dick with her on the phone?” He smirks when you nod sheepishly, your lips rolled into your mouth. He knows you inside and out. Your kinks, what gets you going. He calls you a nasty little slut, tells you that you almost made him bust all inside you until you’re whimpering and telling him you’re close.
“Tell me who you’re gonna call next time you want to be a slut.”
The bedsprings creak and duvet rustles as you quicken your pace on your clit when you feel your peak creeping up on you, “o-oh god. Fffffuck. You. Gonna call you. I promise Daddy. Only Y.. you.”
With his bottom lip bitten between his teeth, he pounds himself into your wet little pussy until your watering eyes see white. Your siphoning muscle clamps down so hard on his dick, it catapults his own orgasm. The groan he lets out when he shoves himself as far as he can, stops thrusting, before nutting inside you in ropes is primal.
Your body continues to jolt in aftershocks as he lowers your knees from your chest to lay flat on the mattress with him still inside you. Both still panting, you slowly wrap your legs around his waist and your arm around his neck, “mmm”
Eventually, he lays on his back and you lay on his chest. You spend the next hour catching your breath and sweet-talking each other with your cunt still a mess of his come until you fall asleep.
With your head tucked into his chest, he reaches for your phone on the nightstand. He unlocks it, goes to your Tinder account settings, and deactivates your account.
♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 | ⇢ There’s a thin line between love and hate. If only the damn thing wasn’t so hard to see sometimes. (read part one HERE)
♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 | ⇢ 18+ ONLY || MDNI || ONESHOT — angst and smut.
♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 | ⇢ 8k+
♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 | ⇢ so so sorry for delay in posting this!!! it's literally been done all this time. i just suck. that's all. inspired by this post from @shugamama 💖
♡ — 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 | ❝fire on fire❞ by sam smith (if you wanna see/listen to the playlist i made while writing it, because i’m an extra ass bitch, click here)
♡ — 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓 ⇢ graphics and dividers made by me.
March 4th, 2021
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Do I look like the type of man to kid?”
My eyes gloss over him as he sits on the sofa opposite mine, legs spread, thighs stretching against the dark grey sweats, similair to how his arms fight against another two sizes too small shirt. Or, maybe it’s just him.
Maybe he’s just too big.
Just like his dick.
“Clear eyes. Full Hearts. Can’t lose,” I say while sitting up to sit on my knees, pushing back frizzy curls behind my ears. But, he continues to look at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language, and maybe I am. “You mean to tell me you played football almost your whole life and you’ve never seen Friday Night Lights?”
“The movie?”
“No. The show.”
“There was a show?”
I reach for the decorative pillow and allow it to swallow my loud ass groan, my voice muffled as I insult, “you have no culture.”
Dropping said pillow allows me to see the moment he rolls his eyes. “You were watching it. I was living it.”
Fair.
But, again, I can’t give him any ammunition.
“Well, I’m gonna make you watch it.”
He frowns. “What?”
“You heard me.” I shift once again on the sofa, sitting so that my legs are crossed, snatching my phone off the nice ass coffee table of his hotel suite. “It’s on Netflix.”
“I don’t care.”
Completely ignoring him, I continue to explain just why he should and is going to watch said show. “I think you’d like it. Just know Julie never gets better. Always an insufferable bitch. The Becky hate is 100% unnecessary, and Tyra and Tim? Spirit animals.”
Though my focus is on my phone as I open up my Netflix to double check it’s still there, as those sneaky bastards love to take stuff off in the middle of the night, I can feel his continued, uninterested gaze on me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You will once you watch it.”
“I’m not—”
“What else are we gonna do when we’re stuck on your nice ass but boring ass bus for hours?”
I will say that being on the road with him for almost a month now has taught me a lot. Informed mr of my ignorance in some areas, like how this shit is hard. We’re never in one place for too long, always on the go to the next thing. It’s like constantly and always being on. Including the man across from me.
I must say, while I still find him insufferable and struggle with daily (hourly) homicidal urges at it pertains to him, I can admit he takes great pride in what he does, often disappearing or staying in his locker room either alone or with the Wise Man as he prepares for promos and matches.
And the matches.
I’ll also be the first to admit I’ve always seen this wrestling shit as nothing but violent reality TV, a fabrication and depiction of the scripted and planned, and maybe it is, to a certain extent. But, there’s nothing fake about the sometimes nasty bruises, hematomas, and scars I’ve seen him walk out of the ring with following those violent encounters.
That shit hurts, and there’s nothing that can be scripted or fake about that.
It’s in thinking about said memories of him groaning loudly as he ices his sore body that makes me ask.
“What made you go into wrestling anyways?” I make a clicking sound with my teeth, shrugging while closing up the app. “I mean, if you played football for most of your life, why pivot?”
Except the minute I lift my head to look over at him, the confused, lost demeanor is traded for something else, another new discovery but also not. He looks irritated, yes, but….but something else.
Bothered.
He looks….bothered.
He doesn’t say anything else after that, and as someone who hates being ignored, it has me tempted to call him out on the shit. But, something….something tells me not to.
Something….something tells me that I’ve hit a nerve.
But, how?
More importantly, what?
———————
March 9th, 2021
I find out a few days later.
Not intentional and not even from him, but his cousin. A conversation between us as Roman rested in the back, sleeping in longer than he typically does. Something I’ve noticed in my time spent on the road with him happens more than I initially realized or picked up on. The mornings where it takes him longer to get out of bed, the way he drags his feet, seems like he’s fighting for his life to make it to the ring on Friday nights and house shows. How he almost taps out the minute we make it back on the bus or in the hotel room.
I chalked it up to the fact that just because he looks like a Norse or Greek God doesn’t mean that he is one.
And, I was right.
But, it’s more than that.
I can immediately tell when Jey accidentally lets it slip that he just assumed I knew. Not sure why. That quick Google search and stalking of his Wiki article didn’t mention it, and if Wiki doesn’t have it, it must not be true.
He’s not open with it, and I can understand why. Truth be told, it’s no one’s damn business.
Not even mine.
Which is why I hate knowing and never let him know that I know. Do my best to remain the same, continuing to fight urges to smother him in his sleep most nights. But, I can’t act like it doesn’t change how I see him. Doesn’t change my perception of him as being this arrogant, unfeeling asshole, and maybe some parts of that are true.
Maybe it’s all true.
But, maybe it’s for good reason, too.
Sometimes, we are not the ones who take life by the reins. Sometimes, we are simply byproducts. I would know that better than anyone.
There’s a sense of admiration almost, a strain of that maybe being a better term. It feels weird calling what I feel towards him—outside of the disdain—my being impressed. That shouldn’t be something to be impressed by, because to me, there are positive connotations to the word impressed. And, there’s nothing positive about what he’s dealt with. Twice now. And, even more, something he’ll have to live with for the rest of his life.
Something that, I’m pretty sure, contributed to, if not was the sole reason that his football career ended. The section in his Wikipedia didn’t give much information on that part of his life, just that it was over before it could really start post college.
I think I now know why.
Know why he shut down the day he did when I asked about it, completely ignorant and unaware of the probably painful emotions attached to that question. To a past that stays, lingers, never to fully leave, always beside you, ready and waiting to infiltrate. To interfere.
Again, in some ways, I can understand.
Can relate.
My now knowing also changes up some of my conversations with my family. Less dragging and expressions of the great bodily harm I always wished on him when I spoke to my twin. Almost zero complaints when I check in with my dad. Not that I’d been completely honest about my unhappiness in the first place.
He’s already worried enough about me over the years.
No need to keep adding onto that.
I just know that later that week when we’re walking out after the show and he does the usual grab of my hand before the door opens and we’re bombarded with flashing lights and the group of fans who stay afterwards for the chance of an impromptu meet and greet, I don’t feel that usual need to shove him away.
I just tighten my hand around his.
———————
March 9th, 2021
“You’re nothing like your Instagram page.” Adding more items to the cart for Fido is briefly paused as I look not across the room where the sofa remains empty but up and to the right. To the man whose big body I’m leaned against, my legs stretched across the sofa, his right arm propped across the top of the sofa.
I’m not sure when exactly we started sitting so close to each other outside of forced interactions, but….ya know, I’m just going with it.
Until I’m not.
“What?”
His answer is to share his screen with me, that annoying ass, bright ass iPhone screen briefly blinding me, my wide rimmed glasses protecting my eyes.
I bring my hand to cover my face, scowling and muttering, “turn the brightness down, Caesar.”
A deep chuckle as he shifts the phone, following my direction and instead of showcasing, hands it to me.
I immediately drop my phone onto my lap, once again looking over at him, this time with narrowed eyes. “How the hell did you find my Instagram, you bodybuilder looking ass stalker?”
He's quick to snatch his phone back, as he sucks his teeth. “You DM’d me first, Smartass. Remember?”
Oh.
That….that would be correct.
“Allegedly.”
He shakes his head, elaborating on his initial address, the TV across from us playing whatever. I don’t think either of us have paid much attention. No desire, really. It’s been a long day, including a couple promos and a particularly longer match than normal for him.
I know he’s gotta be tired, which is why I’m partially curious why he’s not in bed instead of sitting here with me as I buy more stuff for Fido and have it shipped to my house.
My poor dad is gonna have a room full of packages for me when I get back home.
“Seriously. You act…..different on there.”
It’s an understandable description. Accurate, too. “Yeah, well, as you can see, I don’t have a lot of followers, and my page is private, so….” I start to ask him just how the hell he became one of those less than 100 followers, cause I damn sure don’t remember approving him, but I guess that’s not really relevant at this moment in time. “I like makeup and….beauty and shit.”
His expression is one of surprise. “Really?”
Nodding and somehow leaning more into him, toying with the hem of my shirt accompanies more uncharacteristic, below the surface level sharing. “It’s just….sharing that with the masses is….weird to me. Like, I can do it on there. Fine. Sure. Because it’s a controlled setting, but trying to do more than that….no.”
“You mean like making it into a career?”
I nod, chuckling quietly. “Content creating is what the kids call it these days. I think.”
Whatever it is, just the thought of it is terrifying as fuck. My Instagram page, as he pointed out, consists mostly of selfies that show off makeup looks I’ve done on myself, my sisters, and like….the three friends I actually have. But, it’s mostly just me. Happy. Smiling. Even a little transition or two. And, that’s okay, because I know who’s watching and who has access to watch. To see that other side of me, I suppose.
The side that….that doesn’t have to worry about what people think of her. That doesn’t care what people think.
Because quiet as it’s kept…..as much as I do hate a lot of people, there’s something else there.
A lot, actually.
“Well, you should do it, then.”
Ahh, the naivety of the rich and famous. “You make it sound so easy.” And, maybe some aspects of it aren’t the hardest, but the most important parts, for me, are just that. Thee hardest. “Plus, I’ll fuck around and end up catching federal charges for making terroristic threats after cussing people out in the comments.”
Granted, that’s assuming I get any comments in the first place.
“Yeah, well, you’d have to work on your fucking anger management problem first.”
A gasp as I sit up, now on my knees, glaring. “First of all, only the third therapist I made quit as a kid said I had anger problems. The other two were on my side.”
“They were probably scared of you.”
“I may have issued a threat or two.” They deserved it though. Calling me out and shit like that. Highlighting and pointing out the layers behind my anger. So uncalled for. “And, you’re one to talk, you literally bully people for a living. On and off screen.”
“Yup.”
“And, it doesn’t bother you?”
He rolls his neck, shrugging and dismissing. “Nope.”
“Men.” I scoff, hand dropping to my stomach as my face morphs into something that must give away the way I feel.
He flicks his gaze over me, warm eyes remaining on my stomach longer than usual. “Is it….”
A nod and confirmation. “Nausea. It’s normal for this trimester though. Hopefully it lets up soon, cause the shit ain’t it.” I’m sure it could always be worse though. Ravenna was damn near bedridden at one point with all her pregnancies. Her morning sickness was just that bad. So far, I just have the usual and normal amount of symptoms.
Hopefully it stays that way.
“You’re two months now, right?”
Rubbing my stomach is ceased in favor of looking up at him.
He’s keeping up with that?
“Uhhh,” I have to shake my head, reorienting myself for that curveball he just threw. “Yeah, as of—”
“Yesterday,” he finishes.
Fuck.
“You started thinking of names yet?”
And the hits keep coming.
I have. Truth be told, I’ve had the names picked out for my kids since I was twenty five. Two. No more than that. I’m not tryna be like my sister. After Fido 2, they can scoop this ovary, uterus, and everything else out of me.
“Yes.” It’s a quiet answer, much too quiet for my liking. Gives too much away. Like, the fact he’s got me sitting here confused as all outdoors, wondering where these questions are even coming from. Why they’re coming in the first place.
And, why I’m waiting for him to ask me to elaborate. To share.
He doesn’t.
But, that’s not even the weirdest part.
No….that would be the fact that I….I kinda wanted him to.
March 17th, 2021
I should be used to it. It’s the same thing every year. Has been for almost thirty years now, and yet, every time it rolls around, I feel it. The increased snippiness of my replies, curt answers to what are otherwise normal questions. The desire to be alone.
I don’t plan to accompany Roman to the show this Friday. It’ll be easy enough to makeup some excuse about not feeling well. Morning sickness, which might not be a lie, as it’s been kicking my ass a bit the past two weeks.
But, in a weird sort of way, I welcome it. It reminds me that Fido is still in there. Still going and growing strong.
Hasn’t left.
Unlike her.
“Why do you wanna do this anyway?”
It’s asked of me a few hours later as we sit on his tour bus, traveling to insert any name place, the TV playing across from us. Season 1, Episode 13 of Friday Night Lights.
“Do what?” I ask, sticking my big ass spoon in the carton of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, something that I’m about to run out of and make a mental note to remind him I’m gonna need to stock up on again soon.
“Have the baby.”
I look over at him, once again across from me, undivided attention on me as I sit, cross legged, one his shirts draped over my body, slipping off my right shoulder. The cotton of my sweats absorbing the chilliness of the carton in hand.
And, I just look at him.
It’s a….question.
One that, one some level, I want to ignore. But, I also want to cuss at him for even asking and in that same breath understand why he would want to know.
Has some level of right to know.
All of that is true, sure, but it doesn’t explain just why I answer the way I do.
“I—uhhh, I’ve never really been good at much.” The focus is back on the carton, spoon swirling atop the still hardened but gradually softening layer. “Never higher than a B or C student. Constantly had my dad being called to the office in elementary school, almost flunked out of middle school, and I still have no idea how I finished high school. But, I did. And, I guess that’s why I tried to give college a try, though I didn’t make it past the first semester before I dropped out.” I shrug, small, inauthentic smile on my face. “But, my sisters? Especially Ravenna, my twin. She was always good at everything. There’s nothing she ever did she wasn’t good at. Cheer captain. Student Body President. Class president. You name it, she was it. Meanwhile I failed at every sport, hobby, and anything else you can think of.” The most humorless smile as I look to the left of me, met with the darkness of the bus where the low lighting near us doesn’t reach.
A darkness that mimics what I feel in approach of the next topic that, for the life of me, I don’t know why I’m sharing.
“Today makes fifteen years since I last saw my mom.” A whispered confession, memories flooding in. The constant promises to do better, to get better accompanied by glassy eyes and slurred speech. Sometimes with tears that outweighed my own. Promise after promise. Missed visit after missed visit. The best fucking day ever followed by weeks of radio silence. Until finally, at age fourteen, I told her, if she couldn’t stay, I didn’t want her to come.
That was the last time we spoke.
“She uh—she was never really there for me and my sister, ya know?” Kiara, my older half-sister, never suffered or had the experiences my twin and I did. Her mother passed away during childbirth. I think it’s why we’ve never had the closest relationship. She doesn’t understand why I act as though my mom is dead when she’d give anything for hers not to be. The classic case of which is worst.
To have loved and lost. Or, to have never loved at all.
I still don’t have the answer.
“And, I always….always said if there was one thing I was going to do, it’s be a mom. Be the best mom ever and give my kid what I never got.” I flick at the letters on the carton, cracking a small, wry smile. “Not even in that weird I’m gonna use my child to heal me sort of way. Just…giving a child what I never got.” The swallow accompanied by the crack in my voice is all I need to know to wipe at my eyes as I nod to myself. “Like, I said, I’m not good at a lot of things. But, this? This, I…..I know I can do. I know I can be.”
I’ve read every parenting book, watched all the movies, worked my ass off since dropping out of college and completing beauty school yet doing nothing with it, all while saving up every penny. I have a stable job that I’ve held for the past five years. Have a nice savings account. Enough for at least a years worth of mortgage payments while still retaining a decent rainy day fund even after the fact.
I have everything I need to give my baby everything I never got from a maternal standpoint. My dad is my everything, but he could never give me everything a mom could. He stuck around and broke his back to take care of us, and I could never repay him for all he’s done and means to me.
Cause, at the end of the day, he stayed.
She left.
That’s why when I told her what I did that day, and day by day, week by week, month by month that passed with no sign of her, I made myself a promise.
Promised that I would never allow myself to get close to anyone else, because at the end of the day, people always leave.
That’s just the way it is.
But, not me. Not with my baby.
I’ll always be there for my kid.
Always.
—————————
March 22nd, 2021
It seems like I need to stop being so surprised every time something unexpected happens. At least when it comes to him.
Roman.
But, I’m having a hard time not being surprised.
I’m….I’m actually having a hard time with a couple of other things, but that’s neither here nor there.
Granted, I think anyone would be in my situation with the latest development.
His request.
The request to accompany me to my latest OB-GYN appointment.
The request I said yes to.
A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts as I’m met with the smiling face of the same lady doctor I’ve had since I was fifteen, pimple faced, and terrified at the thought of anyone seeing my vagina for the first time.
Oh, how things change.
Except, her attention soon shifts from where I lay on the bed, shirt pulled up to expose my still-not-showing stomach to the large ass man besides me.
Her mouth forms into the shape of the same word that eventually leaves her mouth. “Oh.”
“He’s the Uber driver.”
“Ravina.”
“He’s demanding a $50 tip. Call for help.”
Dr. Willis chuckles, closing the door behind her, tablet to her chest. “Some things never change, huh, kiddo?”
Roman ignores me, offering his hand and name as they exchange pleasantries. If she knows who he is, which she probably does, she’s the perfect actress, continuing on as she normally wound, asking the normal questions abut symptoms, developments, so and so forth. It’s fine. The appointment proceeds as normal, until it doesn’t, because this fucking man next to me just has to chime in.
“That is so not true.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose as my eyes temporarily shift to his arms. I swear his ass gets bigger and bigger every day. “That’s literally what you said, Ravina.”
“And now you’re mansplaining me?”
Pet Peeve #51
Mansplaining
“What the fuck are you even talking about?”
“Don’t use that language in front of my lady doctor, you fucking indignant.” I sit up on my elbows, eyes narrowed on the man that probably has my blood pressure skyrocketing with each irritating ass thing that comes out of his irritating ass mouth. “That is your problem. You don’t listen.”
At that, he looks at me, eyes slightly widened, gesturing to himself. “I don’t listen? You’re like a goddamn child every time someone says something you don’t agree with.”
“Well, they, and by they, I mean you, should stop saying things I don’t agree with!” It’s really that simple. “Besides, I am with child, so I have an—”
I stop, and so does he, both of our attentions no longer focused on each other in this game of who can piss off each other more and to my stomach where Dr. Willis managed to not only place the gel but to maneuver the transducer around.
Which leads our gazes to the other thing.
The screen.
A screen that shows shades of gray. Dark and hard to make out. A blob in many ways. But, it’s not the blob that has my attention—our attention—it’s the sound.
My chest is tight, mouth suddenly dry, the words hard to string together. Words that he manages, though I don’t recall hearing him ever sound so….quiet.
“Is…..is that…..”
She nods, locs moving from the subtle motion, warm smile on her face as she looks between the two of us. “That would be your baby’s heartbeat.”
—————
April 2nd, 2021
Something….something has changed.
With myself. With him.
With us. Ever since we heard it, heard our baby’s heartbeat for the first time, there’s been this….thing between us.
I don’t know what it is. Don’t even know how to begin to describe it even if I wanted to. I just know I feel it. I also know what I don’t feel.
I can’t remember the last time we had a serious argument, and Lord knows those things happened damn near every day when I first joined him on the road. We talk more than we already do, which is saying something considering I hadn’t even realized just how much we do talk. He’s stayed at the top of my recent messages and phone calls the past few weeks, especially since then.
Watching him from behind the scenes is followed up with a strange feeling of excitement when he finally comes back, either after promo or fighting, me waiting with a towel. Him taking my hand and bringing me to the locker room, waiting on the sofa as he washes up and changes so we can leave. I stay by his side from the moment we arrive and am right back in place as we leave.
Sharing hotel suites was already happening prior to my last checkup appointment, but lately…lately he’s not in the other bedroom. He’s in mine, or I’m in his. I’ve fallen asleep on his chest and wake up to the sound of his light, steady breathing in my ear as he holds me from behind.
Sometimes….sometimes when I wake up before him, I turn in his embrace, turn so I’m facing him, and I stare. My index finger lightly tracing the outline of his lips, traveling down the bridge of his nose, the apples of his cheeks, each stroke making my chest tighten and stomach flutter.
