author’s note: we've finally reached the end, my friends. it's been a ride. that's for sure.
pairing: roman reigns x black!oc x jey uso
warnings: angst. strong themes regarding infidelity, domestic violence, and death. psychological elements. some scenes may be triggering and difficult to read. reader discretion is strongly advised.
words: 17k+
song inspo:❝ chasing cars❞ by snow patrol
credit: photos from pinterest and google images. fic and chapter title graphics by me. mdni divider by @strangergraphics
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The tapping of Heaven’s almond shaped nails against the side of her thigh occur in conjunction with each deep, quiet, counted breath taken and the subsequent exhale. While her eyes remain shut during the short, simple but effective exercise learned in therapy, they snap open only a few seconds later in order to implement another learned coping mechanism. Heaven starts off easy, utilizing what can be seen without any additional movement, give or take subtle utilization of peripheral vision. She counts the walls. Four. Two more than the amount of chairs that surround the graphite gray table. White chairs with legs that look sturdy but rocked and briefly scraped against the gray concrete floor when she sat down and placed her black Hermes bag in the empty seat next to her. The buzzing of the fluorescent ceiling lights serve as a sort of buffer for the muffled outside noise. A surprising thing she noticed she being escorted in.
Heaven always thought these sort of rooms were soundproof. Made so that no sound from within traveled outward and no sound outside traveled inward. Just like the room as seen and depicted in any legal based television program or cinematic film. It just seemed like the sort of thing that made sense what with the nature of such a place. But perhaps it’s the opposite. Privacy of that nature is only allotted for the freed.
Not the imprisoned.
The guard who escorted her remains with his feet planted near the door. He offered nothing but a silent nod of acknowledgment, his left hand remaining on his holstered gun, the right resting his side, waiting and watchful. It’s appreciated. While her emotions have been all over the place from the moment she woke up this morning, any sort of anxiety or fear haven’t been because of the potential danger.
At least, not towards her.
And not in the way most people in such a situation would suspect.
Heaven redirects her focus to the faint scratches on the table and is seconds from lifting her wrist to check the time. The gold Piaget watch—a Christmas gift from Roman a few years back—the only source allotted to her to do so, her phone and other non-allowed items checked in upon their arrival. But it’s a failed effort when a sudden knock disturbs final attempts at settlement.
It’s hard to say exactly what traverses through her the moment the door opens and a room of two temporarily increases to four before descending into three. The squeak and creak of those same sneakers against the cold floor in conjunction with almost rhythmic whirring. Something locking and clanking upon final placement. Directly across from her. A quiet, barely audible and brief conversation between the two guards transpiring before the one who transported departs and the one who remains stands exactly as he’s been since he escorted her in.
The silence that follows the sound of the door closing is thick. Unintentional. Heaven has no desire to play any games, to see who will fold first. She just….she’s not sure what to say. Not really. And it’s the strangest fucking thing in the world. To be sitting across from someone that, once upon a time, she believed to be her end all, be all. The first and the last.
The reality that is theirs, however, couldn’t be anymore farther from that.
It’s been roughly two months since they’ve been in the same space. God knows how long since they’ve been physically this close to one another. And while he hardly looked like the same handsome man she was once head over heels with during the trial, the continued decline in his appearance is even more drastic.
Dark roots grown out and poorly transitioning into the faded, bleached ends. She never could understand the thought process for some of his hair choices, including the most recent cut, unevenly shaved on the sides, a sort of mullet in the middle. It’s roughly the same with the only difference being the obvious lack of refreshed color. Faded and dull. Similar to his eyes. Deep, dark, heavy bags that were almost non-existent before the ruination. Chapped lips. Slightly gaunt cheeks. He’s lost some weight. Maybe a lot. It’s hard to tell what with the almost baggy fit of his orange jumpsuit, a size too large or just ill fitting altogether. Insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Comfort is the last thing prioritized in such a place and for such a person.
“You come to gloat?”
His voice takes her back. She hasn’t heard him speak since….
It’s been a long time. He’s said not a word throughout the entire trial. Not during any of the testimonies given. Not even her own. As she often tearfully and angrily testified. Relaying in detail the litany of atrocities committed during their marriage. Including the retelling of what she now knows and recognizes to have been abuse. Abuse that, all things considered, and in the most heartbreaking of ways, weighs lowly on the scale of egregiousness regarding his actions.
A few one worded responses to the judge, but even those were muttered, with him often being asked to repeat himself. And at that point, Heaven had tuned him out.
But there’s no doing that when he sits right across from her.
Her silence is clearly irksome, the irritation in his gruff voice increased. “Came to rub shit in my face?”
Heaven stills. Just continues to stare at him offering nothing more than a poker face and a surprisingly, easily crafted stoic expression. If she was unsure what level of anger and rage still remained, she’s almost sure now that it’s all but dissipated. Or rather her purpose outweighs her emotions.
Either way, she maintains the calm.
She lifts a perfectly arched brow, refusing to show and give him anything other than facts. “You haven’t been sentenced yet.”
“You a lot of things, Heaven, but stupid ain’t one of them.” He scoffs. “We both know how this shit gon’ turn out.”
He’s not wrong.
There’s no denying that whatever sentence will be issued three days from now, it won’t be light. It also won’t be what he deserves though.
Heaven is almost certain that there is no sentence that adequately fits the depth of his crimes.
Not in this life anyway.
“Why are you here?” He issues his question once more, volume once again transcending to the next level. The first and only flash of anything in his empty eyes making a brief appearance. Anger. “I already saw what you had to say.”
That was, in the strangest way, one of the things throughout this whole process that she detested the most. His having the right to read her victim impact statement ahead of time. She understood it from a legal standpoint, but morally, it felt unfair. It felt unfair that he had the legal right to protest and defend himself from facts that he can’t dispute, even if he wanted to. The strong case presented by the DA all but cemented that.
Heaven desired to witness and see his face as she read aloud the six page letter she wrote, edited, scrapped, rewrote, and picked apart line by line for almost two weeks before settling on the final draft. Wanted to watch in real time the live reaction to her raw, uncut, final words. But sitting across from him right now, seeing the same heartless man she saw that day as he hovered over her, choking the life out of her, fully intending to take her life….she knows now it wouldn’t have made a difference.
Even in real time, his reaction would be the same.
Nothing.
“You’re right.” She nods, dark red lips pressed together. “I did already say what I have to say.” A beat. “But you haven’t heard what she has to say.”
A quick flick of her eyes to the guard in the corner of the room results in him walking over to the door. Jey turns to the man before looking back at Heaven.
“What’s going on?”
Naturally, she ignores him. Instead angles her body towards the door the guard knocked on twice. A few seconds later, it opens, and for the first time since she sat down, something warm floats through her chest.
For a moment, she’s surprised. She expected him to be holding her, as he always and usually does when escorting her. But then Heaven remembers. Remembers the request made.
She asked to walk on her own.
Hence the way he simply holds her hand.