Neither of which have anything to do with the child growing in my belly.
The child we created.
A child that now feels so much realer than I realized.
I knew I was pregnant. Obviously. Ten million things have occurred since the night of conception to confirm as such, but hearing it….hearing the heartbeat of my baby, it’s done something to me.
Did something to him, too.
It’s all so…..different and strange, and I don’t even know what it is, but I know he has to feel it, too. The shift.
If only the thought of addressing it didn’t scare the living shit out of me.
Like….like doing so will ruin things.
Ruin us.
Funny thing though…..
I never realized there was an us to begin with.
—————
April 11th, 2021
His hand shifts to the back of my thigh, holding up my leg against his waist at the same moment my mouth drops open, head leaned back against the pillow. My fingers are lost within the silky locs of his hair, his head buried in the crook of my neck, soft lips pressed against my skin, slick with sweat, burning with the same level and amount of passion that fills the room.
He thrusts inside of me with that same level of fervent need, steady but deep, not rushed and animalistic like the first time we had sex. Where it was nothing more than frustration that manifested in two strangers who didn’t know each other from a can of paint but decided that they would be each other’s outlet.
If only we knew what it would all lead to.
My whimpers echo against the shell of his ear as my hands move down his back, under the soft sheets, partially damp from the heat of our bodies, gripping his ass as he moves inside of me, filling me in a way no man ever has. Making me feel a way no one else has. His name tumbles out of my mouth, breathy and needy, as he once more uses his grip on my thigh to tug me into him, making me meet him thrust for thrust.
My name is soon on the tip of his mouth, muffled into my neck, the sound somehow one of the best and most soothing things I’ve heard all day. Felt in some time.
Lips to his temple, he lifts his head, forehead against mine, his hands lifting to pin mine on either side of my head, against the soft set of pillows as he kisses me, deepening the loss that I find in him. Loss of fear. Loss of fright. Loss of the unknown. It all still exists, but in this moment, with him, it’s inconsequential. I breathe into his mouth, breaking our kiss as he adjusts the angle of his thrusts, deepening his reach.
A shaky, deep exhale as he breaks said kiss, forehead against mine. My eyes start to flutter shut when I see it, see how his gaze drops to between us, the sight of him moving inside of me one that could be seen for what it is. Erotic. Sensual. Salacious.
But, that’s not what he’s looking at. I don’t know how I know, but I do. It’s on the slight curve of my stomach, the way it extends out, both creating a bridge and gap between us.
In more ways than one.
I don’t know how we got here.
Tonight was supposed to be about him, and it was. Night two of WrestleMania 37. Where I watched him, from my private box courtesy of him, main event, successfully defending his titles against two of the best in the business. Waited for him afterwards. Not thinking. Just feeling. Jumping in his arms. Kissing him. Fully aware of the people watching. Cameras snapping.
It wasn’t for them.
Not at all.
Maybe that was it. The thing that ignited what eventually resulted in this. Clothes shed across this hotel room, his body moving against and with mine in a way I swore would never happen again. I swore a lot of things though. Have sworn off even more, and none of it seems to have made a difference.
Most of it….most of it doesn’t even feel right anymore.
But, this….the way he’s looking at me, the way he’s holding me, being with him, I’m not sure anything has ever felt more right.
—————
April 12th, 2021
She’s not what I was expecting.
Not in the slightest. I expected exactly what I perceived from our first meeting. Strong-willed, stubborn, difficult as hell.
And, she is all of those things, but she’s so much more.
She’s passionate and dedicated and loyal and unintentionally hilarious even when she’s 100% serious. She is her own person regardless of what anyone thinks, and while that’s made for some tense, heated interactions between us over the past few months, I can’t deny the shift.
I’d like to say it happened the day I accompanied her to her OB-GYN appointment, but that would be a lie. It was a catalyst, sure, but the tides started shifting well before that.
Thinking of her, at one point, gave me the biggest fucking headache. Any forced interactions things I counted down the minutes until they ended. Frustration at an all time high every time she opened up her smartass mouth, but along the way, dynamics started to change.
She still aggravated me unlike anyone else ever has, but arguments started turning into conversations, and these interactions that I once dreaded because moments that I appreciated.
Enjoyed, even.
Learning that beyond that rough, caustic exterior, there’s a person there that presents with layers I found myself gradually peeling back without even realizing I was doing so.
The same way she started to peel back mine.
Similairties, even.
I don’t fuck with a lot of people. Never have.
Neither does she.
My relationship with my parents is….complicated, to say the least.
Cards sent out on the major holidays and birthday texts that have gone unread the past couple years. Nothing beyond that.
Parental trauma, as a therapist once deemed it.
She seems to think the world of her dad, but her mom….definitely something there.
Again, relatable.
Parent….
I still think about the question she asked me day.
“Do you even want kids?”
It’d been asked before, but not very often, and the answer was always the same. An automatic no. Truth be told, I’ve never really given myself the space to think about such things. To really think about. Maybe because some part of me always imagined that only being a thing for folks who have the traditional white picket fence and “life partner,” signified by a rock on her finger and a band on his. Marriage. Another thing I’d been indifferent to.
Somewhat because I’d yet to ever really connect with or want someone enough to see anything beyond a bedroom or legs up on my shoulder. It’s always been based on the physical aspect of things. Never emotional.
That seemed like a recipe for disaster when you factor in a kid.
So, it was an automatic answer that felt and seemed right.
And, then, like our dynamic, anther shift.
The beginning was easy. Our situation nothing more than a business arrangement. I was helping her in the same way she was helping me, and assuming we didn’t kill each other along the way, it’d be a one and done thing.
But, then my disinterest and indifference started to gradually melt away, questions pressed from places I still don’t understand. About her. About the pregnancy.
About the baby.
Continuing until it reached a point where they weren’t enough. I wanted to see. Experience it for myself, thus asking to attend one of her appointments, completely oblivious to how it would change every fucking thing.
I still hear it. That stranger, unfamiliar rhythmic beat. A heartbeat.
A baby’s heartbeat.
My baby.
And suddenly, it wasn’t just a contract, an arrangement that worked for both. I didn’t know if it worked for her still, but it didn’t work for me.
Something changed entirely, and I didn’t know how or even if it was possible for us to go back.
That day proposed it.
Night 2 of Mania confirmed it.
It’d been building between us since the appointment. That much I know she felt. Shit was suffocating to the point where I couldn’t take it anymore, and neither could she.
The first time we fucked—the night we met—it was nothing more than a physical form of release. She was insanely irritating as fuck, but even with her obstinate ass personality, it didn’t negate the fact I was attracted to her. That she checked off all the boxes when it came to looks, and I didn’t have to like her to fuck her.
It was just a one night stand.
This though….this was the complete opposite.
Truth be told, I’ve never felt something like I felt that night with her. It was more than sex. Deeper than that.
Much…much deeper.
And, it cemented a lot of things for me that’d been confusing as fuck, as she laid sleeping on top of me afterwards, my hand splayed across her stomach the entire, all the while I managed to stop focusing so much on agreements, contracts, and irrelevant shit.
I focused on what I felt.
Even if it freaked the fuck out of me.
It didn’t matter though because doing so provided me with a sense of clarity, cleared up some of the haze around this whole thing.
Allowed me the liberty to finally stop trying to ignore and downplay what couldn’t be dismissed any longer.
I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.
She was partially distant the next day, and I expected as such. It makes all the sense given who she is and what she’s shared about her past.
What I didn’t expect though was for her to be gone.
For her to leave.
And, that’s exactly what she did.
--------------
April 17th, 2021
He’s not what I expected.
Arrogant, condescending, borderline narcissistic, but also….passionate, devoted, and committed.
There’s a man, an almost gentle man, behind the character that is Roman Reigns. There’s just Roman, and when he’s all in, he’s all in. If he cares abut something or someone, he won’t hesitate to stand ten toes down for such thing and such person.
Like myself.
He has a low tolerance for bullshit, and while it made for some….intense arguments between us, at some point, I grew to appreciate it. Appreciate him.
And, that scared the living shit out of me.
It all scares me. The lack of anger and vitriol towards him replaced with something warm, comforting, and…..nice.
Made me feel like I could get used to it. Used to him.
And maybe in some ways, I did.
I have.
It’s why I had to leave.
It was my time to do so anyway. The contract we signed stated I was only required to play my role until the point where the pregnancy couldn’t be concealed anymore, until I started showing, which was predicted to occur around the three to four month mark, and that’s where we were.
I was under no legal obligation to say.
But, that’s not why I left.
Not even a little.
Turning in bed, I rub at my eyes, the skin around dry and cracked. I can’t remember the last time I cried as much I have the past few days. Maybe the day I challenged my mother to love me more than she loved the liquor bottle she could never seem to let go of. The thing that she chose over me.
And, perhaps that’s what fuels the incessant, frequent crying that’s left me more or so bedridden since I returned home.
Because this whole thing has stirred up emotions I haven’t felt in years or perhaps emotions I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years.
Uncomfortable truths that I’ve kept safe and hidden behind the wall I keep around myself—and my heart—with everyone outside of my family.
A wall he’s seemingly found his way around, over, and through.
If only I’d realized it before the fact.
Sniffling, my hand on my stomach, I close my eyes hoping to maybe fall asleep. To find some brief, temporary escape from a reality I didn’t even realize was my reality.
Until it was too late.
But, it’s interrupted by the sound of my doorbell. A sound I fully intend to ignore but realize I shouldn’t. I can’t. It’s either Ravenna or my dad, both of whom, I’m sure, saw right through my forced smile and lying eyes when I said I was fine.
I’ve never felt so not fine.
They’ll surely wait outside that door all day and all night until I open, and they don’t deserve that. My pain cannot become their burden.
It’s why I force myself out of bed, loose pajamas pants dragging onto the floor, my feet shuffling against the carpet, out of my room, down the steps and to the front door. I look down at my tank top, double checking that I indeed have a bra on in the event it’s my dad before unlocking and opening.
It’s not my dad.
Not Ravenna, either.
My mouth is suddenly dry, my hand on the knob tightening, eyes widening slightly. One. Two. Three blinks. The third confirms that I’m not hallucinating. Not seeing things that aren’t there.
Seeing someone who’s not there.
Roman stands on my porch, hoodie over his head, hands stuffed in his pockets, mouth in a deep line, eyes reading as many emotions as I’m sure my own reflect.
“What….what are you….” I’ve never been one to struggle with words, but Goddamnit, I’ve never felt so incapable of something as simple as a question. “You…”
“Can I….can I come in?”
It takes a second for it to register, my body moving to the side to allow him in without truly considering it. He steps in and past me, my eyes shutting at the scent of him and how it takes me back to one of the last times I saw him. He hugged me. Held me. Or, maybe I held him, because I knew it would be the last time.
Thought it would be the last time I would ever see him.
Clearly….clearly I was wrong.
Turning around after locking the door, I’m met with the back of him, watching from behind how he looks around my living room. Still neat and tidy from the deep clean I did before leaving for the rood. My room is another story. My luggage and the few clothes I took out and started to put away spread across the dresser, nightstand, floor, and everywhere else it’s not supposed to be.
Representation of how I’ve felt ever since I landed back home.
“You left.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that. A part of me wants to make a smartass, snide comment, as I typically would. But, I can’t. Can’t bring myself to do so.
Don’t feel like it.
“I did.”
He remains with his back towards me. “Why?”
For many reasons. For all the reasons, but that’s not necessarily something that I want to get into. That I feel emotionally able to get into.
“I did my part,” I whisper, the words never feeling so wrong coming out of my mouth. “I—I did my job.”
It’s the second addition that finally brings him to turn around, gaze remaining the same as it was when I first opened the door.
“We both know it’s more than just that.”
Silence.
I can’t maintain our eye contact, instead deviating to the sofa my dad helped me pay for as a housewarming gift when I first purchased my home two years ago. A sofa I sat on just this morning while sobbing. Similar to what I feel like doing now.
“I’ll sign it.”
And yet, another of just many whiplashes the man only a few feet away has given me in such a short period of time.
I don’t need to ask what he’s referring to. It’s obvious enough, especially when I realize I’d missed he hadn’t come alone.
There’s a manilla envelope tucked under his arm, one he removes and opens pulling out a sheet of paper that even across the way I can recognize through the formatting, words blurred but the sight of which not necessary for me to know.
The initial agreement I’d given him.
“Or, I won’t.”
180: Part Two. My mouth dips into a frown as I blink back the tears I can’t allow to fall in front of him. I can’t remember the last time I actually cried in front of anyone, and I can’t change that now because of him. Especially him. Because if I do, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.
In more ways than just the tears.
It’s why I only have one answer to give him.
That I can give him.
“Sign it.”
I wish I hadn’t turned to look at him as I gave him my answer, because the flash of oscillating emotions clears up so quickly, so instantly, that it’s impossible for me to ignore what I see.
Hurt.
He’s hurt.
But, it doesn’t stop the way he pulls out a pen from his pocket, walking over to my kitchen, using the small island as a hard surface to support the pressure of the pen as he uses it to fulfill his end of the agreement.
He signs it.
The disbelief, I’m sure, is painted across my face as he leaves the paper and the pen on the counter, signed and completed before he’s once again face me. I watch the way his jaw shifts, his lips parting ever so slightly, as if he’s going to say something. As if he wants to say something.
He doesn’t.
He just starts to move towards me, slow, steady steps that, at the last minute, redirect past me. My eyes shut as he stands beside me, my body facing one way, his another. Two souls that intertwined but were never meant to remain.
“Take care of yourself, Ravina.”
I don’t think such words have ever hit me so hard, slam into me in a way I can’t control, can’t maintain.
It all becomes too mouth, the sound of his footsteps heading towards the door, the sight of the single paper that serves as the ultimate form of severance. My heart.
I can’t take it.
“My mom left me.”
The stillness behind me is nothing compared to the hammering thud of my erratic heartbeat. The way I could so easily fall and collapse to the floor from the overwhelming nature of it all as I turn around, his back now towards me. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t even good enough for my own mom to stay, so why even bother letting anyone else get close enough to me?”
A rhetorical question but one that causes him to turn around, the flurry of emotions returning, but one more predominant than the others.
Understanding.
“They’ll just…they’ll just end up leaving, me, too.” Words I’ve never allowed myself to speak aloud for the very reason that’s occurring now. The dismantling and disintegration of my carefully cultivated walls, each step of his towards me another knock and shatter of the foundation. “And so will you.”
A hushed sentiment, my head dropping as I wraps my arms around myself right as he’s in front of me. In my proximity. In my space.
In me.
“Ravina….”
“It won’t wo—”
“Ravina.” No one has ever uttered my name with so much conviction, but he only ups the ante with the way his hands cup my face, forcing my teary gaze back on him. “Just…..just tell me what you want.”
What I want….
So many things. Many of which have never felt attainable or realistic for someone like myself. Not with my inability to connect with anyone.
But, I did.
I have.
I’ve done more than just connect.
Much….much more.
And again, it’s one of the most terrifying things in the fucking world, but it’s not at the top of that list. No….that….that dawned on me the moment he started walking away. This sickening, suffocating feeling that I don’t think I could bear.
I don’t know how to move forward with him.
But, I also don’t know how to move forward without him.
It’s a matter of picking one’s poison, an answer I allow to come not from all of the many, conflicting thoughts circling in my head but what swells in my heart having him in front of me. Near me. With me.
I swallow, lifting my hands to his wrists, gradually lowering his hands as I take three steps backwards, creating distance between us. I can feel his eyes burning into me as I walk to where he stood minutes earlier. A neat, legitimate signature staring back at me, my insurance of the very thing I wanted more than anything just a few months prior.
It’s there. Right there. What I wanted.
The security I needed.
But, maybe….maybe that’s not the security I need after all.
Maybe….maybe it’s something else.
I don’t know for sure, just know that before I realize what’s happening, the paper is in my hands, moving in opposite directions, ripping it into two, the broken pieces floating to the floor.
“I want you to stay.”
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so fucking terrified in the seconds that stretch between my pained, whispered answer and the way he closes the distance between us. My stomach is flipping every which way, my chest contracting and the shaky gasp leaving my mouth when he’s before me again. He cups my face once more, my hands grasping at his hoodie, tugging him closer, as if the physical proximity serves as some form of insurance and security that he won’t move.
That he’ll stay.
Head dipping, my eyes clench shut when he brushes his lips against my forehead.
“Then, I’ll stay.”
It’s hearing him say it, however, that makes it real. Turns something that’s a possibility into a reality. Plants seeds in soil that I’m not even sure is fertile and capable of handling such a risky deposit. Insecurity that I’m certain he can read and see. His right hand swoops behind my back, hand splayed, finger tips gently pressing into my skin as our fronts touch, my bump against his abdomen.
“Ravina….” I lift my head to look at him, the salty taste of my tears sitting on the corner of my mouth as he uses the hand still on my face to brush away the remaining tears. “I’ll stay.”
Repetition has always been the number one recommendation to ensure understanding, but that’s not a universal concept, because words are just that. Verbalizations that spill out of people’s mouths without second thought or actual consideration. People say things because they sound good. Not because they mean it.
That’s just how people are.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he continues. His eyes peer into me, soft, warm brown melting away thick, invisible—so I thought—layers that I’ve worked so hard over the years to build and erect around myself. Defenses that fell at the feet of him the moment he stepped into my home. His hand lowering from my face to my bump evokes a quiet sniffle. “I promise.”
Promise…just another word that lands with no meaning if there’s no action to accompany it.
“I don’t….” Fuck. It’s been forever since I’ve heard myself sound so unsure. Since I’ve felt so unsure. “I don’t know how this is going to work.”
The logistics. The semantics. All of it.
Or, if it’ll even work.
But, he seems completely unbothered, hand moving in a small complete circle over my stomach. “We’ll figure it out.”
I don't know what it is about that confidence, but it's what I need. What helps me wipe at my face and clear my throat, slipping back into that ease of who I am. Who he knows me to be. Who he still wants, regardless.
“I’m not gonna drop my whole life to come follow you around like some groupie. Me nor Fido.”
“Wouldn’t expect you to.”
“And, I’m also not good at this whole relationship thing, either, so don’t expect to make sappy posts about you on social media.”
He chuckles, ushering me into him, my eyes shutting once more as I take in his scent and relax in his embrace that feels like a place I’ve been before. A place I never want to leave. “Damn sure wouldn’t expect that, either.”
“I also still think you’re a narcissistic egomaniac. Just a part time one.”
“And you’re an insufferable smartass who doesn’t know when to shut up.” It’s impossible for me to hold my smile, hidden in the layers of his hoodie, as I tighten my arms around his waist. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
I suck my teeth and peer up at him, glaring when he meets my gaze. “You also better not start doing that annoying thing men do when they—”
“I love you.”
There’s a certain pattern and formula that’s inherent and embedded in every single piece of fiction that depicts some sort of romance. Book. Movie. Show. Whatever. Doesn’t matter the format. There’s always this grand scene that's been eased into via little moments that make you kick your feet or smile to yourself, fingers burning and itching to turn the page or select start next episode.
A moment that’s the result of the tiny, little, precious moments that have built up to this climax, this singular happening that was always going to happen, that needed to happen, because it was always supposed to happen.
I’ve seen that play out countless times over.
I just never thought that it could be my moment.
I don’t know what to feel, how to feel, what to say, or even how to fucking function. I just know that no three words have ever felt or seemed so right until they came from his mouth, his eyes glossing over me like I’m everything right in his life.
The same way he’s everything right in mine.
“127.”
His brows craving and the small grin he’s clearly trying to hold back make me bite down on my bottom lip. “What?”
Licking my lips, my body against his, my life forever entwined with his in the most unexpected of ways, my hand rests over his. Over my stomach. Over my baby.
Over our baby.
“Pet Peeve #127,” I answer, the warmth, the calm, the peace, finally finding it’s final resting place. Our eyes lock once more, the bond sealed, my heart at home. “Making me love you, too.”
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the rumor going around the moms of the hawkins little league team is that coach steve harrington is single. it's a good thing you don’t partake in petty small-town gossip.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: coach!steve, singlemom!reader, established (secret) relationship, piv sex, overstimulation, pleasure-dom!steve, multiple orgasms, prone/headlock+light choking, rough sex, teasing banter, possessive dirty talk, light/pretend jealousy, light degradation, pet names, aftercare, angst abt being a single parent, fluff, brief child's pov, happy ending (6.4k)
𝐚/𝐧: started as dumb smut, somehow ended up with plot and angst. story of my life.
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
The resounding rumor in the Hawkins Little League baseball program—more specifically, among the women who occupy the third row of bleachers at Elm Street Ballpark every Tuesday and Thursday—is that Coach Steve Harrington is single.
Very single.
“There’s just no way,” Sharon McIntyre sighs for the third time this inning. She squints toward the field, shading her eyes with one hand like she might be able to spot a wedding ring from home plate. “I mean, look at him. Nobody looks like that coaching a little league team.”
“I’m telling you, Shar,” Kelly Dunlop chimes in, iced coffee rattling in her hand. “My sister works mornings at the diner. She says he comes in all the time. Always alone. No ring, no girlfriend, nothing. If he had someone, she’d know.”