Her black pleated shirt brushes against her knees, white socks with black ruffles sticking out past the tongue of her sneakers. Her white shirt, tucked into the skirt, is a size too large but was her preference. A portion of his tribal tattoo, covered in gold, the outline of his famous Superman punch sprawled across the middle of her chest. Her dark hair is pulled up into two space buns, gold butterfly clips clipped near each. A gold bracelet on each wrist and necklace to match complete the look. The splash of rainbow fur, clutched against her chest with her left arm, pointed ear lightly brushing against her jaw, is a contrast to her otherwise monochromatic outfit. Her lips are pressed together and her chin is held high, but when she locks gazes with Heaven, there’s a shift.
The feet of the chair screech loudly when Heaven scoots back, opening her arms right as Macy breaks away from Roman in exchange to greet her mama.
Heaven closes her eyes and sighs softly. “Hi, baby,” she murmurs into the top of Macy’s head, her daughter’s fingers digging at her arm. Creating an anchor. A safe space to land and deplane. Heaven briefly meets Roman’s guarded gaze only for it to quickly switch to the man across from his girls. Small bumps sprout across the back of her neck.
If looks could kill….
It’s more or less the same way he’s looked at Jey since the start of the trial. When he did allow himself to look. Majority of the time, Heaven kept her hand intertwined with his or one on his bicep. Keeping him grounded.
In more than just the physical.
Macy shifting in her lap redirects her focus, however, as her brave little girl repositions herself so that she no longer has her face buried in Heaven’s chest. She’s instead facing the man she once called daddy.
And for the first time since the onset of the trial—even before that—Heaven observes something different in Jey. A short, brief glimmer of something other than anger, hate, and disdain.
They’re still present but far less intense.
It’s welcomed. Provides a modicum of relief in a situation Heaven still isn’t 100% sure she was right in agreeing to.
And she knows Roman feels the same.
Lord knows that when Macy first brought up her desire to see Jey, to speak with him, the ‘no’ couldn’t come out fast enough. A delivery that could have been better, for sure, but it was such a jarring, unexpected, anxiety inducing question that Heaven knows both she and Roman immediately went into fight or flight. Answered from a place of fear and panic.
Understandably so.
There’s a reason they were adamant from the very beginning about keeping their daughter as far away from Jey as possible. While they prioritized filing for a lifetime restraining order, they also implored Heaven’s parents to see what legal strings they could pull, if possible, to expedite the process of Jey’s parental rights being terminated so that they could begin the process of having Roman legally recognized as Macy’s father. Her safety, healing, and erasing any connection and right Jey had to Macy were number one on their list.
Thus them being floored when she asked not once but several times about this. Even brought it up to her therapist, Mack, hence a collaborative meeting with all four to discuss where such a thing came from and best ways to handle it.
Heaven knows that both she and Roman entered that session all but convinced that they weren’t going to change their minds. There was a reason the DA hadn’t even considered calling Macy to testify. On top of her being too young, given the nature of the crime, it would be far too traumatizing to put her in such a situation.
And Macy has already been traumatized enough. Been through more than any seven year-old should have to overcome.
To say her journey since the fire has been difficult would be an understatement.
A year later, she still can’t sleep by herself. They’ve tried on a few occasions, and each one has resulted in Macy hysterical, in tears, and on the brink of a panic attack. Even the aid of Candy, their 2 year old German Shepherd, and Macy’s ESA, sleeping at the edge of the bed doesn’t stop her from burying herself into Roman’s chest, Cookie in her arms.
And even when surrounded by every source of comfort she’s identified, there are still nights where she wakes up screaming, crying, and kicking, haunted by nightmares Heaven knows all too well.
She’s had a handful herself.
But a mother’s priorities will always be her children.
Macy’s separation anxiety was so severe in the weeks following her discharge from the hospital that either Heaven or Roman had to be with her at all times. Even leaving her in a different room of the house produced a level of anxiety that had her eyes watering and arms reaching for someone to hold her. So much so that when they attempted to drop her off at school for the first day of first grade , they’d barely made the hall before she was running out the classroom, tears streaming down her face, crying, “please don’t leave me!”
They ended up pulling her from school, Roman hiring a private tutor to come to the house to teach her for the remainder of the school year.
And while Candy and consistent therapy have helped immensely, enough to where she’s now back in school, a month into the second grade, she still has her moments. She always will. Just like her mother, Macy was diagnosed with PTSD in the month following the fire. She’ll never be the same exact child she was before, but then again, neither will anyone else involved.
No one has or ever will be the same, because that’s how survival works. You escape with your life but not without the version of yourself that existed before that trauma. That part of you is lost forever. Never to be found.
Never to be regained.
Alternatives were offered. The most obvious being Macy writing a victim impact statement just like her mom, and she was open to that. As long as she could read it to him. In person. Additional suggestions either met with dislike or the same additive of her somehow speaking to Jey personally, it became abundantly clear that this wasn’t just something Macy wanted.
It was what she needed.
And that realization was something Heaven, while not thrilled about, understood. Jey abandoned her. The person who was supposed to protect her left her. Even as she cried and begged for him not to. Heaven and Roman were able to speak their peace. Testifying throughout the trial and even just being in the court room, present and aware of every development and outcome from each day of said trial granted them a voice. Their letters being the final nail in the coffin. Macy has not been granted that level of space to express, and thus, her almost need to utilize this moment for just that.
To finally have her voice heard.
“What the hell?” Jey finally breaks from his stunned silence, eyes nervously flitting to the guard. “I ain’t agree to this.”
But the man remains as he has since the very beginning.
Silent.
“Sure you did.” Heaven tilts her head to the side. “Remember? Your lawyer said you signed off on it.”
Jey opens his mouth, and she’s partially prepared for him to say something out of pocket. Her arms instinctively tighten around Macy, but nothing comes out. He instead curses lowly, looking away before nodding to himself.
“Right…” He turns to her once more, and it’s not lost on her how he seems to intentionally keep himself from looking at Macy. “You are a Jackson.”
She raises her chin, wise enough to not comment on what most likely goes over Macy’s head, perhaps the guard as well. Heaven takes great pride in knowing that her parents, for how accomplished they are and have been, especially as African Americans, have never been the ones to play the game. The one where machinations run rampant and blackmail is a form of insurance. Television and overall media have been known to sensationalize, but they’ve never been entirely wrong.
Truth exists between the dramatization.
Clarence and Shelia, however, reached the level of success they’ve attained through hard work and unmatched dedication and determination. The only thing they’re devoted to more than their careers is that of their daughter, and especially their granddaughter.
There isn’t anything they wouldn’t do for Heaven and Macy.
Hence why it was nothing more than a simple favor for them to pull some strings behind the scenes to ensure that Jey wasn’t aware of this meeting really being for Macy. Not Heaven. She knew that if he knew Macy wanted to see him, he’d immediately say no. Not that that would necessarily make much of a difference, either.
Again, there are a plethora of perks that come with being the daughter of Shelia and Clarence Jackson.
Including rules being malleable.
“Actually,” she starts, feeling the way Macy holds Cookie closer to her chest, much like herself, her comfort stuffed animal presents with marginal outward indicators of survival. Despite the house she and Macy once called home more or less destroyed beyond the point of rehabbing, the firefighters pulled Cookie from the wreckage and despite obvious sighs of wear and tear, the body of Macy’s favorite stuffed animal remained enough for repair vs replacement. Hence Roman tracking down and sending Cookie to a stuffed animal restoration service that had their little girl’s stuffed companion looking just as it did before the fire.
If not better.
“I’m a Reigns.”
Heaven sees the moment his eyes drop to her hands that are locked in front of Macy’s stomach. Her left hand intentionally over her right. She picks up on the exact moment anger flashes in his irises that reflect the 10-carat, elongated cushion, D-F color, VVS clarity diamond rock on her finger.
And so is she.
An unspoken twist of the knife in his back. A knife he grabbed and intended to use against her.
She just got the upper hand.
“Macy has something she wants to say to you.”
It’s as she reminds Jey of the purpose of this meeting that she once more witnesses the shift. The way he presses his chapped lips together, an unspoken response—or retort—retained as Macy wiggles on her lap.
Heaven’s grasp tightens once more.
“I—I just wanna say that—that you were really really mean to me.” There’s something about her opening statement, words that Heaven already heard and read—but words that carry with them a different weight leaving her mouth—that demands the focus of the room. Even as she stammers, there’s an undertone of determination and anger that stirs up a whirlwind of emotions in Heaven. “You hurt my feelings and you hurt my mommy, and I don’t like you anymore!”
“Macy—”
She doesn’t even give him the opportunity, doubling down on what Heaven and Roman have heard several times over now in a variety of manners. “You’re a bad bad man and a big meanine, and I’m glad you’re not my daddy cause you were a really bad daddy.”
“Macy, please—”
“And I don’t wanna see you anymore, or—or ever again, you—you, butthead!”
Anyone without context of the situation unfolding would, perhaps, find the interaction humorous. This little girl, holding a stuffed animal, with her face contorted in anger, her arms protectively wrapped around her stuffed animal.
But for Heaven, it’s a sight that nearly brings tears to her eyes. Macy, sitting across from this man who almost caused her to lose her life, a man who should have protected her only to abandon her in her greatest time of need, expressing so clearly and without hesitation her raw, unfiltered sentiments. Infantile wording aside, it’s one of the most fortitudinous, powerful, admirable things Heaven has witnessed in some time. If ever.
She holds Macy tighter, closing her eyes and kissing the top of her head.
I’m so proud of you.
An unspoken expression of admiration in comparison to the almost dumbfounded countenance that Jey wears, lips remaining pushed together, nothing but silence in the wake of Macy’s brave address.
It’s then that Macy turns around, looking up at Heaven, her little fingers moving against Cookie’s stomach.
I love you, mommy.
Heaven swallows. Macy dismounting off her lap allows her to sign back, I love you, too, baby girl.
Acknowledgement that makes her firstborn beam brightly before she dashes over to Roman who’d silently observed the entire interaction. He bends down and meets Macy just in time as she throws her body against his. Heaven watches him stand back up and kiss her temple, murmuring something that makes his expression soften for the first time. Big hand cradling the back of her head before his eyes close. Another scene that tugs at Heaven’s heart.
The love he holds for his daughter is sempiternal.
Heaven clears her throat and wipes at her watery eyes just as Roman opens his. Nonverbal communication between them, a small nod from her husband before he turns to leave without another word, Macy still in his arms.
Her amazing, lionhearted little fighter.
“So that’s what this is about?” Jey’s grating voice forces Heaven’s attention as she drags her gaze back over to see whatever shock that was bred in the midst of Macy’s speech is long gone. That same vexation returned in its stead. “You just wanted to rub shit in and use her to do it?”
Heaven blinks once, and then twice, her mouth opening and closing before she manages a whispered, low, single word. “What?” But it’s when he says nothing, turning his head and running his hand over his haggard looking face, that something starts to brew within. “That’s what you got from this?” She leans over the table, nails digging into the metal, eyes narrowed. “She almost died because of you.” Even saying it aloud makes Heaven feel as if a boulder has been dropped onto her chest, voice clipped and tight. “She cod—”
Silence
Some things…..some things are just too painful to revisit. Having to discuss, in detail, the nightmare that was Macy’s hospitalization, including that moment, is something she can’t bring herself to relive. Hasn’t even allowed herself to process in therapy.
She can’t.
Heaven shakes her head and adjusts her purse. Scoots back in the chair and starts to walk away when a loud banging sound forces her to turn around. Out the corner of her eye, she sees the guard in the corner drop his hand to his waist. Over his gun. But she raises her hand, eyes focused on the man before and below her.
“And I ain’t suffered?” Jey huffs. Heaven watches with a muted expression as he too backs away from the table for the first time. Studies the motion and movement of him rolling to the side of the table, the large wheels squeaking against the floor. Slowly rakes her eyes over his body, once strong and padded with muscles and fat that fit his frame. That worked for him in a way that carried him to what ended up being the peak of his career. Now withered away. Thick legs and thighs all but slim and lithe. He’s far from skin and bones, but the pronounced bulge of his knees that pokes out again the jumpsuit confirms that he has lost a lot of weight. Understandably so.
A man who was once active from the day he could walk, who everyone always joked at having ADHD given his inability to stay still for too long, rendered still in an unforgivable, permanent way. Healing from the beating that broke several ribs, punctured his lung, and left him clinging to life eventually came in the form of an almost two week long stint in the ICU. But the single bullet lodged in his back, the location an impossible one for surgeons to operate on and remove, wasn’t as forgiving. There was no recovering from that. The bullet severed his spinal cord. His paralysis from the waist down, initially thought to perhaps be temporary, permanent and creating a different kind of punishment. One, in many ways, Heaven knows that, for Jey, will always outweigh whatever sentence awaits him.
Because the sentencing is punishment that offers flexibility. The confines of the prison with various rooms and extension that offer small, minute tastes of what freedom looks and feels like. Equally cruel as it is welcomed for some. A reminder of what impends of what will always be eluded. Reward perfectly balanced with consequence.
For Jey, there is no flexibility with this consequence.
Heaven knows that that’s what tears him up the most.
Prison isn’t his punishment.
Paralysis is.
And he admits as such, angrily gesturing down to his lap. “I’m never getting out of here, and even if I do, what the fuck am I gon’ do?” His bottom lip trembles, something rising and simmering in his undertone. “I can’t do shit!” He snaps, scoffing and shaking his head, resting and leaning into his despair. “My career over. Life over. Ain’t nothing I got left but my anger.”
Heaven stares at him. Stares at this man she once thought hung the sun, moon, and stars in the sky. That she truly believed would be her forever until the day she died. And, in a strange, wicked sort of way, that was almost the case.
She almost died because of him.
Macy almost died because of him.
No…..murdered.
They were almost murdered because of him, and even now, in the face of two lives he almost took—one with deliberate intention and the other with callous negligence—he still can only think about himself.