Across the field, practice is in full swing. Kids swarm the infield, shouting over one another, cleats kicking up clouds of dust. A bright, metallic clang rings through the air, signaling a clean hit. The whole team erupts into cheers as little Johnny Peters takes off for first, freckles flashing beneath his helmet.
You smile, eyes following the chaos fondly.
“God,” Sharon mutters, gaze fixed entirely elsewhere, “I know he’s young, but does he really have to look like that?”
“How old is he, anyway? Twenty?” another mom asks.
You take a slow sip of your coffee, keeping your expression neutral. You’ve gotten very good at that lately.
“It’s the whole authority thing, right?” Kelly says after a pause. “Give a guy a whistle and suddenly—"
“—suddenly he’s attractive,” another mom finishes.
“Well,” Sharon adds, “I think it’s a little more than the whistle.”
A soft ripple of laughter moves down the row.
Just then, the sharp blast of a whistle cuts through the air.
The effect is instantaneous.
It’s like Pavlovian conditioning, the sudden hush that settles over the stands. Conversations drop off mid-sentence. Heads lift in near-perfect unison. Like suburban meerkats sensing a storm, all eyes snap toward the field.
Every mom here knows exactly what that whistle means.
Coach Steve Harrington steps out from the dugout, lips still wrapped around the whistle, hands signaling a time-out as he jogs toward the pitcher’s mound. His cap is pulled low, shades perched on the bridge of his nose. The top two buttons of his Dodger-blue jersey are undone—as usual—revealing tanned collarbones and just the faintest tuft of chest hair.
He calls out a few pointers to the team, then leans over the plate to demonstrate a perfect, controlled swing.
The pivoting motion tugs his shirt upward, flashing a patch of sun-warmed skin at his stomach. It also strains the fabric of his pants, those khakis clinging to his ass in a way that’s a little snug for a public park.
A very un-subtle sigh rolls through the bleachers.
“Jesus,” Sharon mutters. “I mean, that’s just unnecessary.”
“He’s gotta know, right? There’s no way he doesn’t.”
“That shirt’s always like that. Never fully buttoned.”
A chorus of murmured agreement follows.
You press your lips together, managing to school your expression just as you hear a pair of little cleats pounding toward you.
“Mom! Mom!”
Toby skids to a stop in front of you, panting with effort, helmet crooked, knees grass-stained. He wedges himself between your legs and you reach up instinctively, straightening his helmet before it tips again.
“Mom, did ya see me? Did ya see that throw?”
“‘Course I did, honey! You were amazing!”
His grin goes blinding. “Coach Steve said I got way better this week. He said I’m really fast. Like, like, maybe fast enough to be a pro!”
“Yeah?” you smile, brushing a smear of dirt from his cheek. “You’ve been working so hard. I’m so proud of you.”
Toby nods so vigorously his helmet nearly slips again. He takes a quick gulp from the water bottle you hand him, then darts back to the dugout.
Across the field, Steve is crouched near home plate, murmuring low encouragements as he adjusts another kid’s grip on the bat.
After a moment, he straightens.
Flicks his cap off, rolls his shoulders, then lets his eyes roam over the bleachers.
When he finds what he’s looking for, he flashes a quick, casual smile.
From this distance, it’s broad enough to be meant for no one in particular.
And yet.
You look away immediately, pretending to study the condensation sliding down your coffee cup.
“Oh my god,” Kelly whispers beside you. “I think he looked over here. Sharon, was that at you?”
Sharon scoffs, though the corner of her mouth quirks up. “Please. He smiles at everyone.”
“Mm, not like that.”
You keep your gaze fixed firmly on the cup.
⚾︎
“Alright, Cubs! Awesome job today! Make sure to grab all your stuff. I’ll see you back here Tuesday, yeah?”
A chorus of okay, Coach! and bye, Coach Steve! follows.
The bleachers wake up all at once. Moms rise in unison, purses scraping against aluminum, lipstick caps popping open for quick, totally casual touch-ups meant for no one in particular. Kids spill off the field in excited clumps, chatter overlapping as they relive every hit, every near-catch. Toby’s voice cuts through it all, loud and proud as he recounts a grounder he almost snagged.
You’re stuffing a water bottle into your tote when a voice behind you makes you freeze.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
You turn.
Steve stands there, casual as ever, bat slung over his shoulder, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. His jersey’s still hanging half-open, collar darkened with sweat.
“Hi.”
You purse your lips, stifling a smile. “Hi.”
He stares for a beat too long before he shakes himself, clearing his throat.
“Uh—I just wanted to say Toby did really great today. Kid’s a natural. Solid throw, great hustle. And..." his eyes flick briefly toward the chaos of children behind him, voice dropping a notch, “...he actually listens.”
You laugh softly. “That last part’s news to me.”
Steve grins. Takes a step closer.
His voice slides into a familiar cadence you’ve come to recognize, warm and teasing. “So... I heard you might be on snack duty next week.”
You raise a brow. “You did, huh?”
“Yep. And, you know, I run a pretty serious operation here. Snack’s are a very important part of team morale. So I thought maybe we should… discuss our options.”
You can’t hide the smile this time. “Oh? And what exactly were you thinking, Coach?”
“Well…” he leans closer, eyes glinting. “We might need to talk details. You know… what kind of chips to get, how many… make sure everything’s perfect.”
“Mm,” you nod solemnly. “Sounds important. Why don’t I—”
“Mom! Mom!”
Toby barrels toward you, juice box clenched in his hand like a trophy, still buzzing with post-practice adrenaline.
“Mom, can I sleep over at Jackson’s tonight?”
You blink. “Tonight?”
“Yeah! He’s got the new Super Mario game! And, and, he said we can have pizza while we play!”
You glance up to see Jackson’s mom waving from a few yards away, already herding kids toward her van.
“You sure, baby? I made that lasagna you like.”
“Nooo, Mom, please? Everyone’s going.”
You give in with a smile, smoothing his hair back. “Okay. You want me to bring your stuff over?”
“Nope, he’s got extras!”
“Alright. Be good at Mrs. Miller’s, okay? And say thank you.”
“I will!” He vibrates in place just long enough for you to bend down and kiss his cheek.
“Okay, bye Mom! Love you! Bye, Coach Steve! See you next week!”
“Bye, buddy,” Steve waves. “Great job today. Let me know how that game goes, yeah?”
Toby nods furiously before sprinting off.
When you turn back, Steve’s grinning at you.
Hand shoved in his pocket, rocking lightly on his heels.
He's more boyish than ever, looks downright fucking pleased.
“Well,” he starts, tilting his head, “I don’t know about Toby, but…”
He shrugs, eyes flicking to you with warmth and something unmistakably like intent.
“I could definitely go for some lasagna.”
⚾︎
“You know all the—mmph—the moms are... t-talking about you, right?”
Even with your face shoved into the pillow, words muffled, jaw slack and drooling, you know exactly the kind of shit-eating grin that’s hovering behind you.
“Yeah?” His voice comes perfectly level, lazy with a familiar taunt. Like he’s not ramming you within an inch of your life. “What’re they saying?”
“Mm, Shar... Sharon thinks you’re—fuck, Steve!”
There’s no warning, just the sudden crush of his weight shoving you flat onto the mattress, pinning your stomach against the sheets. His hips snap forward, driving all the way to the hilt in one, long thrust, your body jolting up the bed from the sheer force of it.
You let out a strangled yelp, hands flailing back instinctively, scrabbling at his arms, his hips. You squirm desperately for leverage, clawing at the Dodger-blue fabric bunched around his waist, but he pins you easily, weight sinking down like an anchor. A thick forearm comes around to hook under your chin, wrapping around your neck to hold you there.
“She thinks I’m what?” he breathes, lips pressed to your temple.
“She... she...”
He allows you a moment of merciful reprieve, thrusts slowing to a teasing grind, hips rolling in deep, languid circles against your ass.
“Into her,” you manage. “S-she thinks you’re into her.”
“Huh,” he pants, thoughtful. “Mrs. McIntyre?”
You nod weakly as he adjusts his grip around your neck, pressing up until you can feel your own pulse thundering along the column of your throat.
Then, before you can find your next breath, the weight over you lifts, the pressure around your neck releasing. You suck in a long, trembling gulp of air—the first real one in what feels like forever—just as you feel a pair of hands wrap around your hips, flipping you swiftly onto your back.
You hit the pillows with a startled gasp, chest heaving, legs splaying open instinctively.
Your cunt glistens between your thighs, weeping a slow, sticky trail into the sheets. It’s twitching uselessly, clenching around open air as if it could pull him closer.
From between your knees, your man watches.
The late-afternoon sun cuts through the room in slanted gold, draping his body in warmth and shadow. You take him in helplessly, all the familiar lines of him—the sloped planes of his shoulders, thick biceps and a toned chest that melts into the soft curve of his stomach. The pale-white scars that shimmer along his sides, stark and beautiful against flushed skin.
He’s naked except for that blue jersey. Hanging open at the front, hem brushing over his hips. The last two buttons are gone, thanks to your handiwork.
It’s a miracle his shirt’s stayed intact at all, what with the way you were climbing over each other the moment the door slammed shut.
Savage, open-mouthed kisses giving way to ragged gasps as you staggered through your living room, tripping over the ottoman, narrowly avoiding a vase as you dragged each other toward the bed. His dirt-stained khakis discarded mid-stride, he barely managed to tear your clothes off before hauling you onto the mattress.
Predatory.
It’s the only word to describe the way he’s looking at you now, honey-brown eyes darkened with intent, burning hotter than the molten orange sunset bleeding through the curtains behind him.
He takes his sweet time.
Holds your gaze, unblinking, as he shrugs the jersey the rest of the way off, letting it drop away. He raises a hand up to his chest, palm flat, and drags it slow across his skin. Slides it over his ribs, his stomach, the trail of coarse hair running below his navel, reaching down, down, down, until his fingers brush against the sticky patch of curls at his base.
A pleased, knowing smile spreads across his face as he drinks in your reaction.
“Mrs. McIntyre, huh? I had no idea.”
And even this fucked up—dazed and boneless from the way he’s been drilling his cock inside you for the better part of an hour, buried so deep you can feel him in your stomach—a tiny part of you can’t resist pushing back.
Just enough to test him, to see how far he’ll let you go.
“Don’t act like you’re surprised…” you murmur, words slurring. “You were smiling at her today.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then a low, incredulous laugh.
“At her?”
The hand on his stomach moves lower, thumb and four fingers splayed to form a wide ‘V’ as he cradles the imposing monument he calls a cock. The head of it’s all swollen, leaking, skin flushed from friction and glossed all over with your arousal.
“Huh,” he intones mildly, gaze flicking down between your legs, tongue gliding slow across his bottom lip. “Did I make my girl jealous?”
You scoff, pushing weakly against his shoulders as he makes his way back down, boxing you in between his elbows. “You wish, Harrington.”
He laughs under his breath, soft and playful, before he slams his lips against yours in a filthy kiss, tongues clashing until you’re left panting for breath.
Pulls back with a wet smack, eyes hooded, blazing with amusement.
“Sorry, honey,” he breathes, head tipped in mock sympathy. “Had no idea.”
You roll your eyes, instantly betrayed by the tremor in your voice. “I don’t care.”
“Mm,” he smiles, dipping his head to nuzzle your cheek, mouthing along your jaw while he reaches a hand down without looking. “I think you do.”
His cock drags against your inner thigh as he positions himself against your opening.
“And I think,” he adds softly, “you mean Coach Harrington.”
You laugh despite yourself, breathless, feeling him bury a smile of his own against your neck.
“Nice try... ‘m not calling you that in bed.”
“Worth a shot.”
“Uh-huh.”
Your amusement quickly dies on a moan when he nudges the head of his cock against your swollen clit, dragging it down in a slow, wet schlick to your entrance. The pressure makes you clench, whining when he rubs insistently against your folds without pushing in.
“Steve—"
“Shh, I know, baby,” He smooth a warm palm up the inside of your thigh, pushing it back, spreading you wider. “I got you.”
In and in and in, he bottoms out in one stroke, stretching you endlessly until his pelvis is flush against yours. You take him well—pussy warm and slick from earlier rounds—but the weight of him, the sheer girth pressing into you, draws a low whimper from your throat.
“Yeah?” he breathes. “Is that good?
His lips trail soft, lingering kisses across your neck, one hand coming up to smooth your hair back, cradling the top of your head to shield it from bumping against the headboard.
It all runs so counter to the way he’s thrusting—slamming inside in quick, deep thrusts, hitting your g-spot with such merciless accuracy that your eyes prick with tears.
“God,” he huffs, brow furrowed in pleasure, jaw going slack as he starts hitting that rhythm proper, “You have any idea how hard it was to behave today? Couldn’t stop fucking staring at you. Couldn’t... couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
His eyes roam greedily over the fresh trail of bruises he’s already mapped across your body: deep wine-reds that bloom just underneath the skin, running down your neck, your collarbone, the soft underside of your tits.
“You were looking at me too, huh?” he murmurs, already knowing.
Head lolling back against the pillow, you can only nod, too dizzy and breathless to do more.
“Yeah, baby, I know you were,” he coos, dropping his forehead to yours, lips brushing in a slow, teasing ghost of a kiss. “Sitting up there… looking so pretty. Bet you were making a mess out of the bleachers, huh? Getting yourself all wet.”
You groan, arching against him. “Steve—”
“Tell me,” he grunts, voice rough with need. “Tell me how good this feels. Tell me how much you need this cock.”
“I—fuck—I need it. I’s so good. Feels... feels so good.”
He lets out a guttural groan, pressing down harder, pulling you closer.
“Drives me… drives me fucking insane, you know that? Acting all polite out there, ‘Yes, ma’am…’ ‘Oh, he did just great today...’ When all I want—” He draws his hips back, slamming back inside to punctuate his next words “—is this.”
“Fuck, Steve—!”
The pleasure is blinding, a violent flash-bang to the senses that knocks the breath straight out of you. You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping onto his shoulders for dear life as you tip into your third orgasm of the day. He fucks you through it, murmuring praise, hips pistoning so hard it makes the mattress squeak, the headboard rattle.
And even as the high fades, he doesn’t relent. Light, shallow thrusts that leave you whining, twitching, your clit jolting each time he brushes against your tender g-spot.
“Mm…” you squirm, legs trembling against your will. “Steve...”
“Hm?”
“Can’t... ‘s too... too sensitive...”
“Just one more, baby.” He pants, lifting himself up on his hands. The playful edge in his eyes replaced by a look that’s all earnest now, all intent. “Want you to come one more time for me.”
You groan weakly, shaking your head. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he leans in close, nudging his nose against yours, pressing a soft peck to the tip. “Just one more. One more, baby. For me?”
Your response breaks into a loud groan when his hand slides down to your clit, middle and ring finger pressing slow, firm circles across the sensitive nub, making your cunt spasm around him with each pass.
“Come on, honey,” he whispers, voice soft but insistent, almost petulant in its coaxing. “I never get to take my time with you. Never get to have you like this.”
And even in this state, you can’t stop the wet, fucked-out laugh that escapes you. “You... you had me like this two days ago.”
The memory hits in a dizzying haze. He’d invited you over to his place before practice on Tuesday. Fed you a surprisingly excellent omelet first, then wasted no time bending you over the counter, and then the couch, and eventually his bed—both of you panting and laughing by the end of it, scrambling to get dressed once you realized how much time had passed.
“But we were still rushing then,” he counters, and you can’t muster the energy to argue that three and a half rounds don't exactly count as ‘rushing,’ but maybe for Steve Harrington they do.
“Please, baby,” he murmurs, still thrusting gently. “We’ve got all night today. Wanna see how many times I can make you come.”
“Fuck...” you sigh, head tipping back as another shudder rolls through you. You were convinced you’d come up against a wall, but the moment he angles his thrusts upward, fingers continuing their precise, coaxing swipes over your clit, the smoldering tension in your stomach catches kindling.
The high starts climbing back, somehow, sharper and brighter than ever.
“God, you’re so pretty... so fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, driving in a little harder. “Can’t believe you think I’d look at anyone else when I’ve got you.”
You whine weakly at his words, at the way his voice dips on the words I’ve got you, unmistakably possessive yet so bruisingly tender.
“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he mumbles against your lips. “No one gives it to you like this, hm?”
Your response is a trembling, breathless gasp, mouth brushing against his on every thrust, pressed so close it’s impossible to tell when you’re not kissing.
Long, slow, filthy passes of his tongue as he pries your lips open, gliding into your mouth; he craves this point of connection, always. Every sound you make is swallowed eagerly, turned into something shared.
He breaks easiest when you’re this close, when the air between you disappears and his control gives way to raw, aching need. Instinct pulling him toward a singular desire to stay close, to share breath and spit and praise while he takes you.
“Oh... oh my god—Steve, I’m—"
“Yeah, that’s it, honey. Let go, I’ve got you.”
It almost hurts, this time around.
The slow, exquisite, endless pull of pleasure, cruel hands of a thousand little deaths come to strangle you off. Every nerve in your body feels raw and frayed, tears leaking freely when you shut your eyes tight. You bury your face into his shoulder, nails pressing hard enough to break skin, clinging desperately to his words for some fragment of relief.
“Good girl... ah, shit, s-squeezing me so tight. That’s it. Keep coming, baby. There you go.”
Your cunt spasms uncontrollably around him—long, drawn-out pulses that keep him from pulling back out. He ruts the last few inches inside before spilling deep, groaning against your neck.
“Fuck, yes, just like that. God, baby....”
He always stays inside you afterward, for as long as he can. Kissing, kissing, always kissing, like he just can’t help himself, lips roaming over any patch of skin he can reach. When he finally draws his hips back, he does so carefully, softening the distance with more kisses when you whine at the loss of him.
“C’mere,” he pants, breath still ragged as he rolls onto his side, tugging you in until you fit flush against him. “I’ve got you.”
Warm, gentle strokes against the curve of your back as you level out together, syncing your breaths. The window’s cracked just enough to let the evening air roll in, cooling against heated, buzzing skin.
“You okay?” he murmurs after a while.
You hum in response, nodding once as you tuck your nose closer to his chest, breathing him in. Citrus cologne. Sweat. Steve.
“Wow,” he exhales, half a laugh caught in his throat. “What was that, three times?”
“Four,” you mumble, words muffled against his skin.
“Oh my god,” he laughs fully now, warm and boyish, chest vibrating beneath your cheek. He dips his head to press a quick kiss to your temple. “We’ll do five next time. Promise.”
You groan softly and shove at his shoulder, rolling away to hide your face in the pillow.
You hear him chuckle behind you as he slides off the bed. The soft pad of bare feet follows, sliding across hardwood, then the click of the bathroom light. Water trickles quietly from the sink.
You’re still catching your breath when the mattress dips again.
His fingers brush the backs of your legs, gently coaxing you to turn onto your back. You do, cheeks burning as he carefully swipes the warm, damp towel between your thighs, focused and attentive.
It’s something he’s done countless times before.
And still, it’s the part that always makes your chest tighten.
You push yourself upright once he’s done, settling against the headboard. He tucks the sheets around your waist, smoothing the fabric over your hips before reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand.
Brings it to your lips.
“Steve,” you laugh softly, still flushed, “I don’t need you to hold it.”
“Ssh,” he murmurs, lips quirking. “Small sips.”
You narrow your eyes at him but drink anyway, hands folded uselessly in your lap while he keeps the glass steady. When you’re done, he takes a long drink himself before setting it aside.
He turns back, catches you staring.
“What?”
You shake your head, smile faint. “Nothing.”
He studies you for a beat longer, searching your face, but doesn’t push. Instead, he stretches with a low groan, shoulders rolling until something pops.
“God,” he mutters. “You hungry?”
“Sure. I could eat.”
“You said there’s lasagna, right?”
“Uh-huh.” You start to scoot toward the edge of the bed, but his hand lands firmly on your arm.
“Woah, hey. Where are you going?”
“To... get the lasagna?”
He shakes his head, already moving away. “Nope. Just tell me where it is.”
“Steve, it’s fine, I can—”
“Not happening.” He nudges you back against the pillows, then tucks another one behind your back for good measure. “I got it.”
You open your mouth to argue again, but he’s already pulling his boxers on.
“Is it in the oven?” he calls over his shoulder.
“...Yeah.”
“'Kay. Be right back.” He leans in for a quick kiss, lifting a finger at you as he backs toward the door. “Don’t move, alright?”
You purse your lips, watching him go.
He’s back not ten minutes later, balancing two plates in his hands. Steam curls from the lasagna, edges crisp and bubbling.
“You gonna feed it to me too?” you ask dryly as he settles beside you.
He doesn’t even blink. Just picks up a fork and starts cutting into one of the slices.
“Jesus, Steve,” you laugh, grabbing the plate from him. “I was kidding.”
He hands it over with a grin, watching you take the first bite before digging into his own.
“Oh, hey,” he asks after a while, swallowing around a mouthful. “Did Toby like the new glove? Didn’t see him with it today.”
“Yeah,” you nod. “He loves it. I think he’s saving it for when the old one gives out.” You hesitate before adding, quieter, “Thank you, by the way. You really didn’t have to do that.”
Steve pauses mid-bite, fork hovering for half a second before he lowers it, lips pressing together.