He hasn’t changed.
And he never will.
Heaven lifts her eyes to his, met with nothing but dense hostility and self-pity. All of which bounce off and land in the pile of irrelevance and insignificance, right where they belong.
Just like him.
“Goodbye, Jey.”
Jey Uso, former WWE Superstar and cousin to fellow WWE Superstar Roman Reigns, was sentenced on Thursday to 40 years in federal prison on several charges, including the attempted murder of his now ex-wife, Heaven Reigns. This comes after a month long trial that included over 700 pieces of evidence presented to the court, as well as both Mr. and Mrs. Reigns taking the witness stand to testify. The story has received massive media coverage both domestic and abroad given the celebrity status of the involved parties as well as the scandalous nature of the case.
Mr. Uso’s rapid downfall came on the brink of an illustrious career and seemingly perfect family life. In 2024, at the peak of said career, Uso, while watching the then five year-old child he shared with Heaven, became intoxicated (his BAC was later revealed to be 3x the legal limit) and passed out with a cigar in hand. This resulted in the home catching fire. Uso escaped with minor injuries, but the child, Macy Reigns, was severely injured and placed in a medically induced coma. She was hospitalized for almost two weeks before being discharged.
Uso and Reigns [Roman] reportedly engaged in an altercation at the hospital while the child was being treated, and witnesses reported that Heaven then revealed Mr. Reigns as Macy’s biological father. This, as referenced by the prosecutors during the trial, was believed to be the major catalyst for Uso’s violent attack.
Jey reportedly sent Roman a threatening text message approximately an hour before tracking down Heaven at The Four Seasons, where her parents, famed attorneys Shelia and Clarence Jackson, had booked a room upon learning of the fire. It was there that Jey assaulted and attempted to murder Heaven. Roman reportedly arrived at the hotel prior to authorities and attempted to de-escalate the situation, but a scuffle ensued between the two men, which resulted in Mrs. Reigns being shot.
Heaven underwent emergency surgery and was intubated and heavily sedated for 48 hours. She ultimately recovered and was discharged a week later.
A manhunt then ensued after Uso attempted to flee but was eventually found three days after the shooting following an anonymous tip. Reports surfaced that relatives of Uso and Reigns were complicit in helping him evade authorities, but no charges were ever made in conjunction to this claim. Uso was later found unconscious, beaten, and shot in an abandoned home. Doctors were reportedly unable to remove the bullet from Uso that severed his spine and left him paralyzed from the waist down. Following his release from the hospital, he was formally arrested by the Tampa Police Department.
Both Mr. Reigns and his son, San Franciso 49ers player Nathan Reigns, were initially listed as suspects in Uso’s shooting, but both were cleared when the shooter turned himself in. It was then revealed that Mr. Reigns then wife and Heaven’s cousin, Camryn Reigns, hired a hitman to kill Jey Uso in fear of his disclosing their alliance and stratagem.
Subpoenaed texts and phone logs revealed that both Camryn and Jey engaged in a years long affair that dated back to high school. Emails allegedly showed the two discussing and planning their lie regarding Nathan Reigns paternity to avoid Jey being a teenage father and Camryn believing Roman to have more “potential” than his cousin. Other emails and texts also revealed constant communication over the years that prosecutors highlight to emphasize malicious intent and coercion. This included Camryn reportedly walking Uso through ways to save his marriage amidst alcohol addiction and abuse that Heaven disclosed while on the witness stand.
Several mental health and medical professionals involved in the care and treatment of both Heaven and Macy also took the witness stand. It was reported that Macy was diagnosed with PTSD several months after the fire and had to be homeschooled because of extreme separation anxiety. In addition, it was also shared that she remains unable to sleep alone and now has an emotional support animal, the latter of which came at the recommendation of her therapist. Now eight, she is reportedly back in school but remains in consistent therapy.
Heaven, who was three months pregnant at the time, left her job at a law firm where she worked as a paralegal, while Reigns also took an indefinite leave from WWE. In spring of this year, it was reported that Heaven’s petition to have Jey’s parental rights terminated and Roman legally recognized as Macy’s father were granted. It’s also been reported that Macy’s last name was legally changed to Reigns.
Around this time, Roman’s former wife, Camryn Jackson, was sentenced to 30 years in Florida Department of Corrections. Jackson was being tried in two separate cases, one of which was Solicitation to Commit First-Degree Murder. The other charges were for a slew of crimes regarding her businesses including, racketeering, money laundering, witness tampering, and more.
She was found guilty on all charges in both cases, despite it being rumored both she and Uso were trying to work out deals with the DA to share key information regarding their crimes in exchange for lighter sentences.
These deals, seemingly, failed to materialize.
In addition…..
OP: This a continuation/combined thread from the initial one following Jey Uso’s trial.
I know we hate these two tabloid cesspools, but they have the most recent, up to date information.
https://www.tmz.com/2026/09/08/jey-uso-sentenced-to-40-years-update/
https://www.dailymail.com/sport/wwe/article-157513/jey-uso-found-guilty-in-attempted-murder-trial.html
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@sayyestoheav3nn: YES! This might just be the best thing I’ve read all day idc. 🥺
@annoyedkayah2395 THAT’S WHAT HIS ASS GET. I KNOW ROMAN AND HEAVEN SO HAPPY.
@unapologeticqueen94: Won’t He do it! It’s still so crazy to me how this all played out. 😩
@unapologeticqueen94 replying to @annoyedkayah2395: Same. And to think what had already been spilled on here was only the tip of the iceberg….
@mackfinstathrowitback: Good riddance. I hope he rots in that prison for the rest of his miserable ass life.
@privateeyes95: H and R must be so relieved that this is all over.
@youluvego: Still say they should have left his ass in a burning house. Without the wheelchair. 🙂
@aldrigmer444 replying to @youluvego: I wish you could hear the way I screamed at this. 😭
@suhlestuh: Someone pointed out earlier in the thread how in the the photos of Heaven and Roman walking hand in hand, in and out of court throughout during the trial, you could always see/tell how distraught she was in the afters. ☹️
@beas-mind replying to @suhlestuh: Can you blame her? Some of those recaps from the court reporters were hard for me to listen to. I can’t imagine how it was for them.
@nadadork: I read somewhere that they had to take several breaks throughout the whole thing because Heaven kept breaking down on the witness stand. 😕
@fearlesschimera replying to @nadadork: Yes and no. It was said one or two times she needed a break while testifying about Jey’s abuse and Macy’s recovery journey. The other breaks were during testimony given by others.
@mytribalnightmare: I don’t know how she did it TBH.
@southerngirl41: I’m still kinda shocked how much we saw Roman in all of this. He’s usually so private.
@xnightmarexpunkx replying to @southerngirl41: I’m not. Idk how private anyone could be with how public this all has been. Not to mention, it’s obvious he’s deeply devoted and in love with Heaven. It’s always been obvious tbh, but with how he openly admitted and acknowledged it during the trial confirmed it.
@diamondlifeee: This really is the best thing ever. Macy and Heaven finally got the justice they deserve. 🥺🥺🥺🥺
@callmekayd: He really did put it all out on the table in that trial.
@differenttastemakerkitty replying to @callmekayd: He kind of had to or else he’d be held in contempt of court.
@palmwinemami: Naw. He could have plead the fifth like his slow ass cousin.
@drivefouronthefloor replying to @palmwinemami: Jey didn’t even do that. He didn’t testify at all, and I don’t blame him. The case against him was so solid and the defense so weak, there really wasn’t anything to say to dig him out of that big ass hole he put himself in.
@/livingandlovinglife26: Got the notification and started crying at my desk. As a DV survivor and mother myself, Heaven’s story has resonated so deeply with me.
@/stupidbitch1: Am I missing something here? Yeah, Jey tried to kill her, hence the attempted murder charge, but prior to that, it was the punch in the ER and another years prior. Not condoning any of it, but I just find it weird how some folks are trying to make this and Heaven out to be something that it’s/she’s not.
@/annoying1 replying to @/stupidbitch1: Shhhh. Not so loud. Her defense squad gon’ come after you, girl. 🙃
@/stupidbitch1 replying to @/annoying1: Thank you! The way everyone is trying to make it seem like she was some poor, battered housewife is insane. Her parents are famous lawyers. She grew up privileged and rich. If Jey was this horrible monster the entire time they were together, she had plenty of options. And she couldn’t have been too scared of him to be openly fucking his cousin who was also her cousin and supposed “sister” husband. Come on now. 😒
@beas-mind replying to @/annoying1 and @/stupidbitch1: You both sound so ignorant right now. I truly don’t know where to start. It’s obvious you haven’t read the court transcripts or just….educated yourself on the specifics of the case. DV is DV. Isolated or consistent, it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same. All wrong. Heaven said herself during her testimony that she truly hadn’t remembered the abuse and that it wasn’t until a conversation with her mom, ironically, the day of the fire, that triggered the memories. Even the expert witness cosigned this being a common thing amongst many survivors.
@sayyestoheav3nn: We really got people in here defending an abusive ass alcoholic who almost killed his daughter and literally tried to kill his wife….
@/dumbhoe1 replying to @/stupidbitch1 and @/annoying1: Don’t waste your time or breath. These people so biased. It’s appalling.
@jayjayem1999 replying to @/dumbhoe1: Biased how? Everyone is literally laying out facts.
@/stupidbitch1 replying to @jayjayem1999: Yes. Facts to support their biases. Let’s call a spade a spade. Only reason ya’ll riding so hard for Heaven is cause she’s a brown skin, monoracial black woman. She’s also a cheater and a liar, but ya’ll not trying to hear that.
@annoyedkayah2395: YA’LL DONT LIKE THESE TWO BUT IN THEY THREAD??? IF YOU DON'T GO ON SOMEWHERE AND BE STEVIE WONDER TF
@/annoying1 replying to @/stupidbitch1: Exactly. Not to mention the self-haters that are trying to live vicariously through her cause of that hoe ass light skin man she stole from her cousin.
@unapologeticqueen94 replying to @/annoying1 and @/stupidbitch1: I KNOW ya’ll not talking about Camryn trifling ass. The same cousin who literally been scheming and plotting against this girl since they were kids? Who gave Jey Heaven’s location knowing his ass wasn’t trying to bring her no flowers? Who gave Jey almost 100k after his dumbass almost bankrupt he and Heaven solely because she didn’t want her cousin leaving SlowMan cause she knew Roman was gon’ divorce her ass to be with the real love of his life? Who KNEW Jey was abusing her cousin and was smiling in Heaven face while secretly advising him on ways to manipulate Heaven into staying with him? Who PAID for the engagement ring that Jey proposed to Heaven with? A proposal that only happened because Camryn trifling ass TOLD him he needed to propose cause it was the only way to keep Heaven from leaving him after he sent her to the ER?
@privateeyes95 replying to @unapologeticqueen94: Don’t forget how she and Jey literally pinned a child on Roman she knew wasn’t his and Jey knew was his. Just because she wanted to trap Roman.
@chocovibesonly: Ya’ll, don’t pay the Free R Kelly gang no mind. They been all up over this site throughout the whole trial saying the same problematic shit. It’s gotta be rage bait at this point.
@annoying1 replying to @chocovibesonly: We’re rage baiting for holding a black woman accountable for wronging another black woman? Heaven was literally fucking that man all over CAMRYN’S house. Had him pretending to be that child’s uncle when she knew all along he was the father.
@southerngirl41 replying to @/annoying1: Like how she knew Jey was Nathan’s biological father?
@callmekayd: As someone who’s been fully engaged with any and all information regarding this trial and the situation as a whole, Heaven and Roman were wild and wrong for carrying on as they did. But when you look at everything Jey and Camryn did, how they orchestrated everything so that H and R wouldn’t be together. Hurting whoever they needed to in the process with no regard for anyone else…Heaven and Roman did nothing wrong.
@tribalray10 replying to @callmekayd: I agree with all of this. It’s crazy as hell when you think about it because in most situations, H and R would be dragged through the mud, but all they are is two people who love each other and were kept apart because of fake ass, evil ass, jealous ass people. 😓
@fame-ass-ers: I know this is probably the wrong time to bring this up, but am I the only one still shook and clutching pearls by all the details that came about Heaven and Roman’s sex life? 😅
@unapologeticqueen94 replying to @fame-ass-ers: LISTEN!!!! We knew his ass was putting her through that mattress, but the way my jaw dropped when they asked about how often they was getting it on, and they both said several times a week. Sometimes twice a day. 😩😩😩😩
@jaded-human replying to @fame-ass-ers: Wait, whaaaatttttt? How I miss this!
@fame-ass-ers replying to @jaded-human: Girl, yes. One of the folks who was attending the trial gave all the details. I believe it was part of Jey’s weak ass defense attempt to villainize Heaven and attack her character. I’ll PM you the link.
@Incog: Wow. So I guess cheating is okay if you’re brown or dark skinned or pretty. You’re all disgusting.
@Incog: Did he pick any of ya’ll yet?
@Incog: I’ll wait.
@chocovibesonly: @/The Admin Thread Derailment and Incognito Abuse
@itskii01: Sometimes I really wish Condi would close this shit off and stop allowing new members to join. 😒
@Incog replying to @itskii01: Who’s Condi?
@itskii01: I rest my case.
The corner of her lips slowly but surely stretch and lift until the smile spread across her face makes her skin feel taught and tight. Small, barely visible lines sprouting near her eyes that squint when she makes the transition from inside to outside. Her Gucci flip flops slapping against the quartz stone as she lifts her her hand to create a makeshift visor from the scorching sun that illuminates the backyard.
A backyard that’s filled with a variety of sounds—music, chatter, laughter—that last one being the thing to make the warmth bloom in her stomach. Walking across the patio to the rattan loungers that line the pool, a loud gasp leaps from her mouth at the same time the leap of a body into the pool from the diving board snatches her focus.