“Yeah,” he nods softly. “Of course.”
You glance down at your plate, tracing a smear of sauce with the tip of your fork. “You know… if he knew it was from you, he’d probably never use it. He’d want to put it on a shelf or frame it or something.”
He snorts quietly. “Guess it’ll be our secret then.”
“Hm,” you nod, the sound coming out thin.
You don’t eat much after that. Staring at nothing, just pushing the food around, lost in thoughts much heavier than hunger.
Steve notices.
He looks up from his plate, cheeks full, a smudge of tomato sauce at the corner of his mouth. He chews slowly, studying you over the rim of his fork.
“Hey,” he says once he swallows. “You okay?”
You blink. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
He watches you for another beat, then sets his plate aside and slides closer. His hand settles on your knee, rubbing small circles.
“Did I, uh…” He glances down, then back up, eyes sheepish. “Wear you out too much?”
You nudge his ankle with your foot, managing a small smile despite the ache blooming in your chest. “No. It’s not that.”
“Okay,” he says softly, not quite smiling back. “Then what is it?”
“It’s... it’s nothing. Stupid.”
“Baby,” he reaches for your hand before you can pull away, fingers threading through yours. He shuffles closer until your knees press together. “Talk to me.”
You close your eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath, then another. Your chest tightens on the exhale.
“Is... is this about…?” His voice trails off, gentle, circling the truth carefully.
You sigh and turn your head, but he follows, refusing to let the space grow.
“’Cause if it is,” he rushes on, urgency bleeding into his tone, “I’m ready. Whenever you are. I mean it. I want to—”
“Steve, stop,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You can’t.”
He freezes, lips parting like he wants to argue. The light in his face shifts: eyes drooping, brows pulling together. So young, stripped of his usual bravado, it hurts to him look at him like this.
“Why... why not?”
“Because I can’t ask you to do that.”
He shakes his head, grip tightening as he pulls your hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart.
“Ask me to do what? Be part of your life? Be around your kid?” He shifts closer, trying to catch your eyes. “I… I wouldn’t—look, I care about Toby. I really do. And I care about you. I lov—”
His voice falters. He swallows hard, throat working around the word.
“I love you.”
You stare at a spot on the sheets, blinking hard, vision going blurry at the edges.
“Baby,” he murmurs, thumb sliding gently under your chin. “Look at me. Please.”
You do. Lashes heavy, eyes shining despite your efforts. He smiles at you then, soft and steady, certainty radiating in a way that makes your chest ache.
“I love you,” he repeats. “I want… I want to be with you. Wake up next to you, go to sleep next to you. Take you places.” He lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, that old caravan I bought is a total mess, but... I thought we could fix it up together. Travel a little. Go see the country.”
His smile softens, expression sobering a bit. “And I want to be there for Toby. I know what it’s like to have a shitty dad. I would never do that to him. Ever.”
You make a small, broken sound and turn away, but he doesn’t let go. His thumb keeps tracing the same soothing path over your knuckles.
“And I’m not saying we should get married or—or move in or anything. Just… maybe a couple nights a week? I could come over, help with homework, hang out with him, just be there however you need m—”
You surge forward, pressing your lips to his in a desperate, trembling kiss. He freezes for a heartbeat, then melts into it, arms winding around your waist and lifting you onto his lap with careful, fluid strength.
You cling to each other, kissing in a messy, gasping rhythm, until the salt of your own tears brushes against his lips.
“Hey,” he whispers, pulling back, gently drawing your face into his chest. “It’s okay, it's okay."
You let yourself fold into him, cheek pressed against his bare skin.
"We’ll figure it out. We'll be okay, I promise."
You melt against him, surrendering to his warmth, letting the steady, gentle strokes of his hand calm the storm of thoughts in your head.
Eventually, a small, wet laugh slips out.
“Toby’s gonna lose his mind.”
Steve pulls back a little, meeting your eyes. “You think he’d be weirded out by it?”
You shake your head, a smile breaking through. “No, he’d love it. He already worships you. And then you two would just… gang up on me every day.”
Steve laughs, thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. His gaze is unwavering, soft and intent as he lingers over the lines of your face, like he’s seeing you for the first time.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling. “I’m pretty sure I’ll always be on his mom’s side.”
⚾︎
epilogue
Toby sits at the very end of the dugout bench, where no one else is sitting.
He’s six and a half years old, not a baby anymore, but his legs still don’t touch the ground when he sits. They just kick the air, swinging back and forth, back and forth, cleats cutting little half-circles in the air. He scoots down an inch so the tips of them can scrape the dirt, and he finds a small pebble near the bench post. He nudges it with his toe, then nudges it back, careful not to kick it too far.
Everyone else is out on the field.
There’s the loud crack of a bat, and all the kids start shouting at once: “Mine!” “Run!” “Heads up!” The ball pops straight up into the air, and bonks Nathan Foster on the head when he tries to catch it. Everyone laughs. Even Nathan laughs, rubbing the back of his head like it didn’t hurt, even though it probably did.
Coach Steve says that kind of thing is okay. Messing up is how you learn.
Coach Steve knows a lot of things.
He knows how to line your fingers up on the bat, and how to breathe out when you throw so the ball goes straighter. He says baseball is supposed to be fun, even when you strike out, even when you’re not the best player on the field.
But Toby isn’t having fun.
He keeps his glove in his lap, hugging it tight with both arms like it might slide off if he lets go. It’s new. It's the one Coach Steve bought for him, even though his mom said his old one still worked fine. This one is stiff and smooth and smells good—like a store, or like the inside of Coach Steve’s car. Toby presses his fingers into the leather and traces the thick stitches with his thumb, over and over.
It helps a little.
There’s a worry sitting in his chest. Heavy and squishy, like when you step in mud and it won't let go of your foot right away.
He hasn’t told anyone about it. Not Miss Collins from art class. Not his mom. He didn’t even whisper it to his glove, even though sometimes he tells the glove things—like how fast pitchers make him freeze, or how scared he was on his first day of school.
Today, the worry stays stuck inside, pressing down.
A part of Toby thinks maybe he shouldn’t be worried at all.
Coach Steve said that everything would stay the same. Normal. And most of the things Coach Steve says turn out to be true. So maybe this will be too.
But Jeremy Miller said something different.
Jeremy knows stuff. His dad’s a doctor, and doctors are smart. They do important things.
Toby kicks the pebble a little harder than he means to. It skitters across the dirt floor and disappears under the bat rack with a soft clack.
“Hey, buddy.”
Toby looks up.
Coach Steve is standing at the opening of the dugout, blocking out part of the sun. His whistle hangs from his neck like always, bumping softly against his chest when he steps closer.
“You hiding from me?” he asks, grinning. “’Cause if you are, this is kind of a bad spot.”
Toby shrugs and drags the toe of his cleat through the dirt, making a crooked line. He sort of misses the pebble he kicked away. “I’m not hiding.”
Coach Steve comes in and sits down beside him, the bench creaking under his weight. His knee bounces once, then goes still.
“So,” he says, leaning his elbows on his thighs, looking out at the field. “I was kinda thinkin’ today might be the day you show off that rocket arm.”
The heavy feeling in Toby’s chest squishes tighter.
The words fall out before he can stop them.
“Are you and Mom gonna get married?”
Coach Steve freezes.
Just for a second, but Toby notices. His grin fades, and he blinks like he forgot what he was about to say. His hand comes up and rubs the back of his neck.
“Uh…” he clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, we are, buddy.”
Toby nods. He already knew that. Mom had told him. Coach Steve had told him. Grandma cried a little on the phone when they both told her together. Still, hearing it out loud again makes his stomach feel all twisty.
“Is that…” Coach Steve says, then stops. He presses his lips together. “Is that still okay with you?”
Toby sighs and draws another line in the dirt next to the first one, pressing hard so they match.
“I guess.”
Coach Steve moves a little closer, his arm brushing Toby’s. He rests a hand on his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze, thumb rubbing slow circles like he does when Toby’s nervous before a game.
“Hey, if you’re feeling weird about me and your mom, that’s okay to say.”
Toby swallows. His throat feels tight, like when he’s about to cry but doesn’t want to.
“No, it’s just—” He stops, frowning. “I just want you to be my coach, still.”
Coach Steve turns his head sideways, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I still be your coach?”
Toby’s shoulders curl in. “’Cause Jeremy said that if you’re family, sometimes you can’t do stuff for each other.”
“Jeremy Miller?”
Toby nods. “Yeah. His dad’s a doctor. Jeremy had to have surgery ’cause his ap-pen-di-sigh-tis was broken, and his dad couldn’t do it. They didn’t let him.”
Coach Steve lets out a slow breath through his nose. “Oh.”
Toby grips his glove tighter. “So, if you’re my family… you can’t be my coach anymore, right?”
Coach Steve’s face goes a little funny. His eyebrows pull together, and his mouth does this wobbly thing, like he’s trying to smile and can’t figure out how. He reaches out and gently pushes Toby’s hair back, his thumb brushing across his forehead.
“Toby,” he says softly, “that’s not how that works.”
Toby frowns. “But Jeremy said so.”
“I know, bud. And sometimes grown-up rules are really confusing.” He lets out a small huff of a laugh. “Doctors have rules like that. Coaching’s a little different.”
He waits until Toby’s looking at him.
“I’m always gonna be your coach, Toby.”
Toby wants to believe him. He really does.
“…You promise?” he whispers.
Coach Steve’s face scrunches up more, eyes shiny like maybe some dust blew in from the field. “Yeah, buddy. I promise.”
Toby sticks out his pinky. He doesn’t do that at school anymore, because he’s a big first-grader now, but he still knows it’s the strongest kind of promise there is.
Coach Steve smiles, hooking his pinky around Toby’s, giving it a firm shake.
Satisfied, Toby launches forward. It’s all of him at once, knocking the air right out of Coach Steve.
“Oof, okay—” Coach Steve laughs, arms coming up to catch him. He pats Toby’s back, holding him closer as he rocks him side to side.
Toby squeezes back just as tight. The heavy feeling in his chest lifts, like taking off his backpack full of books at the end of the day.
He pulls back, smiling now, and says the thing he's been scared to say since the day he talked to Jeremy.
“Love you, Dad.”
Coach Steve goes very still. Then he clears his throat and quickly blinks up at the sky, like he definitely got some dirt in his eyes that time.
When he looks back at Toby, that funny, wobbling smile is back.
“I love you too, buddy.”
Toby grabs his glove and hops off the bench. His feet hit the ground, solid and steady.
Coach Steve stands too, quickly scrubbing the dirt from his eyes before turning back to him.
“So. You wanna go show your mom that throw we’ve been practicing?”
OP: Okay, so for the new fonts here, a quick overview and recap:
Facts:
Roman is married to Camryn Jackson (Reigns). She’s a successful real estate agent in Florida and also runs some sort of consultant business.
Heaven Jackson (Uso) is married to Jey. She’s a paralegal.
Heaven and Camryn are cousins. Their dads are brothers. The Usos, Roman, and Camryn all grew up together in Pensacola, Florida. Heaven’s fam lived in one of the Carolinas but seemingly spent the summers in Florida? Either way, they’re all really good friends.
Heaven and Jey seem to have started dating in high school. So did Roman and Camryn.
Camryn got pregnant at 17 with Roman’s baby (he was 18). They had a son. Nathan. He’s now 23 and plays for the San Francisco 49ers.
Heaven and Jey have one child. A little girl who’s 5. She is (allegedly) deaf.
Speculation:
There are very few photos of Roman and his wife in recent years. A lot of the photos on the internet are from childhood, teenage years, college, etc. The last PLE she was spotted at was WM34. None after that.
Heaven (we call her H sometimes) however, has been at all of them. She’s also been spotted at multiple WWE shows and PLE’s, including every WM that Roman (yes, Roman) has competed in.
H has been photographed countless times over the years spending time with the Uso and Reigns family but more with the Reigns than anything. A lot of pictures with her and Nathan as well.
A few years ago, H, Jey, Roman, and Camryn seemed to have went on some sort of double couples trip together, but there were more pics snapped of Roman and H than them with their spouses.
To date, there’s only three photos online of Jey, H, and their daughter. But, we have countless photos of Roman, H, and the child. Him holding her as they walk to his bus after a show, on his private jet, candids of them out shopping and out and about in Florida.
A font came online last year and basically insinuated mama’s baby, daddy’s….
It appears that whenever Roman clocks in, H and the child are with him. They also leave when he leaves—not with Jey.
Another font spilled years ago that H is just close with all the guys, but because she and Roman attended Georgia State together (Jey and Camryn went to different schools), they’ve been the closest of the group ever since.
Someone dug up a photo of Roman when he was younger and put it side by side with a photo of the little girl and….#twins. Hmm….
That’s about it! Happy spilling, ladies!
User 1: I can’t believe this is really still an “alleged” thing after all these years. It’s pretty obvious Roman and Heaven are sleeping together, and that little girl is 100% his.
User 2: This all seems so believable until you think about how “obvious” it is and thus how it doesn’t make any sense that it hasn’t been exposed yet if true.
User 3: Not really relevant, but I met Camryn at a women’s conference about two years ago. She wasn’t the nicest. Came across as vain and vapid. Absolutely stunning though. Lol.
User 4: @/User 3 other people have said as such before who’ve met/run into her. That she’s even prettier in person but has a nasty attitude.
User 5: I remember that photo of him and baby girl….but all them boys look alike to me. You could put a photo of Jey up there and say the same imo.
User 6: The whole dynamic is so weird and strange. Ain’t no way I’d have some woman all up on my husband more than me. Camryn is too nice.
User 7: This really feels like the makings of a Diamond/Ebony IRL.
User 8: I remember those beach photos. The thread was a TT for almost two days….lives were changed.
User 9: @/User 8 Oop. Was there anything specific about them that made it trend?
User 10: H’s body was/is tea (Cam is rumored to have had some work done), but it’s plain as day she’s all natural. There were a couple shots of R where the dick print was heavenly (intentional). Man is packing.
User 11: I remember that interview he did last year where he (surprisingly) got a little personal and talked about how proud he was of his son. There was one, if that, comment about wifey. But H and the little girl got a mention, and he had the same small smile and sense of pride in discussing them as he did his son. That confirmed things for me.
User 12: Lmaooo it’s gonna be insane when everything comes out. The fact that this conversation and thread has lasted and been maintained for years now at this point because we keep getting more material speaks volumes.
User 13: Ya’ll remember that BTS video WWE posted of WM39? There was a brief, short clip of H, R and the kid (did we learn her name yet?) backstage before the match. He was sitting down all oiled up and was letting the baby (she looked to be about 3) use the spray bottle to wet his hair for him. She ended up spraying H instead who laughed as R pulled her (the baby y’all) into his lap. It was so cute.
User 14: @/User 13 Yesssss. I rewatched that so many times looking for the spouses but….nada. Even if all of this is just fan fiction, Roman seems like he’s really great with kids and loves the living hell out of his niece (daughter) and her mama.
User 15: Peep how all this discussion has transpired, and ain’t shit been said about Jey…
User 16: That’s cause he too busy getting drunk and DMing insta thots.
User 17: @/User 16: Weren’t those screenshots fake?
User 16: @/User 17: That’s what they said, but Idk if it was ever proven.
User 18: Agree that Roman seems like an amazing father. Any time his son (fine asf like his daddy) does an interview, he always gives R his flowers. I think he called him his best friend. Once again, no mention of the mama.
User 19: 😭😭😭 Damn, does anyone like this heifer?
User 20 (Incog): Lol. You ladies are funny. You’re also not entirely wrong about a lot of things. If Roman is working a show, mother and child are 100% guaranteed to be with him. He flies in and out with both and/or they travel with him on the bus. Mostly the private jet these days. They also spend majority of the time backstage with him. Very little with Jey. Make of that what you will. Also, Heaven is even more stunning in person, a sweetheart, and the little girl is cute as a button. Sweet like her mama.
User 21: @/Incog And I, oop—you sound like you have some firsthand experience….
Incog: @/User 21 That’s cause I do. Lol. Can’t say how but it should be easy to put two and two together.
User 22: @/Incog Oh shit. What else can you tell us? Like what is the little girl’s name? Feels weird calling her “the child.” Also, is she deaf? Is that why she wears hearing aids? Also, what is Roman like?
Incog: @/User 22. I won’t provide the name nor speak on her health. The family is fiercely private, especially when it comes to children. As far as Roman, he’s alright. He can be an ass at times, but for the most part, as long as you stay on his good side, you’re good to go. Very business oriented and professional. Doesn’t play about his family, but that’s not really a secret. Is noticeably nicer and calmer when those two are around. Especially the little girl. Clear as day she has him wrapped around her finger. Ya’ll are right. He’s great with kids. At least with her….
User 23: @/Incog We understand. Thanks for sharing. What about the twins? And how is Camryn?
Incog: @/User 23 The twins are cool. Jimmy is that person everyone wants as a friend. Jey is…..an acquired taste. He’s not rude or an asshole like his cousin can be, but he also doesn’t have his cousin’s work ethic. He did. Idk what happened. He’s just kind of annoying now tbh. As far as wifey, not a fan. She’s only nice if she likes or knows you, but she hardly ever comes around anymore anyway, so.
User 24: I said before Jey seems different. Is it the fame that's gotten to his head maybe?
Incog: @/User 24 I think so. He comes across as believing he's up there with his cousin, which some might agree. I, personally, do not.
User 25: I went to school with all of them (not H), and they were all kind of hoes back in the day. Yes, Cam, too. And, she's always been a bitch. If you weren't one of her friends or H, she paid you dust. Seems like that hasn't changed....
Incog: Oh. Also, if R and H are having an affair, it's certainly not his first time. Don't know about H. But, the Tribal Chief been for the streets.
Incog 2: @/Incog Just like his cousin #YEET
User 26: Not two incogs spilling tea. Since ya'll sharing, do one of ya'll know if it's true about him and that NXT girl? 👀
author’s note: you people are terrible when it comes to mess.
anyhoo, you asked for it. part 2 to 'red light special.'
warnings: smut. angst. unhealthy relationships. strong themes of infidelity. it’s still all so extremely messy.
pairing: roman reigns x black!oc
word count: 9k+
credit: photos from pinterest. gif from google.
The thrum of the base in the track hums, transitioning from distant and distorted to loud and clear as she makes her way through the house. The clear, bubbling liquid of the wine in her glass wobbling from each footstep and her body maneuvering through the bodies camped inside. Just a small section of attendees, the vast majority spilling into the outside.
Beaming sun blaring down on her rich melanin. Exposed, moisturized skin glistening under the sunshine, Heaven uses her hand to shield her eyes as her smile grows the minute her flip flops transition from Zebrawood flooring to bluestone.
Roman Reigns home is a thing ripped out of an HGTV special. 15,000 sq. ft. Four levels, including a basement that could easily double as a moderately sized recreation center what with the movie theater and game room. A separate building on the property, similair to a garage, serving as The Tribal Chief’s personal home gym. Slightly short of 1,500 sq. ft., setup and equipped with the latest and greatest of all things fitness so much so that even an Olympic athlete could walk in and have a field day. Spacious kitchen with an open floor plan that’s maintained throughout the premises. The backyard isn’t much different, offering a variety of spaces aimed towards meeting both individual and group needs.
A basketball court, tennis court, 20 x 40 pool, hot tub, and large stretch and patch of grass intended for universal purposes. Even the patio, cobblestone stretching from one end of the home to the other, feels like the perfect sized foundation for a mini house to be built upon.
Put simply, Roman Reigns home is exactly what one would expect for a man like himself.
It’s also the perfect setting for family gatherings, like the one happening in real time.
Packed in all the ways, the volume of the music clashing with the sounds of laughter, chatter, mingled in with the delicious aroma of food being sautéed and grilled, prepared for later consumption. Music blaring from the four speakers surrounding the DJ booth, a consistent hire intended to bolster the overall entertainment aspect for the what is an objectively large but actually small gathering when factoring in the missing persons.
Heaven’s husband being one of them.
Jey’s absence, however, is more of something noted than something incommodious, and it’s that indifference—ironically—that bothers her the most.
His absence should bother her.
But, it doesn’t.
And, she hates that.
“Look out, mommy!”
Macy’s happy, elated voice is filled with merriment and excitement as Heaven moves back just in time as her little girl breezes by, laughing and giggling as she’s trailed by some of her cousins, the children fully immersed in a fun but intense game of tag.
“Be careful, baby!” She calls out, the warning lost among the kids laughter. It makes her chest overflow with warmth. While she doesn’t have any siblings of her own and thus no nieces or nephews for her sweet daughter on the maternal end, the paternal side more than makes up for her lack.
Heaven is almost certain Macy hasn’t even met all of her cousins on her dad’s side. That family is huge beyond comprehension.
“Now, you know already know they're not listening.”
Heaven turns to the left to see Camryn walking over and shaking her head. A bright red bikini with cherries stamped all around, the bottom half partially concealed by the sheer sarong. Close enough so Heaven catches a whiff of her Valentino perfume, it's as Camryn reaches and rakes her fingers through her hair that the movement provides a glimpse of the Robyn tattoo on her tricep. The same one Heaven has on her left arm. Matching tattoo the cousins got when they were twenty-one, a long-term promise made reality as the result of too much to drink and the cousin of someone they knew who was doing them for $25 in his basement.