Breathing is briefly halted. Her fingers grasp at the sheer material of her orange bikini cover, knotted on the side and sitting right above the pudge of her stomach. She scratches her nails against her thigh, feeling the tips dig into her skin. The tightening sensation in her chest canceled out by the sight of two bodies emerging from under the water.
Macy’s happy laughter does away with Heaven’s tension, her shoulders falling and relaxing at the sight of her sweet little girl.
Arms raised happily, her hair tucked away and under her swim cap. A set of tanned arms around her body, his own hair weighed down by the water. Loose, short curls sticking against the side of his face. Nate smiles and lifts his hand when Macy turns to look at him, securing a high five before he gestures to Heaven.
Macy’s eyes light up. “Mommy!”
Heaven’s smile deepens. Nathan lets her down and wades with her as she swims to the edge of the pool where Heaven meets her. He helps lift her from the water as Heaven leans down and carries out the rest of the task. Macy beams up at her mom, signing, did you see me, mommy?
Heaven laughs and signs back. Sure did, baby. You’re doing such a good job.
Nathan scoffs from where he leans over the side of the pool, inked arms across the stone. “She’s got a good teacher.”
Heaven rolls her eyes as Macy, clueless to what was just said given the absence of her hearing aids, turns to him. I’m gonna swim faster than you some day.
Nathan sucks his teeth and shakes his head. No way. Never gonna happen. He kicks off the wall, lips turned into a smirk as he manages a quick, you’re too slow.
Macy gasps and spins around, giving herself just enough space to “run” as she jumps back in the water.
Heaven waits until she emerges, Nathan once more near and close, ensuring she stays afloat as she splashes water at his face.
“Be careful.” Her warning is accompanied by her quick signing, Macy’s focus back on her brother as he continues to help her strengthen her swimming skills. It’s still a bit of a struggle, what with her being in the water without her hearing aids. But it’s one Heaven is working through, and seeing how happy it makes her baby is more than reason enough for her to learn how to manage her discomfort for the sake of he child’s happiness.
Macy more than deserves it.
“Mama!”
Heaven snaps her head to the side, once more, that familiar warm, glowing feeling in belly rising and traveling, wrapping itself around her heart.
“There’s my baby.”
Assisting in closing the distance, Heaven reaches her arms at the same time her mom does. Shelia’s arm secured under her bottom, dark coils damp and dripping small droplets of water down her honeyed complexion. She wears that happy smile and grasps at Heaven’s hand while she kisses her temple.
Shelia watched the interaction with an undeniable expression of pride and lighthearted humor. “She started wiggling the moment she heard your voice. Or saw you come out.”
“She knows her mama.” Heaven giggles, looking down at her youngest daughter. “Don’t you, Lia?”
Kalia beams up, pouty lips stretched and revealing all 11 of her teeth. 12, if you include the small speck of white starting to protrude from her gums. Something she’s recently made sure her parents don’t forget about via her screeching and whining. Especially when it’s time for her to eat.
Shelia stands before her daughter and granddaughter, reaching and caressing the back of her head. “She looks so much like Macy when she was her age.”
Heaven briefly darts her gaze from her baby daughter to her mother. “She does.” Outside of Kalia’s complexion being a few shades lighter and her texture slightly looser than Macy’s, a side by side photo would otherwise indicate, at the very least, fraternal twins. The differences, so far, seem to be more personality based than appearance based. Macy was always a calm baby. Kalia….not so much.
Heaven shifts her daughter from one side to the other, allowing her baby girl to tug at her hair with one hand and grab at her boobs with the other. It makes her chuckle quietly. “Where’s—”
“You already know.”
A quick dragging of her gaze behind her mother makes Heaven chuckle once more.
Of course.
She grabs Kalia’s little hand, helping her wave goodbye before the two make their way across the yard. The smile growing on mother and daughter’s face as the distance closes, sun shifting and highlighting several side profiles, including the first who turns from the grill to greet them.
Turns just enough for Heaven to meet another set of eyes, smaller, just like the rest of him. Chunky arms and chubby cheeks that stretch into a smile as he opens his mouth, making loud happy sounds.
“Mama!”
The same word. The same warmth and joy that blooms in abundance.
Heaven steps up onto the patio, her father and Jimmy’s attention set on her as she leans over to kiss the top of Kanoa’s head, coils softly brushing her lips.
“Hi, baby boy.”
Her son.
Naturally, she straightens up just in time to catch Roman’s mouth for a quick peck.
“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, right as she adjusts Kalia once more when she starts wiggling her arms. An expected reaction, as is the next thing.
Whining and bailing from both babies who are now looking at each other, both wearing the same pout and scowl. Small, short arms wagging in the air, as if swatting away a pesky gnat. Except the gnat is each other.
Roman sighs. “There they go.”
And without any words needing to be said, they exchange babies. Heaven holding Kanoa, and Roman holding Kalia. It grants momentary peace as the parents affectionately interact with their 13 month-old twins, but it’s a short lived span of peace.
The babbling, whining, and wiggling resume.
Clarence chuckles, arms crossed as he shakes his head. “And to think those two shared a womb for nine months.”
Jimmy chimes in as Heaven kisses Kanoa’s little palm. Roman manages to flip over the burgers on the grill as Kalia attempts to pull his hair from the hair tie. In a couple minutes, Heaven has no doubt, she’ll find success. She always does. “So much for the family tradition of tag team champs.”
“It’s just with us,” Heaven sighs, looking between her youngest as they continue to exchange “words” and attempted blows, all in the name of jealousy. “They don’t do it with anyone else.”
And they don’t. Most of the time, Kalia and Kanoa are thick as thieves. Interacting and playing just fine, even sharing in ways that most babies their age struggle with.
Except when it comes to their parents.
If Kalia sees Roman or Heaven holding Kanoa, whatever adorable smile that was on her face is wiped away with the quickness. A tantrum unfolding within a matter of minutes. And vice versa with Kanoa. It’s almost as if they want their parents to themselves. Don’t want to share. Sometimes a funny thing to behold but also something both Heaven and Roman pray they grow out of.
Sooner rather than later.
“Food’s almost ready,” Roman updates, Heaven nodding, turning to see her mom sitting near the edge of the pool, watching Nathan continue to assist Macy with her swimming lessons.
Candy on the other side, on her stomach, tongue out and tail wagging. An understandable placement. She’s never too far from Macy. Not far at all.
True to his word, dinner is served not too long after. Thus, gathering everyone around the two Teak wood tables that are conjoined together to accommodate the large group of individuals. Not to mention the two high chairs that are pulled up, each placed right next to Heaven and Roman. Both remain unused. Kalia and Kanoa instead opt to “sit” on their parents laps, often reaching and attempting to steal from their plates, despite being fed the appropriate portions for such young babies.