Yeah….a time was certainly had back then.
Some of Heaven’s fondest memories includes the woman across from her. Camryn has always been the closest thing she’s ever had to a sister. They’ve shared some of the best of times together and some of the worst of times.
Having two parents both in time consuming fields, being a latchkey child was made slightly easier by the gymnastics practices she had at least three times a week that were almost followed up by calls with her cousin. Late night conversations that often resulted in either her parents or her aunt or uncle picking up the other receiver and chiding the girls for staying up past curfew. It was hard though. Heaven had a group of girlfriends from school and found friendship with some of her teammates, sure, but it just wasn’t the same. She could talk for hours on end with Camryn and never reach a true endpoint of conversation.
Just as Camryn confided in her secrets that will carry over into the grave, Heaven did the same. Confiding in her cousin that rough patch of her life where puberty meant her body filled in ways that brought about uncomfortable attention, resulted in her coaches pulling her to the side with criticisms under the guise of tips.
It was during one of the summers that she spent with the Jacksons that Camryn put two and two together and figured out Heaven was lying about her eating habits. That in the name of trying to resist what was simply genetics in the curves she’d inherited from her mother and grandmother, Heaven had unintentionally developed an eating disorder.
“Am I ugly?”
It was the most absurd thing that Heaven Jackson ever heard. In no way, shape or form was her cousin even remotely close to ugly and even the question alone felt blasphemous.
“No,” Heaven shook her head, leaning over to grab her cousin’s hand as they sat in the middle of her bed, a rerun of MTV Unplugged playing on the TV mounted on the wall, covered in white and teal striped wallpaper. “Cam, you’re like so pretty.”
“And don’t people say we look alike?”
Heaven didn’t even need to think about. As far back as she could remember, everyone always pointed out how they looked like twins with few distinguishing features. Camryn took after her mother’s complexion, lightly tanned with warm undertones that were amplified in the summer. Hazel eyes that twirled and reflected specks of gold under the blistering Florida heat. Heaven’s complexion was a smooth, rich chocolate and her eyes a striking brown. Her features were also softer, cheeks rounder, lips fuller and her nose on the wider side and perfectly fitting for her round face. Camryn’s features leaned more on the defined and angular spectrum. Her smile was sharp and alluring, cheekbones high and defined. But, the resemblance was still there and still strong, thus Heaven unable to offer any sort of counter.
Didn’t mean she couldn’t try.
“Well, yeah, but—”
Except, Camryn wasn’t having it, leaning across the bed and placing her finger against Heaven’s lips. “Then, I don’t want to hear it. If I’m pretty, then you’re pretty. Actually, we’re like freaking beautiful, okay? That’s all there is to it, so no more starving yourself, or I will literally force you to eat Checkers every day that you’re here.”
In hindsight, it was clinically horrible advice for someone struggling with disordered eating, but it was also exactly what she needed. Camryn stayed on her ass all summer and eventually helped Heaven embrace all of her curves.
And her beauty.
She chuckles, reorienting back to the conversation after mentally venturing down memory lane. “They sure aren’t.” She looks over at his cousin, motioning to the two available lounge chairs near the pool where some of the older kids are playing a game of pool volleyball. “Come on.”
Camryn follows behind, the two sitting at the edge of said loungers, Heaven placing her glass on the nearby table before leaning over and slapping her cousin’s thigh. “I’ve missed you.”
She’s met with a wide smile, the sun shining and illuminating the light freckles spackled across Camryn’s T-Zone. Same placement as—
“I’ve missed you too, girl.” She pouts, shaking her head and adjusting her bikini top strap. “Things have just been so busy.”
“Things or you?” Her teasing is met with a playful flip of the middle finger. “No, I get it. And, I’m happy for you. Always am.”
Truly. Camryn has done exceptionally well for herself in terms of her career. Successful, wealthy, a badass. The multiple business hats she wears after years of grinding are well deserved and well placed. Her cousin is inspirational in a lot of ways.
“Thanks, Hev.” Camryn’s eyes glimmer with something as she looks around, searching and surveying. “Wait, Jey isn’t here?”
And just like that, the smile is dropped. “N—no. He, uh, he couldn’t make it.” The amount of times she’s had to say as such in recent years has caused an almost immediate, bitter aftertaste. At one point, she understood it. These get-togethers arranged by his family, the current one taking place at Roman and Camryn’s massive Miami mansion, happen more often than not. Once a month usually. Sometimes twice. And, with the current push the company has behind Jey, she understands his free time is limited. But, the presence of Jimmy, and even Solo, doesn’t exactly help.
Sure, with Naomi being pregnant and it being a high risk pregnancy, Heaven knows that he's been allotted a higher level of flexibility than most. But, if Solo can find time what with him not even being close to being as established as his older brothers and cousin, what is Jey’s excuse?
At this point, Heaven isn’t entirely sure she even cares anymore.
What’s the point?
“I don’t know, Cam,” she starts, gaze dropping to her thighs, the light material of her cover up leaving a portion of her thick thighs exposed. “Sometimes I wonder—”
“You know he loves you.” The interruption causes her to look up, locking eyes with her cousin who wears a sympathetic expression. “Jey is just….he can just be Jey, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.” Heaven opens her mouth to respond—with what, she’s not entirely sure, because she’s cut off once more. “Marriage is hard work. Take it from me.”
It’s a slightly appreciated expression of understanding, to some extent, but it doesn’t quite land. Yes, Heaven knows that Camryn has most certainly had ups and downs in her own relationship, but there’s also a part of her that struggles with understanding fully. With extending as much empathy as she would like to have reserved for her friend.
That’s hard though when Heaven sits on a variety of secrets Camryn has kept, decisions made that, no matter how much Jey frustrates her from time to time, she could never do to her husband.
One of them, in Heaven’s opinion, regarding around the important but sometimes controversial—definitely in this case—topic of children. Specifically, Roman wanting to have one more child and Camryn being against it.
A typically and perfectly acceptable decision for a woman to make as it pertains to her own body, but Camryn didn’t seem to communicate the change in heart—and wants—to her husband until he mentioned trying for another baby. From the outside looking in, that’s when it seemed things really started to fall apart.
Camryn spoke about how Roman kept “pressuring” her for something that was, in her own words, “never gonna happen.”
The hysterectomy she had behind Roman’s back made sure of that.
Years later, that still remains one of the secrets Heaven sits on that falls under the category of unnecessary guilt. It’s not her place to tell Roman nor would she ever, but she also doesn’t know how Camryn has gone as long as she has—years—without telling him the truth. Arguments over him wanting another child and her not being forthcoming about what made her “change” her mind. Feeding him lies in place of the truth.
It feels wrong.
It is wrong. But, so is being married and having an affair with someone also married, so she really has no place to talk.
The space for judgment is non-existent, because what right does she have to feel any sort of way when she sits across this woman, smiles in her face, and carries on a close friendship, sisterhood, all the while sleeping with her husband?
Complicated, indeed.
“It’ll get better,” Camryn assures. “Just give it time.”
Heaven isn’t sure enough time exists to properly address all that needs to be sorted through. Not just between herself and Jey but Roman as well.
The thought of the man causes her to look to her side, through the sea of people and across the way where he stands by the grill. Dark sunglasses sitting perfectly on the bridge of his nose, hair pulled into a loose ponytail. White shirt, the top unbuttoned and providing a glimpse of his tatted pec, tan cargo shorts, and them ugly ass black Nike sandals that don’t even match with the outfit but something he refuses to part with.
For a man as loaded as he is, Roman, when not on the clock, dresses like he closed his eyes and grabbed the first thing in sight.
It brings a small smile to her face.
Both his predictability and the way his lips tug upward into a smile as he chats with the young man beside him.
Nathan Reigns has always been a big boy. A chubby baby who shed that baby weight easily once getting into a variety of sports, football being the one that held a special place in his heart. Playing at the collegiate and now the highest level, years of hard work and training have ensured there’s not a spot on him that’s not chiseled and defined. Just like his dad.
Dark, kinky coils pulled back into a low bun, his left arm completely tatted, Samoan ink in honor of his father and paternal side, he wears a crooked grin as he playfully punches his dad on his arm. She’s glad he flew in to visit. He takes after Roman in a variety of ways, but while his father can be fire, Nate is the calm before the storm. Just a laid back, easygoing young man.
Until you upset him.
He definitely has his dad’s temper. That's for damn sure. She can't even begin to count how many unsportsmanlike conduct penalties he's ranked up and collected like Pokemon over the years.
Again, like Roman.
Interruption of the father-son bonding moment comes in the form of Macy who runs to Nathan, clinging to his leg, reaching for him to hold her.
Heaven watches her nephew feign a look of irritation before bending down to pick her up, tickling Macy’s stomach, making her giggle and wrap her arms around his neck to hug him.
While Heaven is inherently biased given that she’s Macy’s mother, preconceived notions aside, she truly does believe that she was blessed one of the sweetest kids ever. Macy is a light to everyone in her life and has always had people naturally gravitate towards her. Nathan, in particular, has always been more like….like a big brother to her little girl.
The smile shifts.
Clearing her throat, needing some sort of distraction, she looks over to see Camryn’s head dropped, attention on the phone in her hand as she types hurriedly.
“Everything alright?”
She looks up, eyes slightly widening before the flash of a small smile. “Yeah.” Lifting her phone, she rolls her hazel eyes and shakes her head. “Work shit. You know how it is.”
Heaven nods. She does. To a certain extent. Paralegal work can be a lot at times, but she’s certain it’s nothing compared to running two successful businesses.
Still, she wishes Camryn could just be present for this right now. Being surrounded by family and enjoying the happiness that is this moment. She wasn’t always the way she is now—tunnel vision when it comes to business—difficulty with removing the business hats long enough just to be a mom, a sister, a wife.
If Heaven is being honest with herself, the changes can be traced back to their more formative years. Specifically around the beginning to middle of high school. A full time seat to watch the transformation wasn’t allotted given Heaven only stayed in Florida for the summer months. She didn't attend the same school as Camryn and the boys. She just remembers coming to visit the summer after freshman year and noticing….different things about Cam.
The hazel eyed knockout had always been a little boy crazy, but what girl wasn’t at some point? However, late night discussions as they painted their nails transitioned from giggling over crushes to Camryn sharing stories about her making out—and more—with various boys. Heaven didn’t think or make much of it at the time, just always cautioned her best friend to be careful. Words that only seemed to flow into one ear and out the other.
The advice never stuck.
At some point, crushes always ended up being conquests, regardless if they had a girlfriend or not.
Heaven still recalls the day they were all hanging out at the local skating rink and a group of girls approached Camryn as she sat on the bench, lacing up her skates. The one in the middle, wearing a tie dye midriff shirt that matched the colored bands on her braces, outright accusing Cam of hooking up with her boyfriend. Cam said something slick and essentially denied it, but when she tried to walk away, the girls jumped her.
Heaven had never moved as fast as she did to run over to the group, cause no way in hell would she ever let anyone put their hands on her family and she not try to help.
Together, she and Camryn gained the upper hand until a group of boys got involved, one grabbing Heaven by her box braids and shoving her to the dark carpet. A crowd had gathered around them, one of the workers on the PA system warning them to break it up or they’d call the police. However, the only thing Heaven noticed or focused on after that was the way Roman came out of nowhere, tackling the boy to the ground before he started beating the shit out of him.
The twins intervened as well, and when all was said and done—police escorts home and indefinite bans for everyone—they all ended up in the living room of her aunt and uncle’s house, lectured by them, Rikishi—the twins dad—and Roman’s mom. In the moment, they felt bad, sure, but as soon as all the adults left and it was just them, it was Jimmy, of course, who broke the silence.
“Did ya’ll see the way Heaven knocked the hell out of that girl?” Cracked smiles on all as she temporarily locked eyes with Roman who was icing his hand. He’d broken the jaw—and nose—of the boy who jumped her. He'd also been focused on her the entire time. Not that Heaven noticed, as she was too busy watching Jey who had a bag of frozen peas over his black eye. “Sent her straight to the throne of Satan. Left Behind style!”
The laughter from the group of unruly teens echoed throughout the entire first floor of the home.
It was later that night, however, when Heaven lay in bed with her cousin and made a comment about how unfair it was for the girls to target her the way that they did that Camryn replied with a flip of her recently relaxed her.
“I mean, she wasn’t wrong. I did hook up with her boyfriend, but it’s not my fault he wanted me. Can you blame him? Look at me, and look at her. Who wouldn’t pick a princess over a braceface ogre?”
That was one of the first major indicators that perhaps the Camryn she’d grown up with, traded secrets with like notes passed in class, was perhaps turning into someone else. Someone she didn’t fully agree with, but at the end of the day, the history between them was too rich for her to ever disregard such a bond over some minor character flaws.
These days though, Camryn’s greatest struggles seem to revolve around equal balance. Very driven and career focused, sometimes to the detriment of her personal relationships, equilibrium in the different sectors of her life is not the easiest thing to attain, it seems.
Primarily her marital and parental dynamics.
It hasn’t been missed upon Heaven how Nathan has barely interacted with his mom. His dad, uncles, and cousins, sure. But, Camryn?
No…..that relationship is certainly not without tension.
A heaping bowl of it, too.
“I’ll be right back,” she apologizes. Moving through the crowd, she locks eyes with Naomi and points. A nonverbal promise for them to chat a little later, as Heaven makes a mental note to hit up the group chat and see what they’re planning for the baby shower.
“Now, I thought you were playing with your cousins, May May,” she starts, crossing her arms, feeling Roman’s gaze surveying her body, noting the brief pause on her chest. The way his eyes burn into her, glasses now sitting atop his head, despite her focusing on Nathan and Macy. “I think Nate and Uncle Roman are busy….”
A weak defense as Heaven already knows that both men could be in the middle of a life or death situation, and all her daughter has to do is bat her lashes to gain their undivided attention.
Macy seems to have everyone in her life wrapped around her finger.
Everyone except Jey who should be at the top of that list.
If only Roman didn't occupy that spot.
Macy pouts, her flushed cheek pressed against Nathan’s chest as she continues to hold onto him. “They cheat, mommy!”
Confused as to how exactly one can cheat at tag, it’s a discarded question when Roman offers his own unsolicited advice while flipping the meat over. “Baby girl, what I tell you about that? Cheat back.”
“Roman.”
Nathan sucks his teeth. “Pops is right, auntie. Sometimes you gotta beat them at they own game.” He looks at Macy who’s soaking it all in with innocent wonder, her complexion just a shade or two darker than her cousin holding her. They both share similair hair textures as well, thick, full, kinky, and beautiful. Though her baby girl’s is styled into three puffs. Two in the front and one in the back. Small white bows with each puff to match her sleeveless white and red polka dot dress. “Now, look, this is what you need to do—”
“That is enough,” she interrupts, taking Macy from her nephew, making her little girl pout with visible displeasure. “You two are terrible.”
Macy expresses that displeasure, huffing loudly, “but, I wanna know what to do, mommy!”
“I’ll tell you later, sweetheart,” Roman promises with a wink that wipes away her disagreement and results in her giggling. His eyes twinkle with something matched in the way the corner of his lips crank upward into a small smile.
“We just tryna teach her,” Nathan defends, moving to hug Heaven from the side, cheek mushed in the top of her head. “I missed you, auntie.”
She smiles, reaching up to cup his face, the short specks of his beard he’s growing out—like father, like son—scratchy against her palm. “I missed you, too, Nate. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it to more of your games this season.”
Roman attended all of them, sans the ones he couldn’t make because of work, and each time, he invited herself and Macy. Only one of those invites though could she actually take him up on his offer due to her own job and limited allotted time off. Heaven can't recall the last time she had more than a day or two off. With limited PTO and regular doctor appointments with Macy, it's best for her to keep the reserve as full as possible.
But, she loves her “nephew” to pieces and is always wanting to support him in any way she can. Plus, the private box Roman always secures allowed Macy to attend and not be impacted by the loud noise.
It was a fun experience that she wishes she could have enjoyed more than once.
Nathan, however, shakes his head.
“It’s all good," he shrugs. Stepping back, one arm folded across the other, a quiet, muttered, "not like this season went that great anyway.”
“Hey,” Roman cuts in. “What I tell you about that? You’ll get em’ next year.”
“Yeah,” she adds, pinching his cheek. “And, then I’ll be embarrassing you by screaming all loud, “that’s my nephew!’”
Nathan rolls his eyes, smiling wryly. “You know you could never embarrass me. Unless you show up again wearing all them tight clothes.”
Heaven sucks her teeth. “Boy, what are you talking about?”
While certainly dressing far from conservative and traditional, Heaven knows she didn’t show up to that game wearing anything crazy. Just a matching 49ers shirt that Macy also wore, gifts courtesy of her nephew, some jeans and sneakers. The usual. Her best guess would be how said items fit her. Clinging to curves that only dressing 4 to 5 sizes too large could conceal, which is something she’d never do.
She’s come too far in her self-love journey for that.
“Come on, auntie. You know you look like you my age. Got all my teammates asking me about you and shit—” He stops himself, hand over his mouth, earning a ‘really’ look from Heaven and a slap upside the head from Roman.
“My bad,” he apologizes, stuffing his hands in the pocket and looking down at his Nike’s.
And, of course, Macy has to chime in and remind everyone of her presence. “Can I say shit?”
“No.” A simultaneous shut down from both Heaven and Roman, the latter reminding her. “It’s a bad word. Remember? We talked to you about this.”
“So, only grown-ups can say bad words?”
“Yes.”
“So, when I’m a grown up I can say bad words?”
“No,” Roman answers, turning the food over once more before adding. “Besides, you’re not allowed to grow up on me.”
She gasps, clearly taking his words at face value. It’s an innocent reaction that makes Heaven smile and Nathan chuckle. “I can’t stay little forever, Uncle Roman!”
“Yeah, dad. She gotta grow up eventually.” The initial statement is directed towards Roman but is quickly redirected towards Macy, voice teasing. “Maybe then she’ll stop being so slow.” Laughing, he starts backing away as Macy gasps and wiggles to be let down, a request Heaven honors.
“I’m not slow! I’ll show you!”
Nathan starts running away, Macy hot on his heels, Heaven laughing in the wake of their leave. Her nephew takes a lot after his dad in many ways, including how good he is with kids.
She’s not sure if parenthood is on the future agenda at some point, but if it is, he’ll make a hell of a father.
After all, he had a hell of an example.
“I’m coming over this evening.”
Roman’s announcement draws her focus from her daughter who’d ran into Rikishi, Jey’s dad, and is now in his arms, Tala, Jey’s mom, standing nearby and talking to her. While their son might not be much of a dad to his only child, they damn sure are quite literally the definition of amazing grandparents.
Her baby girl is so loved.
“Roman….” Heaven trails off, lowering her voice and moving as close to the grill as possible to both avoid nearby family members from overhearing but also to aid in ensuring he hears her “loud” and clear. “Cam is here. Nate is here.” There’s an added emphasis on the second reminder, as she’s never known Roman to not take advantage of time to spend with his son. Especially since Nate is no longer local.
“She flies out tonight.” Heaven frowns. Already? Camryn just flew in last night. “And, he has a date.”
The frown deepens, Heaven briefly distracted by the focus on Roman's features. The transition from cute to fine to handsome as fuck over the years has been something to behold. Ugly and he have never co-existed in any universe, and the way he only seems to look better with age. The gray scattered in his beard, something she always tells him he needs to embrace, does....something to to her.
Clearing her throat, she has to shove away inappropriate thoughts. “I thought he broke up with Latisha.”
“He did,” he confirms, using the spatula in hand to start sliding the cooked burgers on the plate he's holding in his other hand. “This is a different girl.”
She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Well, he is your son.” The side eye extended her way only evokes full on laughter. “What? It’s true. You had a whole roster of girls before you got with Camryn, and you know it.”
Him and his cousins, but Roman always seemed to pull the most girls. She still recalls Camryn telling her with eye rolls how girls at her school would try to befriend her just to get close to the twins and Roman.
But, mostly Roman.
However, while she finds humor in the recalling of earlier, less refined days, he does not.
He doesn’t say anything after that, a complete shift in his demeanor she wants to press on but is interrupted when one of his cousins calls her name, waving her over. An initial thought to lift a finger and issue a nonverbal request for more time, but another distraction comes from the other side of her.
Heaven gasps quietly, completely caught off guard by Camryn grabbing her arm. “Come on. They’re about to play our song.”
It’s a peculiar sort of interruption and exchange, or lack thereof, how Camryn barely casts her husband a glance, Roman refusing to even look her way, just focusing on the grill in front of him.
Again, the marital issues between them has never been a big secret—at least not to her—but to see them barely even acknowledge each other….
Feeling torn and pulled in several different directions, the tug of her cousin outweighs the desire to plant her feet in the ground, to remain and find out just what she said to elicit such a change in demeanor. But, the desire is lost amongst the crowd, the view of Roman disappearing and obscured by bodies shifting and moving as the opening notes of what is, in fact, one of her favorite songs, takes precedence.
Their song.