“I’m telling you,” Shelia starts, wiping at the corner of her mouth, her gaze set across the table where her daughter and son-in-law sit. She lifts her hand, index finger bouncing between the two, the light reflecting off her wedding ring and highlighting the subtle sparkles in her ruby red nail polish. “Those two are gonna be the ones to test ya’ll.”
Beside her, Clarence nods, offering agreement and a point of distinction. “Macy was never as wild as they are.”
Heaven rolls her eyes, bouncing Kalia while guiding a chunk of her Hawaiian bread that she broke off to her mouth. Naturally, her fingers grab at the bread that she plops in her mouth, chewing slowly as if needing to make sure it tastes the same as her last few bites. “Daddy.”
Roman lifts his head, momentarily distracted from interacting with Kanoa, who uses that brief distraction to swipe a fry off the plate, and turns to his wife. Heaven, seconds away from panicking, never more grateful to see her father had been looking at something on his phone, as had her mom. Thus the way she elbows him, earning a quiet grunt as she looks at him with an unspoken, “are you insane?”
Unfortunately, while the interaction is missed by, perhaps the people it needed to be missed by the most, that’s not the case for others.
Nathan stares across the table with an undeniable look of disgust. “If ya’ll want me to go to therapy, then all you gotta do is say so.”
His comment catches the attention of Macy who sits beside him, at the end of the table, Candy laying on the ground beside her, Cookie in her lap. She looks up at him with a bright smile. “Are you gonna see Mrs. Tess, too?”
Tess being Macy’s therapist she’s worked with weekly since the the fire.
“He gon see some lady, that’s for sure.” Jimmy’s unnecessary addition earns him a similar response as Heaven to Roman. He grunts loudly when Naomi slaps him on his arm, muttering something lost under the chatter of the rest of the table. Primarily on the other end where Clarence, Shelia, and Patrice, Roman’s mother, are in the midst of laughing at something completely unrelated to the NSFW interaction that, somehow, managed to remain under the radar.
For the most part.
Patrice’s lips stretch into a smile. She lifts her glasses to the top of her sandy brown hair, cut in a short bob that brushes against her jawline that’s sharp, much like the rest of her features. While Roman held a close resemblance to his father, his smile, the same as Patrice, reveal how much of his mother’s looks he inherited just the same.
“That explains it.” She blots the corner of her eyes with the back of her hand, gesturing over to her son. “Roman was just like the twins as babies. Always moving. Always wanting to get into something.”
“See, that was Heaven when she hit her terrible two’s. Prior to that, she was a little angel. Proved that we did right by naming her what we did.”
“Well, ya’ll should have named those two—” Jimmy snaps his finger, face contorted in deep focus, majority of the adults already knowing it’s about to be some shit with him. “What’s the name of them twin girls from The Shining?”
“Jimmy.”
“Uncle Jimmy.”
“Jim.”
Various sounds of protests and chastening evoke a temporary respite with the colored commentary from the self-proclaimed comedian in the family. Jimmy lifts his hands, palms carrying lingering crumbs from the meal he’d all but devoured less than ten minutes after stacking his plate with an ungodly amount of food. Somewhat similar to Roman. But in her husband’s defense, he’s sharing his with their son who seems like he’s going to take after his daddy’s side of the family when it comes to appetite.
Boy can eat. It’s partially why Heaven was relieved when she started the process of incorporating food into the babies’ diets. It seemed like every hour on the hour Kanoa was wanting to nurse again. Developing motor skills allowing his loud cries to eventually transition into the groping, smacking, and squeezing of her breast. Even now, she has to correct him when he attempts to reach inside of her bra.
He’s determined as hell, too.
“Fine, I’ll change the subject,” Jimmy smacks his teeth, looking over at Heaven as she helps hold the cup of apple juice that Kalia is currently drinking from. “Heaven, how’s it going working for that Mormon lady?”
She closes her eyes as Roman makes a sound beside her.
“Jim,” Naomi expresses, exasperation splashed all over her face and voice as she turns to look at her husband. Silky, dark tresses splashed across her shoulder, smooth, beautiful melanin shining and shimmering under the sun that sneaks past the shade allotted by the Reigns covered patio. “You got one more time.”
“She’s not Mormon, Jimmy,” Heaven corrects while also offering an answer. “But good. Really good. I like it there, and she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”
“Most Mormon people are, so I hear—”
“Jimmy!”
“What?” He defends, shaking his head, saying something that’s missed as Heaven looks over at her dad.
“Wait, is the organization Mormon based?” Clarence turns to his wife, Patrice also paying attention what with the way she looks between the involved parties. “Did you know that?”
“It is not a Mormon organization,” Heaven stresses, leaning back in her chair, bouncing her leg as Kalia moves to stand up on her lap. “And my boss is not Mormon. But even if she was, that wouldn’t have stopped me from accepting the position.”
And it wouldn’t have.
There were several variables that Heaven sat on and pondered over deeply before ultimately making the decision to leave the place she’d worked at for so long in favor of something that was both old and new.
The biggest one, perhaps, was returning to work after….everything that happened. That they were still in the midst of. Macy. The trial. Having twin babies that weren’t even a year yet. All of it.
Heaven can still recall the similar expressions she received when initially bringing it up to both her husband and parents. They thought she was crazy for wanting to return to work so “soon.” Were all, essentially, in agreement that she needed to allow herself the continued, necessary time to heal and adjust to all the changes.
She didn’t necessarily disagree.
She was still working to find her rhyme and rhythm in several areas of her life, and it wasn’t even working, itself, that was calling her name. That resonated with her. Forever a woman with a strong work ethic, family always came first. Always.
But it was the nature of the work that captured and snagged her attention.
It was the organization.
Alma’s Hope.
The largest, domestic, non-profit organization focusing on providing resources and safe havens for women and children seeking asylum from abusive households. They have shelters all over the country and even a few in Mexico. Heaven was familiar with the organization, had come across the name a few times over the years, but it was when she was looking up something recommended by her therapist that she stumbled across them once more. A chance reminder of something that, at one point in her life, she would have sworn up and down would never be a part of her story.
Never in a million years did she think that she’d end up a survivor of domestic violence.
But she is.
And it’s still something she’s trying to come to terms with, has focused on in a handful of therapy sessions.
Like many, Heaven had a generic, default definition of such a thing. A conceptualization formulated based off of stereotypical media depictions. Most more overt examples. Heaven didn’t have to spend extra time in the mirror applying makeup to hide bruises that only multiplied as time went on. She wasn’t being isolated from her family. Wasn’t constantly trying to come up with excuses to explain to the ER doctors how she’d sustained such injuries. Not on a consistent basis. It did, eventually, occur. The isolated incident where Jey’s verbal and emotional abuse while battling alcoholism escalated into physical abuse.
He’d hit her.
Left her bruised.
Left her bleeding.
Left her sitting on the edge of the patient table struggling with an excuse to feed that would be believed.
She was in the mirror, tears streaming down her face as she tried to hide the bruise. That was her, and coming to terms with that, with the fact that Jey’s abuse started long before the night he tried to kill her, has been nothing short of difficult.