Cash Money Records taking over for the 9-9 into 2000
It’s a shared thing, as the women congregate like moth to a flame to the song that has an addictive nature to it stronger than the most potent of drugs.
The song being censored isn’t the only watered down thing, as Heaven reminds herself of her audience, a realization shared among the group of women dancing, including Camryn. Locking eyes and giggling, the unspoken acknowledgment of them keeping their dancing PG, at worst, is a far cry from back in the day. Lord knows if the crowd was different, they’d be throwing ass back like there was no tomorrow.
But, that was then, and this is now.
Jimmy already throwing out a, “remember the kids are here ya’ll!” is just a reminder of the importance of not showing off as much as they could.
Cause lord knows she and Cam could easily shut this shit down. Her two piece bikini underneath the coverup allowing her to move and shake in all the ways.
The next song is a little more universally appropriate, warranting a larger gathering of dancers. Uptempo and upbeat, it’s the being surrounded by other guests, Naomi shimmying over, and Macy doing her adorable little dance that all serve as fodder for another needed distraction. The smile remains as Heaven dances on and with her cousin, once again taken back to their early twenties where late nights and questionable decisions were just hallmark signs of living life.
There were hard days, rough patches, but the good always outweighed the bad. They always found a reason to smile and laugh.
It’s something Heaven has to keep reminding herself of.
And there is no greater laughter when Jimmy’s stupid ass gets the DJ to play what he claims is “the greatest song of all time.”
“Uncle Jimmy, literally no one is saying that except your ass.” is thrown out by Nathan and immediately shut down as Jimmy points to Roman.
“See. You need to teach that boy his history.”
Roman runs his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How the hell is this stupid ass song a part of his history?”
It’s an ignored question as Naomi shakes her head and rubs baby bump. “Ya’ll lucky I was able to talk his ass out of making this the song for our pregnancy announcement.”
Heaven’s eyes widen. “He didn’t.”
“Oh, but he did.”
Yo VIP, let's kick it
Ice, ice baby
Ice, ice baby
As Jimmy starts his performance that literally no one asked for, several family members trying to snatch the microphone—that he snatched from the DJ—Heaven heads to the bathroom. A final glance finding her daughter standing near her other little cousins, the group dancing in a weird sort of bounce manner that kids do, she makes her way through the crowd, humming all the way from the backyard to the bathroom.
Relieving her bladder allots a level of comfort she hadn’t realizes she was being deprived of. She must be drinking more water lately than she realizes, because this increased, frequent urination has been no joke.
Standing in front of the sink, washing her hands, Heaven shakes them dry enough, reaching for the hand towel to complete the rest of the work.
Taking a step back to assess her appearance, she’s mid running her hand through her sew-in when the door suddenly opens.
“Hey!” Except protest is short lived when she sees who it is.
“Wha—”
A word lost in his mouth as Roman smashes his lips onto hers the minute he kicks the door shut behind them. Stumbling back against the counter, his hands slide under her thighs, lifting and plopping her down on the edge.
Shock melts into comfort as he grazes his tongue over her bottom lip, her fingers locking into his hair. “Ro….”
“You have no idea how hard it’s fucking been to control myself,” he mutters, lips smoothing along the perimeter of her face. Her eyes flutter when he gropes and kneads her breast. “Showing up looking’ like this, dancing like that, testing my fucking patience….”
Heaven moans as he snakes his other hand under the mesh, netted material of her cover up, but when his fingers tug at the band of her bikini bottom, it’s as if that snap against her skin snaps her back to reality.
“Roman, we can’t,” she protests, trying to push on his chest only to be met with solid rigidity. He’s unmoving. “Everyone—everyone’s—h—here.”
“I don’t care.” His dismissiveness is accompanied by him once again attempting to toy with her bottoms. Heaven makes a useless attempt to press her legs together, but it’s a waste of time and effort. His big body is between her legs serving as an immovable force, the hand on her chest brushing aside the spandex to free her big breast.
“Shit,” she curses when he dips his head, tongue circling her nipples, thighs unintentionally clenching against his hips. “W—wait. They—they’re looking for—for us.”
She’s grasping at straws, the grip lessening with each expert stroke of his tongue against her, other hand palming her vagina, making her cunt flutter in anticipation.
“I faked a business call,” he explains, thick tongue flattening on the underside of her breast. She moans again, eyes shut but already knowing the smug smirk he wears. “Still want me to stop?”
“Shut up,” she groans. Heaven grabs his face, once more reconnecting their lips, unable to get enough of him in the same way he can’t seem to get enough of her. Her gasp is swallowed into his mouth as he finally breaks the barrier of her bottoms, plunging two fingers deep in her cunt.
The motion of him pumping is juxtaposed to the squelch of her pussy with each stroke. “Fuck, you this wet for me already, Angel?”
It’s the use of her nickname, used first and only by him ever since, that has her digging her fingers into his shoulders before hurriedly dropping her hands to his shorts, trembling hands working to undo the button and zipper.
The minute she dips her hands in his boxers and wraps her hand around his hot, hardened length, her mouth waters in anticipation. She wants him in her mouth, but she also recognizes they don’t have time for all that.
And, he clearly is over the foreplay. Knocking her hand away, one minute she feels her bottoms being shoved to the side and the next, he’s inside of her.
“Oh my God,” Heaven grips his shoulders once more, forehead against his shoulder as he fucks her slow and steady. His own hands squeezing her ass, tugging her froward to meet him thrust for thrust. “Mmmm, you feel so good, daddy.”
She tightens her legs around his waist, leaning back on the counter, using the adjacent wall for a source of stabilization. He’s so deep.
“So do you,” he groans, gaze transfixed on the way she moves her hips in tandem with his deep strokes. “My Angel…”
“Fuck me,” she pants, mouth ajar, eyes shut, fingers grasping at his shirt, making him lean over as she tongue kisses him while he continues to fuck her, objects on the counter trembling and close to toppling over from their motions.
“Is this my pussy, Angel?”
His question is lost among her pleasure and bliss. God, he fucks her so good. Filling her to the brim, the length and girth of him a dangerous, lethal combination.
But, if Roman Reigns is anything, it’s persistent.
“Answer me.” His hand wraps around her throat, her stomach caving as he fucks her harder, fingers applying the slightest pressure. “Tell me it’s mine.”
The right, logical answer would be none. None of it is hers. Not her body. Not her. Nothing. She belongs to someone else, maybe not in most areas but in the one that count the most.
Legally.
But, regardless of unchanging circumstances, if the years spent breaking her vows and everything that makes sisterhood meaningful, it’s that there’s an irresistible allure and charm to Roman that she can’t resist. Can’t break.
She feels connected to him in a way that’s irreversible.
Almost….natural.
It just feels right with him.
Like, this is how it’s supposed to be.
And who she’s supposed to be with.
“Yours,” she breaks, nails raking down his chest, smothering her moan to avoid the sins of what they’ve done and continue to do bleed anywhere beyond just themselves. “It’s yours, baby.”
“Damn right.” He slaps her hip, yanking her forward, hand still around her neck. “Mine,” he breathes, her eyes fluttering, fingers moving to his arm. “And you’ll always be mine.”
She doesn’t bother correcting him, doesn’t feel much about his assertion at all despite the many times prior where guilt soared through her body. The only thing she feels and cares about in said moment is him, her, and the steam that radiates throughout the small bathroom as she surrenders to a vice that’s starting to feel less and less like a vice and more and more like a virtue.
The line between right and wrong blurred by feelings that are reaching a boiling and breaking point.
Sentiments nearing the point of explosion.
Roman bringing her forward, her arms wrapped around him, open mouth on his shoulder, intentional and necessary to keep the wonderful sounds—and pleasure—only he can evoke from her contained and controlled.
A valiant effort but unnecessary given the spotting of Roman entering the bathroom shortly after she did.
An unknown witness.
———
Aaliyah’s ethereal voice floats throughout the kitchen as Heaven submerges the last plate that needs cleaning into the sudsy water, scrubbing gently while humming along to one of her favorite songs.
A lover of all things music. There’s something about the tracks she grew up listening to, songs that carry with them memories and feelings, that always hit deeper. Register in a way that’s calming and nostalgic.
And, the love ballad crooned by one of her favorite artists is near the top of the ‘love’ list. Creates a warmth in her body and soul that’s serene and peaceful. Brings about reminders of other things that evoke the same sort of response.
Seeing her baby smile or laugh.
Spending time with her parents.
Him.
That last one slightly dimming her smile as the lyrics penetrate on a deeper, vulnerable level.
But at your best you are love
You're a positive motivating force within my life
Should you ever feel the need to wonder why
Let me know, let me know
On some level, there’s regret. Regret that her husband, the man she’s shared so much life with, isn’t what or who comes to mind when she hears such lyrics.
He doesn’t.
Not even a little.
She senses him even before he’s made his presence outwardly known. The scent of his cologne and sound of his quiet yet heavy footsteps preceding how he comes behind her, arms wrapped around her body. She closes her eyes and leans into him. Relaxes against his warm embrace.
She doesn’t say anything at first. Just focuses on the feel of him against her, the way he tightens his embrace to hold her closer, the subtle sway of their bodies.
“I’m almost done,” she murmurs, finally breaking the silence.
He dips his head, mouth ghosting the shell of her ear. “Let me finish.”
Heaven makes a sound, angling her head to look up at him. “You would come when there’s only one plate left, huh?”
True to his word, Roman came over later in the day, a few hours after the get-together. After Camryn left for the airport and Nathan for his date. They shared dinner together. Him, her, and Macy. Spent time watching one of Macy’s favorite shows before they kicked off her bedtime routine that was significantly easier with his presence. Macy is still at the age where she needs someone to lay with her until she falls asleep.
For Heaven, it usually takes around 15 to 20 minutes.
For Roman, baby girl is out like a light in under 10.
Heaven can’t recall the last time Jey put Macy to bed. Just that the one time that does come to mind included Macy getting up less than an hour after Jey said she was “out like a light.”
Clearly not.
And, naturally, Roman joined Heaven in the shower where they had sex—again—before napping, exhaustion from the long ass day hitting them while she snuck off downstairs to clean up the kitchen and grab a Pepto-Bismol. Something about the dinner didn’t agree with her. Gave her a weird bout of nausea that’s thankfully subsided.
He presses kisses against her cheek, murmuring, “let me make it up to you.”
“Stop it,” she giggles when he squeezes her waist, prompting her to pinch at his arm. It doesn't, however, stop the fluttering in her stomach when he drags his mouth along her temple, pressing a deep, lingering kiss into her skin that makes her lick her lips.
Heaven isn't quite sure what her love language is. Sometimes, it feels like it's physical touch, but every time Jey attempts to touch her, she shuns away like a shadow to the sun. With Roman, however....she can never get enough.
Her love language with him feels...universal.
“You need a vacation,” he suddenly announces. It’s a bit of a surprising shift in conversation, but it’s not inaccurate.
“I have to work, Roman,” she sighs, continuing to clean the plate to be done with it. They’ve seemingly played tag with the exhaustion catching up with her now. “You know this.”
“Why?” He presses, irritation seeping in. She can just picture the scowl on his face, the slight curl of his upper lip. “What the fuck is Jey doing with his money?”
It’s a bit of an intrusive question, but a valid one nonetheless. Despite Roman being both her lover and one of her best friends, there are just some things she can’t tell him.
Like the bad investments Jey made a few years back that almost made them file for bankruptcy and lose their home. Investments he hadn’t even told her abut until she opened a letter in the mail one day that caught her attention with the word 'urgent' stamped in red, bold, capitalized letters.
They worked through it, but it’s still something that impacts them financially and one of the reasons she has her own separate bank account, he has his, and there’s a joint one that she only touches when she needs to.
It’s just better that way.
But, all of these things are complicated discussions she’d rather not have at almost 11pm at night, thus the route of deflection.
“Macy can’t miss school.”
He didn’t say it, but she knows when he refers to vacation, he means herself and thei—her five year-old daughter. Macy is too young to be separated from her mom for too long, and Heaven can acknowledge just the thought of not having access to her daughter evokes far too much anxiety.
“She’s in kindergarten. We can teach her how to count to 100 for a week.”
“Roman.”
“I’m serious.”
She sighs, shaking the plate and placing it in the drying rack. Pulling the plug to release the water, Heaven grabs at the towel sitting on the counter to dry her hands right as he spins her around to face him.
It's a bit of a fight to retain focus what with the way he's looking down at her, hands massaging her hips through the material of her silk nightgown. But, she succeeds. “There’s also the issue of the three of us going on vacation together,” she starts. Heaven tosses the towel to the side in favor of grasping at his fitted white undershirt. He must be staying the night. The black sweats confirm as much. Good. “How….how that looks.”
Heaven practically hears his steel reply in her head before he ushers it into existence. “I don’t give a fuck.”
She closes her eyes, already knowing where this is headed. “Roman—”
“Do you know how much it fucking kills me every time she calls me her uncle?”
There have only been a few snapshots and moments in Heaven’s life where she could feel the moment she stopped breathing. Almost hear the silence where thudding should occur within her chest. That organ pumping healthily and consistently within her ribcage still and unmoving.
This is now added to those few moments.
If she was still washing the glass plate in hand like she was moments prior, it certainly would have dropped into the water with a loud splash similair to the one slammed on her by his unexpected words.
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Her gaze remains upward and focused on his, traveling down the bridge of his nose to the hair of his beard, the scowl on his face and emotion in his voice.
“I—I—”
Still, nothing. She’s thought it. She’s felt it. God, she’s felt it. Even…even recognized that he must have at the very least thought about it over the years, but never did it cross her mind his speculation wasn’t just theorizing.
It was knowing.
She licks her lips, eyes watering. “Rom—”
But, he’s ahead of her, voice pained as he briefly looks down, jaw twitching before their eyes lock once more. “How long do you expect me to keep acting like she’s not my da—”
A loud, shaky gasp falls out her mouth when he turns around. Heaven places her hand over her chest at the realization that breathing has resumed. The stillness of time around her transitioned back to real time. An unexpected save, though not an appreciated one when she moves to the side to see Macy standing across the kitchen. Pouting, purple bonnet still on her head, she hugs cookie close to her chest with tired eyes and a sleepy expression.
Heaven clears her throat and starts to lift her hands, but Roman is already three steps ahead of her. He closes the distance, kneeling before Macy, signing, “what’s wrong, princess?”
All of Macy’s doctors have predicted that the likelihood of a scenario occurring where Macy can no long hear even without the assistance of her hearing aids is—statistically speaking—slim to none. However, it didn’t stop Heaven from learning sign language and having her baby learn as well.
She didn’t even have to ask Roman if he wanted to learn.
He did so on his own accord.
They don’t use it often. Mostly at night and in the evening, as Macy doesn’t sleep with her hearing aids on. Medically, it makes sense and is what’s recommended. However, that doesn’t stop Heaven's anxiety from brewing anytime she doesn’t have them on. Macy is completely deaf. Without her hearing aids, she can’t hear anything, and that’s a terrifying thought for a mother to have. The thought of something happening and Macy not being able to hear….
When she was still a toddler, even sometimes now still, Heaven would/will wake up six, seven, even eight times a night to check on her little girl. Feels like she can only and breathe whenever Macy wakes up and they put them back on.
She hopes that with time, the anxiety and concern will lessen, but for now, it’s here to stay.
Stepping closer, Heaven signs her own question when Macy lifts her gaze to her mother. Did you have a bad dream, May May?
The only response she offers a shrug that makes Heaven’s frown deepen. For a second, she considers going upstairs to get Macy’s hearing aids off her nightstand so that they can talk, but she quickly remembers how her daughter is. When she shuts down like this, hearing aids or not, she won’t talk. Either doesn’t know how to articulate what she’s feeling or just doesn’t want to.
Sometimes a combination of both.
Her only response is to walk to Roman who instantly opens his arms, already knowing she wants to be held. Picking her up, Macy lays her head on his shoulder, Roman kissing her temple and cradling the back of her head.
Heaven smiles warmly when Macy lifts her hand and beckons for her as well.
Both.
She wants bothof them.
Wants both of her parents.
2005
Jey nods his head to the infectious beat of DMX’s latest album. Looking over to his right, he prepares to hit the previous button on his Walkman when he catches it.
Catches the sight of her.
Camryn walks up the steps of the bleachers, long hair hanging down her back, Rocawear jeans sitting low on her hips, red halter top revealing her recently pierced belly button.
He scoffs, lifting off his headphones. “It’s about time.” She rolls her eyes. “Now what’s up?”
She opens her mouth but hesitates, looking around. “You sure no one followed you?”
“Yo. What’s up with all the secrecy?”
“Can you just answer the question.”
“Can you tell me what’s up?” He counters. One hand on her hip, she rolls her eyes and finishes her climb, going to sit next to him, setting her jean purse to the side.
“So.”
“So?” He mocks, already growing annoyed. He loves Camryn as much as the next person, but lately, she’s been more on the annoying side. Especially if this is about what he thinks it’s about.
“I heard through the grapevine that Roman broke up with Danica.”
Jey is two seconds away from resuming his music. He was already annoyed, but hearing that this is exactly what he suspected it would be about….yeah, he’s already over the whole thing. “Someone tell Larry King Live. He gotta air it on his show tonight.”
She groans, punching him on his shoulder. “You’re such a dude.”
“Camryn, I gotta get home and eat before practice tonight. Seriously. What this gotta do with me?”
“Can’t you put two and two together or have you taken one too many hits to the head?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, leaning closer to whisper as if anyone sits in the stadium except them and custodial workers cleaning up some debris from last night’s pep rally. “I think he’s finally gonna tell her.”
“Tell who what? What are you even—”
“Roman!” She hisses. “I think he’s gonna tell Heaven that he likes her.”
Jey blinks twice. “Okay?”
“What do you mean okay? Not okay!” She shakes her head, scowling, hazel eyes squinted. “You know I like him.”
Jey shrugs. “So tell him.”
“I’ve tried,” she stresses. “But, all he sees is Heaven.” Camryn rolls her eyes, recalling the many times she’s seen her crush for almost three years now focus on her cousin, meanwhile her cousin remains oblivious because she’s focused on someone else. “The same way all she sees is you.”
At that, Jey stiffens. “Look, I told you already. I don’t like her like that.” Heaven is a pretty girl and all. Sweet, too. But, he’s never had feelings for her in that way. She’s always been just a good friend. More like a sister than anything.
“And, that’s why I’m here,” Camryn starts, once more looking over her shoulder before finally divulging the real reason she asked to meet him. “I need you to tell my cousin that you like her.”
Jey looks over at the girl he’s known since he was a kid, wondering just what the hell she’s been smoking. He even sniffs the air trying to see if he can get past the strong scent of her cherry body spray for something else. Like weed or whatever. When he finds nothing, he chuckles. “Yeah, you crazy.”
“I’m serious,” she corrects. “You gotta tell her.”
“Why would I tell her something that’s not true?” Nothing but a lie. Jey is no saint. Lord knows he’s lied to girls before, but Heaven is different. She’s not like that. Her cousin might be though, especially since they hit high school. Cam has done a whole 180, becoming a lot like the girls he can only stand to deal with for a short while until he’s onto the next.
Unlike her cousin. Heaven is a good girl. He don’t wanna lie to her. Especially about something like that. Even more because he’s spent so long trying to pretend he doesn’t notice it. The way she gets all flustered and shy around him sometimes.
“Look. You’re not just Roman’s best friend. You’re family. If you start dating Heaven, he’ll back off and he’ll move on, because he loves you but also cause he just wants Heaven to be happy. Doesn’t matter who it’s with.” She explains, digging in her purse and pulling out a wad of cash.
Jey’s eyes widen. “Where did y—”
“This is $150.00.” He blinks once more as she grabs his hand and places it in his palm. “It's all yours, and I’ll do your math homework for a whole month if you do this for me.”
“Camryn.”
“Please, Jey,” she interrupts, frown deepening. “I really like Roman, and I don’t want to lose him.” It’s a borderline weird thing to say when she doesn’t even have him in the first place, and he’s prepared to say as such when she hits him with something else. “Plus….I mean, it’s not like he hasn’t taken girls from you in the past right?” A seemingly innocent question accompanied by a small shrug. “Weren’t you the one going for Danica in the first place anyway?”
Camryn’s reminder triggers something for the 15 year-old. Triggers a couple of things. Memories of him, his twin, and his cousin talking amongst themselves, sitting on these very same bleachers and scouting out girls. Picking which ones they wanted.
Roman always had a habit of going for the ones Jey chose. Or, even when he did go for the other ones, they always asked more questions about his cousin than himself.
Danica was supposed to be different. Roman had said as such. Told him straight up, “she’s all yours.”
A week later, they were caught by a teacher making out in the girls locker room.
He’d been livid, the frustration bleeding over into practice, resulting in a fight that left both cousins with a black eye.
They’re past that now though. For the most part. But, it does bring up a good point.
Why should Roman get Heaven?
As far back as he can remember, when it comes to the three of them—himself, Jimmy, and Roman—the order has always been the same. Roman, Jimmy, and then Jey. Roman has never known what it’s like to be someone’s second or third choice. Every sport he’s ever played, he’s excelled. Picked as a starter every year, whether it be football or baseball. Doesn't matter. Girls flock to him like he’s the second coming.
Jimmy comes close.
Then there’s Jey.
No matter what, Roman always gets what he wants.
But, why should he “take” from Jey yet another girl? He’ll probably just end up shoving her to the side when he gets bored anyway. Jey definitely doesn’t plan for whatever this is to last. At all. But, he’s bound to handle it better than his cousin ever could.
In actuality, he’s doing Heaven a favor.
It’s why he turns to her cousin with a simple question.
author’s note: this started off as just some freaky shit i wrote in anticipation of bucket head clocking in yesterday.
#jokesonme
warnings: smut. vaginal penetration. dirty talk. unprotected sex. multiple positions. unhealthy relationships. strong themes of infidelity. it's all so messy tbh.
pairing: roman reigns x black!oc
word count: 6.7k+
credit: photos from pinterest. gif from google.
Heaven swore up and down that the last time was just that—the last time. That she would never feel the softness of the 400 thread count sheets under her nude body, head reclined back into the soft pillows, fluttering gaze focused on the coffered ceiling, trimmed around each side, hazy under the dimmed yellow lighting.
Said that it was the last time she’d moan his name.
That was a lie.
Because the very thing she promised herself would never happen again is exactly what’s happening.
Her almond acrylics, painted a vibrant blue that contrasts with her deep melanin and matches with that of her young daughter, dig into the sheets the same way he digs into her. Legs up on his shoulders, a look down the length of her body, over the rolls of her stomach grant her the view that has her pussy clenching around him.
In and out, he drives into her with focused, deep strokes. His fat, long member glistening white from the combination of their juices. Disappearing and reappearing, each entrance making her pussy emit a loud, crude squelching sound that’s matched only by her moans that echo throughout the tour bus.
A tour bus she’s allowed the man above to defile her in one too many times.
“Fuck, Hev,” his groaned curse above makes her redirect her gaze upwards, eyes partially shut, head back, bliss painted all over his handsome face. “Feels better every fucking time.”
She abhors the way his words make her pulse around him once more. There should have never been a first time, let alone multiple after times.
“Play with your pussy for me, baby.”
His borderline growled command is met with almost unavoidable obedience. The way her hand snakes down to her enlarged pearl, the first and slightest flicker making her hiss quietly, stomach caving.
Each caress and stroke along with the way he fucks into her upping the ante. The increased weight as he leans over, reaching and fucking her deeper, making her moan his name louder, waves and echoes that slam into every inch of the bus.
Much like any of the other times he’s managed to ease his way inside of her, they switch positions right as she feels she’s about to reach the mountain top.
Once under him, she’s now on top, bouncing on his dick, his hands planted on her hips as he fucks up into her.
“Look how good you take this dick,” he groans, fingers digging into her ass, left hand smoothing up her body, squeezing her breast, thumb and index finger pinching her nipple. “You ain’t been fucked right since the last time, huh?”
She has to ignore him, a task that’s a lot easier said than done given how fucking gone she is. Headboard slapping agains the wall the same way his heavy balls slap against her ass with each thrust he meets her for.
“He could never handle you,” he continues, her hands on his chest to steady her. “Never deserved you in the first fucking place.”
“N—neither do y—you.” Where her response comes from, she hasn’t the slightest clue. She typically ignores when he does this, pokes the bear, peels back layers that should remain untouched. Makes her face just one of the many uncomfortable truths about this whole thing.
But over 15 years of knowing the man underneath her should have taught her that if it’s one thing Roman Reigns always does, it’s have the last word.
She whimpers when he grinds his dick inside her, making her gasp and scratch at his chest. “Then why are you riding my dick right now and not his?”
It’s the question she keeps asking herself every time it happens, especially in the massive waves of guilt that follow each sin.
She says nothing.
An unacceptable response.
“Say my name, Heaven.”
The darkening of his voice is accompanied by his hand moving up to her neck. Her eyes shut, but even without the aid of her vision, she can still feel and see the way his eyes burn into her.
A slap to her ass followed by reiteration. “Say it.”
She almost slips up, almost feeds the need of either his ego or his something else, but she remains strong, even as he slams up into her, essentially overtaking any control she previously had by being on top.
Except, once more a reminder that Roman has never done well with not getting his way.
Another switch of positions, Heaven once again on her back, Roman’s big hands restraining her wrists above her head. His mouth is on her as she tightens her thick thighs around his waist, ankles locked at the top of his firm ass.
He groans into their kiss—slow, sloppy, spit swapping—forehead against hers. “Say it.”
And the final request, pained and desperate, is where her resolve starts to crumble. It starts with the way she tugs against his unforgiving restraint, not to be released, but to feel. To be able to run her hands along every sharp, taut, defined ridge of muscle, and dark ink wrapped around smooth skin. To push back his silky hair that rainfalls around her face, enclosing her in, almost symbolizing the way way nothing and no one exists outside of them.
“Roman.”
Dangerous, risky, forbidden. All of the terms still apply but none of them matter, because the minute he loosens his grip and she palms his face, smashing her lips onto his, continuing to whisper and repeat his name like a secret prayer that can only bring about salvation…it’s the only thing she cares about.
“I can’t let go of you, Hev,” he breathes, continuing to thrust in and out of her, their bodies moving as one. In perfect sync, as if designed that way and for that one, sole purpose. “I’ve tried. I can’t.”
She clenches her eyes shut, unwilling to let the tears fall. Crying from the bliss and pleasure the sex between them brings is one thing but crying over what lies so much deeper than just the physical….Heaven can’t bring herself to do that. Won’t allow herself to do it, because then she has to finally acknowledge a truth she’s starting to think might have always existed.
Something she—and maybe him—tried to deny.
But, something that’s burning to emerge to the surface.
She yelps when he drags his hands to the back of her thighs, tugging her even closer, despite it not being humanly possible for her to be—or feel—any closer to him than what's felt right now.
“Why should he get you?” The increased rhythm and intensity of his hips slamming into her are juxtaposed to the borderline growl of his rhetorical question. “Mine. You should have always been mine.”
Heaven hates the way she clings closer at his words.
But, long-term vulnerability has never been one of Roman’s gifts in life. At least, not in the romantic aspect. Give an inch, then retreat back ten yards or more. That’s been him as long as she’s known him, that they’ve known each other, that their families have known each other and become intertwined in a way that makes this whole act of betrayal that much more sickening.
The expressions of adoration and emotionality are swapped out as he flips her once more, on her hands and knees, fist full of her hair, snapping his hips almost erratically with enough force to make the bed rock and creak over and over again.
“Look at you,” he groans. “Pussy dripping and making a fucking mess all over me.” She moans and gasps when he brings his mouth to side of her face, licking upwards on her temple. “Bet he never got you this fucking wet.”
Heaven isn’t sure what she hates more. The fact that he’s right or the use of ‘got.’ Past tense. Like, he knows she can’t remember the last time she was intimate with her husband. Months, for sure.
Or, perhaps there was a moment or two in between then that never stuck, because Jey has never really fucked her in the way Roman does. Has.
Maybe when they were younger. Two young teens with hopes and aspirations that sometimes exceeded reality. Lost in one another. And, maybe even that was dented and embedded with flaws she never recognized. Jey was her first everything. First boyfriend. First love. First time. Maybe it was all of the inaugural aspects of their relationship that blinded her to the faults that seem to only increase with each passing year.
Or, maybe Heaven just wants to find something to try to help her justify her behavior.
A waste of time.
There’s no justification for a married woman falling in bed with a man who is also married. Especially when said man is the cousin of one’s husband and the husband of her cousin. More of a sister than anything.
A label and title that should be stripped away, because what kind of sister does this?
“You’re close, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He continues, the burning in her elbows, coiling in her stomach and throbbing of her pussy all the telltale signs she knows that he knows very well by now. “Can feel it in the way she gripping me. Fuuccck,” he curses. One look over her shoulder reveals he too is close. All the tell tales on full display. Head tilted back once more, the bite on his full bottom lip, the flush of his cheeks and the increasing sloppiness of his fucking.
They’re both near the edge.
“Where do you want me, Angel?” She grips the sheets and groans quietly, feeling his palm move over the apple of his ass. “Tell daddy where you want his cum.”
Damn him.
Once more, an equal amount of frustration as is passion and lust, the latter overpowering the former.
“In—inside me.”
She knows better than to push him this second time. Knows to give him an answer. The only answer she can, or maybe, the only answer she wants to provide.
It didn’t start out this way, her repulsive request for the grand finale. For most women, it’s anything but. For her, it’s all a part of the packaged deal she can’t seem to dismantle and break apart.
“Heaven.”
A final moan of her name, the feel of his final, deep, hard strokes until she can’t feel anything more than the rush that soars through her entire body. The collapse onto the mattress, the feel of him jerking, still embedded deep within her fat pussy. His weight her as he holds and falls on top of her, kisses peppered along her shoulder and the side of her face. Quiet words of praise as he grinds his dick into her ass, intent on stuffing and filling her to the brim with his cum.
Just as she’d requested.
There’s an audible pop sound as he tugs himself from her used, swollen walls, their conjoined juices dripping from his gradually softening cock. The sheets that hold all of their dirty secrets absorb the quiet whimper at the feel of his dickhead swiping up and down her folds, two of his thick fingers plunged inside of her, pushing it in deeper.
Laying claim to what was never his to begin with.
Not that it’s stopped him—or them—before.
She lays there, waiting for him to bring the towel so they can clean up some of the mess made. The right thing to do is to barricade herself in the bathroom on his bus and wash up as best as possible. For a variety of reasons. One of them being she’s almost certain that they’re nearing the end of the show, which means he’ll need to be out there.
But, that doesn’t happen. What instead happens is what typically occurs following….this.
Roman returns, having cleaned up himself well enough, drags one towel over her cunt, ass, and inside of her thighs. Lifts up her lower body just enough to lay down another towel to absorb what the first did not. And then the sound of the bed creaking as he joins her, on his back looking up at the ceiling, running a hand through his hair.
She lays there, on her stomach, naked, exposed, and used in the filthiest ways by a man who wears a wedding band on his left hand placed there by not her.
Similar to the ring on her left hand.
“You ever think about it?”
His words shattering the silence are vague yet the opening for another Pandora’s box she knows she shouldn’t open. Should leave it alone.
If only it was that easy.
“Think about what?”
Heaven watches the motion of his Adam’s apple. “If things were different.” She frowns, as he looks over at her. “If we did things differently.”
There are several different things he could be referring to, but for some reason, whatever reason, what comes to mind is the first time.
Not when emotions, passion, and attraction reached a high a few years ago. That was the first time she broke her marital vows, but it wasn’t the first time the line was crossed, period.
It’d happened before that. When she and the man staring back at her kickstarted what would be a confusing, complicated, messy years long thing. They were both in college, both attending Georgia Tech, Jey in Texas, and Camryn, her cousin and Roman’s girlfriend, now wife, back in Florida. Attending a local university so she’d have more help taking care of their young son, Nathan. Teen parents who were doing the best they could, all things considered.
Heaven was always close with the family. Meeting them through her cousin who she stayed with every summer since the age of six. Only a few months apart, Camryn and Heaven, both only children, bonded instantly and became the closest of friends. Sisters.
Roman’s family lived in the same neighborhood as Camryn. The Usos were less than five minute away. Heaven quickly formed a bond with the boys as well. Had an instant crush on all of them from the initial meeting, though something about Jey always lulled her in his direction. It wasn’t until their early teens, however, that he expressed having feelings for her as well, the confession resulting in them becoming a couple. She loved him. Loved him something deep, which was why she was riddled with agony and unforgiving guilt when she woke up one morning, naked and hungover, Roman right beside her in a similair state.
To this day, she’s not sure how it happened. But, it had, and they both expressed shared regret along with mutual agreement that it was best to not tell their respective partners. A night wiped from the books, never to be spoken of again.
But, some things cannot be erased, leaving behind a potentially permanent reminder.
It led to one of the hardest, important decisions Heaven has ever made in her life. It made the most sense though. Roman was only 21 and already had one child, Nathan, still a toddler at the time. She was 19 and had barely started life, not to mention all the other reasons it just couldn’t happen.
The right decision was made. She knows this. But, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t wonder from time to time.
What if.
Roman might not be the best husband, but he’s one hell of a father, and it’s reflected in the close relationship he has with his son. 23 and a tight end for the San Francisco 49ers. First round draft pick.
It’s something she’s always admired about him. How he never fails to prioritize his family. Maybe not his wife, but Heaven knows better than most how rocky that’s been for them. Not even that, however, has prevented and gotten in the way of him always showing up for his firstborn. No matter what.
Sometimes….sometimes she wonders about that, too.
If…if things would be slightly or completely different if he knew. How his and Nathan’s life would have turned out, how their relationship would be if Camryn revealed the truth. A truth Heaven’s cousin has only shared with her and no one else. A secret Heaven will die with, because at the end of the day, biological or not, a revelation would only do more harm than good.
And, she’s caused enough harm to their family already.
To her own husband.
Truth be told, she’d thought that her long distance relationship with Jey wouldn’t last. Especially for such young kids. But, it had. They made it work. Not without ebbs and flows, especially once Jey flunked out of college and didn’t really know what he was doing with his life. Similair to Roman whose NFL hopes and dreams were dashed, leaving him doing what he could and whatever he had to do to provide for Camryn and his son.
Roman has always been a provider, and she’s always respected him immensely for it.
Jey is the same.
In some ways.
But….not in a way she would have liked.
She was definitely the breadwinner at various points in their relationship. Flunking out of school led to her husband spiraling and only finding solace at the bottom of a bottle. There were affairs. He never admitted it, but she knew. Still, she stayed. She stuck by him because she loved him. Because she believed in him.
Believed in them.
Wanted to believe that it would all work out in the end, even if she set aside and sacrificed her own aspirations in following in both her parents footsteps and becoming a lawyer. Watching and supporting her cousin get to where she is now as one of the top real estate agents in the state of Florida.
It never bothered Heaven though. She’d always been the type to be genuinely happy for those she loves. Holding onto hope for her own happy ending. Of one day going to law school.
Starting a family.
But, things don’t always turn out the way we plan.
She’s not sure when exactly it started, but as Jey found his peace and redemption in wrestling, started to make a name for himself alongside Roman who completely rebranded and changed the game forever, something was lost along the way.
Jey stopped coming home as much. Stayed on the road for weeks at a time. Stopped inviting her on said road for occasional visits. Presented with an irritability she couldn’t understand when she asked what were, to her, innocent questions. The higher his star rose, the more distance she felt forming between them. She did her best to make the most of their time when he would come home to visit, but it only ever felt like he wanted what was between her legs versus spending actual, quality time with her like she wanted.
And, then, it happened.
She found out she was pregnant.
Something she was thrilled about.
Something he was not thrilled about.
It still hurts her to this day when she recalls the almost scowl on his face. The ‘you sure?’ that he kept repeating even as she showed him the sonogram. The appointments he missed. There for Macy’s birth but gone three days later. A pattern, of sorts. Even now, their little girl, going on five and starting to ask more questions about her dad, why he’s never home, and the way Jey always seems to dance around the discussion of taking time off, it makes her wonder.
She thought he’d eventually come around to fatherhood, especially as he’d told her from the beginning that he wanted kids, but she’s not entirely certain anymore.
It’s a tough pill to swallow, especially when juxtaposed to the role Roman plays in Macy’s life.
The restructuring of his contract a few years prior allowed him to be home more, an ironic thing considering the taking off of Camryn’s side consultant business kickstarted a lot more travel along with their son also out of the house at that point. It made him available when Jey was not. When Jimmy and Naomi were home, they’d help out, too, but they also traveled frequently like Heaven’s husband.
And, with majority of her family back home in North Carolina and a small friend group in Florida, that really left only her husband’s cousin who was also Heaven’s good friend and a confidant.
Even when he and Jey went through their nasty bout a few years back. Though that was never much of a surprise to those close to the family. As close as the guys were, she always felt and noticed some level of lingering, unspoken tension between her husband and his cousin. It’d never really been discussed much nor did she ever really receive a clear answer when she probed, thus her just leaving it alone.
Now, a few years later, in the past few weeks especially, she’s started to detect slight sparks that indicate a return.
Mostly caused by, of all things, Roman’s relationship with Macy. It started a few months ago, really. Snide comment here and there from her husband about what Heaven considered insignificant and not worth getting upset over. The photo of a smiling Macy taking a selfie with her uncle Roman that was the lock screen on her tablet. The gallery on said tablet filled with family pictures and silly selfies that had more of her uncle than her own father. Jey’s irritation with how whenever Roman was working a show or PLE, he made sure to fly out Heaven and Macy with him so the five year-old could see her dad.
To a certain extent, Heaven can see why and understand Jey’s frustration. She really can. But, the fact of the matter is that the reason Roman holds such a close relationship with their—her—daughter is because he’s been there since day one.
Roman and Camryn. And in more recent years, Roman more than anything.
It was Roman who offered to attend OB-GYN appointments with her. Roman who was at the hospital with her, waiting in the lobby, Camryn on her left side, her mom on the right, when she went into labor. Jey barely made it by the skin of his teeth for the birth of their daughter.
Roman was there less than an hour after her water broke.
Roman and/or Camryn handled preschool pickups for her so that she didn’t have to leave her job. Sometimes still pick Macy up from kindergarten when Heaven gets held up at the office.
When Macy was only six months old and running a 102 fever as a baby, it was Roman who sat with her in the emergency room—Camryn out of town. When Macy had her preschool graduation, Roman was the one in attendance. Not Jey. It’s “Uncle Roman” that Macy asks about more and more about and for as she gets older.
Sometimes….sometimes it does make Heaven nervous. How easily and quickly Macy bonded to and with him. The…the resemblance. Same smile. Similar personalities. Same eyes…
Heaven has even gone as far as falling down the rabbit hole. Stumbling across gossip threads and forums with 15+ pages of speculation and rumors accompanied by candids snapped of herself, Roman, and Macy.
One user going as far as putting together, side by side, a photo snapped of her baby girl at Mania' two years ago and one of Roman when he was around that age.
Heaven almost cracked the screen of her laptop with the force and speed in which she slammed it shut.
That was the last time she ever allowed herself to look at such things.
Has never sat down and did the math. Looked at the calendar. Checked the dates in Flo. That’s a road she refuses to allow herself to venture down.
Because nothing good would come of it. Too many lives would be ruined.
Things are better as they are.
Even if still fucked up, nevertheless.
“Not really,” she answers, unsurprised when his mouth dips into a frown. Unable and unwilling to dive any deeper, to risk him seeing past the lie that flowed so smoothly off her lips, she moves to climb off the bed, gathering her clothes, grateful when he doesn’t call her name as she heads for the bathroom.
Grateful because she fully recognizes the lack of will on her end to resist him.
—————
Disappearing while technically being at the show for her daughter and to see her husband, as of the last few visits, hasn’t really been as much of an issue given the arguments that have lately preceded her arrival.
Again, small, trivial things that get blown out of proportion but result in Heaven letting Macy spend alone time with Jey while she almost always gets coaxed into joining Roman on his bus or his private locker room.
Where they usually fuck.
Not always though.
Sometimes….sometimes, they just talk. Her leaned into him, eyes shut as he presses his lips against her tempe, their fingers threaded, the peace his presence grants her something she’s never found in another soul.
Not even her husband.
Before Jimmy started taking more time off and especially now that Naomi is on maternity leave, those alone, close, intimate moments happen more often that not.
Have become a regular.
But, the moment she walks through the back of the arena, offering small smiles to those in passing, superstars and crew alike, Roman only a few feet behind, the peace is instantly crushed and replaced with panic when her eyes land on the scene before her.
Jey on one knee, hands placed on Macy’s little shoulders, the Yeet shirt two sizes too large and draping off her frame, yet another small but telling indicator of the distance that exists between himself and his daughter.
He doesn’t even know what size she wears.
Rushed footsteps carry her over, frown deepening the closer she gets and realizes Macy’s head is down, hands over her ears, mouth scrunched up into a pout. Her face is flushed, and her eyes are clenched shut.
“What happened?” Heaven demands, but her focus is on her daughter as she bends down and gently cups her face. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Jey is the one to answer, his gaze bouncing back and forth between herself and Roman who she’s 100% certain carries the same concerned expression. “She was fine at first. Smiling and shit.”
Before Heaven can press on the “at first” part of his response, her attention is refocused on her daughter who offers a quiet, emotional “loud” that puts all the pieces together.
Roman, however, is the first to say something.
“Did you take her out there?”
Heaven beckons Macy into her arms, her little girl melting into her mother’s warm embrace, as she kisses the top of her head and stands up, Macy's small arms wrapped around her neck.
“It was just a short promo,” is the defensive answer as Jey stands, glasses sitting atop his head. “Wasn’t even that long.”
It’s only because of the concern that flows through Heaven for her baby girl that she doesn’t snap at Jey on the spot.
It all makes sense. Macy shutting down and clearly feeling overwhelmed. Because she is.
Because of Jey.
“Can you go hang out with Uncle Roman for me for a little bit, baby?” It’s a question that doesn’t even really need to be asked, Heaven already knowing the answer. Macy wordless nods into her, Heaven pressing a final, lingering kiss to her head before handing her over to Roman, Macy already reaching for him.
Heaven doesn’t need to say anything else, Roman already walking away, most likely to take her to his locker room so she can calm down and find much needed silence.
It’d be best for Heaven to ask Jey to take them to his locker room, but the absence of her child opens the door for the bulk of her rage.
She doesn’t give a fuck who hears or sees shit.
“What the hell were you thinking, Jey?” She snaps, hand formed into a fist at her side, the tips of her nails digging into the skin of her palm. “Why the fuck would you take her out there?”
“Aye, watch your tone.”
“Answer me!” She shouts, uncaring at the few glances cast their way as she drills into him. “You know that’s too much for her! I told you it was too much for her.”
He sucks his teeth. “She didn’t say nothing.”
“She’s five. She shouldn’t have to,” Heaven stresses, hating the way her chest starts to tighten the way it almost always does when they argue about something near and dear to her heart. Especially as it pertains to her daughter.
“Look.” His voice deepens as he steps closer, tone dipping. “I asked her if she wanted to do it with me. She said yes. I don’t see what the prob—”
“Again, she’s five, Jey.” Heaven doesn’t know how many goddamn times she has to point this shit out to a grown ass man, but it’s beyond redundant and frustrating at this point. “And, she probably said yes, because she just wants to spend time with you. But, you can’t be bothered to learn what things to do to bond with your own daughter, because you’re too goddamn busy with this stupid Yeet shit!”
Even in the moment, she recognizes that she’s taken it too far. That her words are unnecessarily hurtful, but they’re fueled by a mother’s protectiveness and a father’s careless, borderline dangerous indifference.
Heaven can still recall every single piece of information pertaining to all the developments. The initial suspicions she had just hours after giving birth, the almost tedious and cautious way the doctors almost tried to dance around the subject before suggesting “additional” testing. The way her eyes locked with Jey’s through the glass as she sat in the chair, holding her sweet baby girl, already knowing the outcome of the screening the minute she saw his eyes water.
A few follow-up tests later confirmed it. Macy was born with bilateral sensorineural hearing loss. Bilateral in that it was in both ears.
She couldn’t hear.
She was deaf.
It was a jarring, unexpected diagnosis that left Heaven reeling with so many questions and concerns not seemingly shared by Jey. While she leaned into the grief, knowing she needed to fully feel her emotions to be best able to care for her daughter, he avoided them like the plague.
Sometimes she thinks that’s why he left just a few days after Macy’s birth.
Avoidance behavior.
He couldn’t take it, which was understandable but unfair in that it left the weight of the discovery a burden no wife should have to carry alone.
But, she wasn’t. She was surrounded by a circle of love and support. Her mom stayed with her for almost a month. Roman and Camryn made and kept themselves available. Even Jey’s parents whom she’s always held a close relationship with.
It helped, but at the core of it, what Heaven wanted—needed most—was her husband.
If only he recognized as such.
Still, the day that her baby girl was fitted for and set up with her hearing aids, when Heaven saw the way Macy’s big brown eyes followed the sound of her mother’s voice, when Heaven realized that her daughter had finally heard her mother’s voice for the first time….she broke down. It will always be one of the best days of her life.
Her mother, Camryn, and Roman in the room with her.
Jey was not.
On top of hearing aids and several visits and appointments with a child audiologist and neurologist, they got Macy set up with speech therapy at a young age. All of the early intervention steps have allowed her to be a happy, healthy little girl, but she has her struggles. One of them being loud noises something that’s overwhelming and overstimulating for her. And, Heaven can’t think of something as loud and boisterous as the WWE crowd, especially and primarily when her dad does his famous “Yeet” opening.
The very thing he did with her tonight. The thing Heaven was never in agreement with the first time Jey suggested Macy join him, their sweet baby just wanting to “be like daddy” but ending up coming out on the other end crying and hysterical, Heaven turning off Macy’s hearing aids so she could find decompression in the silence.
Jey was there for that. He saw how Macy reacted, so how he could allow a second time to occur is beyond infuriating.
Reckless, too.
“I guess I can’t just do nothing right, huh?” He scoffs, gesturing to her up and down with a grimace on his face. “I guess I’m just—I’m just some fuck up of a dad.”
Heaven’s eyes double in size, the disbelief reflected in the way her jaw drops. “Are you seriously making this about you right now?” She shouldn’t be surprised. This is becoming a typical thing for him at this point, and for the life of her she can’t recall if it’s a newfound trait of his—unintentional gaslighting—or if it’s always been there.
And, she didn’t see it.
Or didn’t want to, at least.
He maintains his stance, however, digging his feet in the dirt even deeper. “You standing here chastising me like I’m some fucking child, and I’m not a child, Heaven. I’m a grown ass man.”
“So act like one then, Jey!” She shoots back, still unbothered by the eavesdropping of those nearby, noticing the slower steps taken intended to prolong the audible space of their heated argument. “I’m tired of always having to be the parent. Taking care of our daughter while you out here acting like your only job is this. You never have time to come see us, but I can open Instagram and see you riding around drunk with people you don’t even know!”
Back in their late teens and especially early twenties, Heaven can admit the entire friend group was big on partying. Maybe not all the time but definitely a bulk of the time. They had their fun, did the wild, crazy things most people laugh about when reflecting on such days. However, they all eventually grew out of it, recognizing that certain things should and must be put behind oneself as a result of age, maturity, and life in general.
She certainly has.
Camryn has.
Roman has.
Jimmy has.
Jey….not so much.
It almost feels like him being thrusted in the spotlight and being as over as he is right now, how successful he is, has made him want to recapture certain aspects of his youth that, in Heaven’s opinion, should remain exactly where they belong.
In the past.
If only her husband viewed it the same.
“Yeah, you fucking trippin’. I’m grown, Heaven,” he counters. A part of her, though she hides it well, is somewhat hurt that her words don’t seem to penetrate but instead bounce off the steel exterior of a man she’s starting to no longer recognize. “I do what the fuck I want. I don’t answer to you.”
She grows silent, watching the way his brows cave in, subtle twitch of his nose and the anger in his eyes. Standing right before him, she’s never felt such a distance.
“No….” She swallows. “You don’t.”
More needs to be said. The silence that befalls them is drowned out by the thumping her chest, a painful recognition of a deterioration that perhaps started longer than she would like to admit. Even she can even allow herself to admit as such.
Clearing her throat, the sound of people walking and moving past them return to the front seat at she turns to walk away, partially hoping that her husband calls after her. Attempts to keep her from leaving. Tries something.
He does nothing.
By the time she’s outside the door of Roman’s locker room, the tears have already started to fall. She uses the back of her hand to blot her eyes despite it being a waste of time. The minute she walks in, he’ll see, and he’ll know. Roman has always been exceptionally observant, a great skill for one to have in most regards but not right now.
She doesn’t want to talk about this, and he’ll no doubt push and pry.
He can be annoying like that.
Blowing out a breath and smoothing down the creases in her shirt, she bites the bullet and walks in. Met with dim lighting and almost silence, she walks over to the curved leather sofa where Roman’s gaze falls on her at the same time she’s focused on her daughter.
One of the first things she notices is the fact that Macy is no longer wearing her father’s merch. Or, rather it’s covered up by the OTC hoodie Roman got for her last year—perfectly sized—that she almost never travels without and hates when Heaven washes. It’s one of her favorite pieces of clothing. The colorful, rainbow Build-A-Bear in her lap that’s seen better days is also cradled into her chest. Cookie. Macy’s comfort stuffed animal she absolutely will not travel without. Even likes taking to school with her.
Also a gift from Roman.
She’s sitting in Roman’s lap, legs spread across his slightly spread thick thighs, her head laid against his chest, eyes shut, mouth set in an almost perfect line. Peaceful. She looks so at peace.
Then again, she always does when….when she’s with him.
“What the fuck did he do now?”
The stark and abrasive tone of Roman’s voice makes Heaven switch from admiring her sweet little girl to glaring at the man who is seconds away from waking her up. The concern must be show on his face. “I turned them off.”
Oh.
Them being Macy’s hearing aids.
It tracks though. When the noise becomes too much, the silence is what heals.
“Now answer my question.” She sighs, sitting on the other end of the sofa, reaching and fiddling with the shoe strings of Macy’s Nike’s. “What did he say to—”
“We’ll fly home with you tonight.”
Her interruption is a combination of things. Deflection. Frustration. Exhaustion. But, mostly a heaping pile of defeat.
The arguments are becoming so draining, and while she initially planned to stay until tomorrow afternoon, or whenever Jey had to leave, that no longer feels like the best option. He’s upset with her, and when he gets that way, he doesn’t know how to fake a smile and put on a show for the sake of their child.
She doesn’t want to keep exposing Macy to that.
She doesn’t want to keep exposing Macy to any of it.
So, it’s best they depart the same way they they arrived.
i love being single except every few months when i want to be loved so bad that it eats me alive and makes me physically ill for two weeks but like the rest of the time im chill
pairing: coach!steve harrington x teacher!reader
summary: your extremely professional relationship with coach steve may be under investigation by one (1) very observant six-year-old.
warnings: pure fluff, slightly suggestive, steve is just absolutely smitten, secret relationship, children being adorable, mention of marriage, post-s5 (2.3k)
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
Little Eli Parker is zooming down the hallway on a Very, Very Important mission.
Six years old, sandy curls bouncing wildly with every step, he's panting hard through the wide gap between his two front teeth. One of the Velcro straps on his sneaker has come undone, flapping wildly as he skids to a stop just outside your classroom door.
5B
He doesn’t come all the way in. Just peeks around the frame, fingers gripping the edge as he rocks back and forth on his heels.
You pause mid-sentence, lowering the book you’ve been reading aloud. A few students crane their necks to look.
Eli’s bright blue mesh pinnie hangs crooked over his T-shirt, smudged with chalk dust and tiny white handprints—making it very clear which class he’s just sprinted away from. His cheeks are flushed, chest heaving like he’d forgotten the ‘no running in the halls’ rule until the very last second.
“Hey, Eli,” you call out gently. “You okay, honey?”
He sucks in a much-needed breath, eyes wide. “Um… miss you haveta come with me. Coach Steve says you need to!”
You tilt your head. “Coach Steve?”
He nods solemnly. “He said it’s a ‘mer-gency.’”
A ripple of whispers spreads through your fifth-grade classroom.
You blink, already pushing your chair back. “Did he say what kind of emergency?”
Eli shakes his head, serious as anything. “No. He just said we need to hurry.”
Your stomach gives a small, uneasy flip.
Eli isn’t the type to exaggerate. He’s sweet, careful. Reminds everyone when it’s time to line up after recess and always volunteers to erase the board without being asked. He's the sort of kid teachers trust without thinking twice.
If he’s the messenger, it’s because of something important.
“Alright, everyone,” you call to the class. “Keep reading quietly. I’ll be right back.”
A chorus of shuffling follows as you reach for your cardigan.
“Hurry, hurry,” Eli bounces on his heels, voice small but insistent.
Before you can answer, he reaches for your hand. His grip is tiny, warm, a little sticky—surprisingly strong. You find yourself getting dragged by his bouncy, determined steps, weaving past rows of lockers, dodging a cluster of kids heading to recess. He zigzags through the main hallway, past the water fountain, the art room, taking the shortcut through the library until you arrive at the wide, double doors leading into the gym.
The moment you push them open, chaos erupts.
Bright rubber dodgeballs zing through the air. Sneakers squeak across the glossy, lacquered floor. Laughter and triumphant shrieks ricochet off the walls, punctuated by the occasional, “Yes! Got you!” from victorious first graders.
Coach Steve's leaned casually against the far wall, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle hanging loose around his neck. He’s sipping from a blue ceramic mug that reads World’s Best Teacher in chipped white lettering.
Only five months into the job, yet he’s already something of a legend here at Hawkins Elementary. The younger kids adore him—dodgeball days and ridiculous warm-up games where he pretends to be a shark, stalking the gym with dramatic dun-dun noises until they’re all shrieking with laughter. Older kids trust him in quieter ways, lingering after sex ed to ask questions they’re not brave enough to bring home.
Despite the nerves you remember from his first day, Steve has settled into teaching like it’s been waiting for him all along.
Right now, though, he’s fully in coach mode. Brow furrowed, stance wide, eyes tracking the game like it’s a championship match instead of a bunch of kids still learning how to throw straight.
“Out of bounds! That one doesn’t count.”
“Woah—no head shots, Jacob! C’mon, we talked about that.”
“You okay, Alex? I got you. Here, try it like this. Yeah, there ya go bud!”
Eli, who had been clutching your hand the entire walk across school, suddenly lets go and races toward his favorite teacher.
“Coach Steve! I did it! I got her!”
Steve looks up. Sees you.
And the grin that breaks across his face is so immediate, so fond, it'd be enough to give you both away if anyone was paying the tiniest bit of attention.
“Hey!” he laughs, stepping forward. “Nice work, buddy. Thanks for the help.”
You watch, eyes narrowed in confusion as he ruffles Eli’s curls and slaps a high five against his tiny palm.
Eli puffs up with pride and pivots to sprint back to the game.
“Whoa—hang on, pal.”
Steve drops to his knees, setting the clipboard aside as he reaches for the loose strap on Eli’s shoe. He fastens it with careful, practiced fingers, giving it a quick tug to make sure it’ll hold.
Your stomach melts a little at the sight of him crouched like that: focused, patient, so gentle with this kid who’s staring at him like he hung the moon.
“There we go, champ,” he grins, giving Eli's sneaker a little pat. “Good as new. Now go have fun, alright? Your team missed you.”
Eli nods hard, then rockets back into the game without another word.
Steve straightens and finally turns to you, eyes warm, smile soft—and just a touch guilty.
“Mr. Harrington,” you say, crossing your arms carefully, “what exactly is the emergency you pulled me out of class for?”
His mouth quirks sheepishly, hands slipping into his pockets.
“Well, I just…” He steps closer, dropping his voice. “Haven’t seen you all morning. I missed you.”
You blink.
“You—” A breathy laugh slips out before you can stop it. “You sent poor Eli to fetch me because you missed me?”
He nods like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Yeah. He's my fastest kid.”
“No, that's not the...” you trail off, turning your head, failing completely to hide your smile.
Steve steps closer, angling the clipboard between you so that, to anyone looking in, it would look like you’re addressing some very concerning issues with the class roster.
Well, except for the part where his eyes are glued to your face.
There’s this soft intensity in his gaze that makes your breath hitch, just by holding it. You find yourself staring back, unable to look away, appreciating the faint creases around his temples, how they deepen with his smile, the plush curve of his bottom lip and the rounded apples of his cheeks as they get pushed upward.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, voice all deep and honey-warm. “Just needed to look at you for a second.”
You shake your head, cheeks warming despite yourself.
There’s a reason you’ve been keeping this thing with Steve a secret.
You both realized, pretty early on, that acting normal in a building full of nosy children and nosier adults was a losing battle. You had to learn to bend with it, catching tiny, fleeting moments in the spaces between, holding onto each one as tightly as you can.
It wasn’t perfect. Mrs. Kline, the school secretary, has definitely noticed the two of you laughing a little too freely by the copier. One of your students will occasionally squint at you during silent reading time, wondering why a tiny scrap of paper left on your table at lunch leaves you grinning for the rest of the day.
Still, you make it work.
A shared coffee in the teachers’ lounge before the morning bell. Standing side-by-side near the parking lot fence as the buses roll in. A granola bar tucked under your desk with a note folded impossibly small.
you look beautiful today ◡̈
He repeats the message to you now, even as you roll your eyes and try to look away.
“Seriously, I mean it," he murmurs, tracing your face with his eyes—the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek—before lingering, unmistakably, on your mouth. “Want to kiss you so bad right now.”
You snort, nudging the sleeve of his sweatshirt with a finger. It’s soft, heather-gray, the Hawkins Elementary mascot faint and cracked across the chest.
“That’s deeply unprofessional of you, Mr. Harrington.”
He groans under his breath, brow creasing as he tips his head back. “God, I love it when you say it like that. Say it one more time?”
“Jesus—Steve!” you hiss, half-laughing, eyes darting toward the gym floor like the kids might suddenly develop super-hearing over the screech of sneakers and flying dodgeballs.
Instead of stepping back, he leans in closer, lips parted in that familiar half-pout, eyes full of mock agony. “Can’t help it, honey. You’re fucking killing me over here.”
“Language,” you warn him, simply out of pure habit.
He smirks, lips twitching.
From the far end of the gym, a group of kids cheer triumphantly, “Yes! Coach Steve! We won!”
You both jump back like you’ve been caught doing something much worse than grinning at each other like idiots.
“Uh—great! Great job, gang!” Steve calls, clapping his hands. “Let's get all the balls in the cart and then grab some water, yeah? Five-minute break.”
Then he leans back in, brows raised. “See? Total professional. I’m telling you.”
You shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
You’re still smiling when he pivots, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one’s paying attention. Satisfied, he turns back to you, brows drawn into a hopeful, pleading slant.
"C'mon," he murmurs, lifting the clipboard up like a partition. "I’ll get another game going. The kids won’t even notice. Just you... me...” He gestures between you, then toward the double doors leading outside. “Five minutes?”
You press your lips together, schooling your expression back into something stern. “Steve Harrington. I am not fucking you behind the school gym.”
"Language!" He gasps, mimicking your tone. “And jeez, who said anything about that? I was just gonna, you know, have a very professional conversation with you… about teaching.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, c’mon, bab—"
“Coach Steve?”
Both of your heads snap down at the same time.
Eli stands there, chin tipped up, hands clasped neatly behind his back like he’s been waiting for his turn to speak. He’s rocking gently on his heels, eyes bright with curiosity as he looks between the two of you.
“Heyyy, buddy!” Steve laughs nervously, voice jumping up an octave. “What’s up? You okay?”
Eli nods.
Then, completely matter-of-fact, he asks:
“Coach Steve, when you marry her, can I come?”
Steve chokes on absolutely nothing.
“When—what?”
“When you get married,” Eli repeats patiently, like Steve’s just being a little slow today. “I wanna come.”
Steve squats down so fast he almost drops the clipboard.
“Eli,” he says carefully, “why do you think we’re getting married?”
Eli shrugs, unfazed. “’Cause you’re prac-tis married.”
“Practice… practice married?”
“Yeah. Like my Auntie Jen and her friend Mark at Thanksgiving.”
Steve blinks. “Okay, and what's... why do you think we’re practice married?”
Eli doesn’t hesitate. He points toward the front of the gym, in the general direction of your classroom. “’Cause you always wait for her outside her door.”
Steve opens his mouth. Closes it.
“And you bring her coffee. But you don’t bring us coffee.”
“Well,” Steve murmurs faintly, “that’s ‘cause you’re six.”
Eli shrugs again. “And you talk to her really soft. Like this,” he cups his hand around his mouth to demonstrate, whispering loudly. “Also, you always save her a chair at ass-em-blee.”
Steve rubs a hand down his face, glancing up at you before looking back at Eli. “That’s, uh… very observant of you, buddy.”
Eli isn’t done.
“And you make funny faces at her in the hallway. Oh! And you fixed her pencil sharpener. And, and, there was one time you looked at her, and you didn’t look away for one... two... three...” He glances down at his fingers and starts counting under his breath. “five... six... seven... eigh—”
“Okay!” Steve laughs loudly, holding up his hands. “Okay, buddy, I get it. That’s... that’s a long time.”
Eli nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Auntie Jen and Mark, they used to go everywhere together. And Mark fixed all the stuff around her house. Then later they got married for real.”
He looks between the two of you, satisfied.
“So. I think you’re practice married.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and crouch beside Steve. “Well... I think that’s a pretty solid theory, Eli.”
“Mm-hm, thanks,” he nods confidently. Then he spins back to Steve. “So, when you do the real one, can I come? I’m really good at sitting still. And my mom says when people get married they always eat cake. I love cake.” He spreads his arms wide. “Auntie Jen’s was this big!”
Steve presses his lips together, letting out a short, incredulous snort. “You know what, pal? Sure. Whe—if we get married, you’re more than welcome to come. And we’ll get the biggest cake we can find, okay?”
Eli beams. “Okay!”
He starts to run back to the group, then skids to a stop and turns around.
“Hey, Coach Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“You should ask her nicely,” Eli says, serious as anything. “With flowers. Mark did that.”
And then he’s gone.
Steve stays crouched, staring after him, jaw slack.
“…Did a six-year-old just give me relationship advice?”
“Mm, seems like it.”
He stands slowly, running a hand through his hair, eyes still following Eli as he rejoins the others.
“You think he spotted it before we did?” he asks quietly. “Back when... you know, we were still trying to figure out what we were doing?”
You smile. “Probably way before then.”
Steve's still distracted when you put your hand on his shoulder, quickly checking to see that no one’s watching before pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek.
He blinks, stunned. “Wha—no, wait, shit—”
He reaches for you a full second too late; you’re already headed for the door.
“Language. Have a good rest of your class, Mr. Harrington.”
Steve watches you go, hand frozen at his cheek.
Across the gym, Eli spots you and waves enthusiastically, completely unaware of just how accurate his little theory was.
The proof?
A small velvet box, tucked away in Steve’s bedside drawer, waiting patiently for the right moment.
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