But it’s also been liberating and empowering. Largely due to Heaven reaching out to the local shelter and learning what made and makes Alma’s Hope so different than the “usual” safe havens. The infinite number of resources, from therapy, insurance, monthly vouchers, and housing allowances when those seeking asylum “graduate” from the in-house program and are placed in secure subdivisions owned and overseen by the organization. A massive collective striving to protect and educate. And when Heaven attended one of the support group meetings for women who weren’t actively in a DV situation, didn’t require protection, but were looking to define and navigate what “after” looks like, she knew that she wanted to contribute. Wanted to give back more than she received. That, unexpectedly, came in the form of a job offer from the CEO. A position within the legal department that offered an unheard of level of flexibility. Hybrid with a full slate of benefits, regardless if Heaven opted for part time vs full time. Decent, salaried pay. Paid, mandatory mental health days in conjunction with unlimited PTO. If Heaven hadn’t personally met and interacted with several staff members, including the founder herself, she’d have balked. It was too good to be true, but it wasn’t. It was very much true, and it was something Heaven almost felt like she had to accept.
Not because she felt pressured. But because it felt like a necessary component in this next chapter of a new, different, scary, yet somehow improved life of hers. Eventually coming to terms with what she’d survived and using it to support others like her.
Other survivors.
Thus, when she explained it that way, she was met with newfound sense of understanding and agreement from Roman and her parents. And a few months into the acceptance, she has zero regrets. Heaven loves what she does now. Still paralegal work but for a completely different cause and reasons.
Reasons that matter so much more than anything she’s done prior to this.
“How many kids?” Nathan’s wide eyes in conjunction with his exclamation break Heaven from her thoughts. Especially when he turns his focus to her. “You sure they ain’t Mormon?”
“Oh my God,” she murmurs, eyes closed, head tilted back. “If ya’ll don—”
“Mommy. Daddy. What’s Mormon?”
Macy’s unexpected insertion into the conversation, her voice soft and curious, prompts Heaven to open her eyes and lower her head to see Macy “sneaking” food to Candy.
“Something you’re not allowed to be.”
Heaven snaps her head to look at Roman, Kanoa fisting and pulling on his shirt. “Roman.”
“Baby girl is right,” Jimmy cosigns, his loud ass chewing muffling his voice and commentary that not even a mouth full of food can stop. “We Baptist over here.”
Nathan shakes his head, pointing out, “dad, grandma, and basically that entire side of my family are Catholic.”
“That’s close enough. Baptist and Catholic are just second cousins, twice removed.”
But as the majority of the table admonish Jimmy for being, well, Jimmy, Heaven can’t help the small smile at play on her face.
She smiles because as out of pocket his commentary is, the entire conversation is, it’s a dynamic, at one point, she thought to be lost forever.
She thought a lot of the dynamics regarding several individuals sitting at the table to be lost and gone forever.
Heaven is far from naive nor is she stupid. Regardless of the fact that Jey’s crimes far outweigh anything she did or could have ever done, she recognizes that her own actions, Roman’s actions, even without the violence that followed, would have fractured the family unit. The deception, secrecy, years long affair, withholding true paternity while feigning a false one, and everything else that got picked up and flung at she and Roman during the trial by the defense, would shatter anyone’s family. And in many ways, it has.
Rikishi and Tala haven’t spoken to Heaven and, subsequently, Macy, since roughly three months following the fire. And that last interaction was nothing short of nasty. Harsh, hurtful words from both ends that ultimately resulted in no contact. An outcome Heaven knows would have been reached regardless when they chose to stand by Jey during the trial. Believed and sided with the defense in that it was Heaven’s actions over the years that contributed to his “psychotic break.” Her knowingly and “openly” engaging in an affair with a man she always knew to be Macy’s real father while constantly “badgering” and “vilifying” an “innocent” man.
But they weren’t the only ones.
Several members of Jey and Roman’s side of the family sided with him. Have cut off contact with Roman as well.
The bulk, however, have all condemned Jey’s actions and denounced him altogether.
Including Jimmy.
That….that will always be the most surprising thing to Heaven. Not because, morally speaking, it didn’t make sense. It made all the sense. Jimmy witnessed Jey assault her in the hospital, and if that, for whatever reason, wasn’t enough, everything else certainly was.
It took a little time, sure. A few weeks of Jimmy disengaging from everyone, needing time to collect himself. Heaven understood it. Roman, however, was less understanding. Believed that it should have been an immediate, “fuck you” to Jey.
She disagreed.
There’s being brothers, and there’s being twins. Having grown up with the guys, she knows how close Jimmy and Jey were. Has seen firsthand how Jimmy always tried to look out for his little brother. She grieved on his behalf. Losing a brother in the way that he did, in some ways, is a worst fate then death. Death, arguably, would be easier. There’s finality in that realm. No options or wonderings. With this, there will always be, she’s certain, a part of him that wonders if and how things could have been different.
Sometimes she, too, wonders the same.
Breaking away from the table isn’t terribly difficult. Handing off Kalia to Roman was initially met with a scowl and whining—from both the babies. But dissatisfaction at being “abandoned” is set aside in favor of her youngest redirecting her irritation to her brother who was more than ready to match energy. The last thing Heaven overhears is Roman lecturing the twins for swatting at each other.
Yeah….
Something tells her that while Macy seemingly has zero interest in wrestling, that won’t be the case for the twins.
The minute they’re old enough to be put into some sort of sport, Heaven will be first in line to ensure their spots. They have way too much energy that needs to be channeled in a healthy manner. One that won’t send their parents to an early grave. She’s almost certain the strand of gray hair her hairdresser pointed out at her last appointment is solely due to them.
Leaning back against the counter, her thumb swipes up the last open app on her phone when she darts her eyes up from the screen.
Her small smile met with a similar one. Head craned up, she hits the side button, placing it on the granite behind her. “Hey.”
Nathan walks to lean against island so he’s standing opposite of her. Mirroring her position, he crosses his arms over one another, dark ink, old mixed with new, a brief reminder of what’d resulted in her subtly nodding towards the house for him to follow her.
“Hey,” he greets. His eyes narrowing, sprouting small, minimal lines around his eye area, makes her smile deepen. He looks so much like Roman when he does that. “You gon’ tell me what’s up?” But an expression of suspicion morphs into horror. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
And now Heaven is the one mirroring him, her eyes widening. “Absolutely not. You know your dad got a vasectomy.”
It was a decision they’d come to shortly before the twins were born. An easy one, too. Neither one of them were interested or wanting to expand their family anymore than the current members. Hence his vasectomy and her tubal litigation.
“Well, I don’t know. You working for that lady with 18 kids and counting—”
“Nathan.” Heaven rolls her eyes and shifts her weight from one foot to another, the quiet laughter between them dying down and allowing for the transition into what she really wants to discuss with him. Needs to. “She reached out to you again, didn’t she?”
And just like that, any trace of humor disappears. He looks away, tip of his tongue wetting the corner of his mouth. “Look—”
“Nathan,” Heaven interrupts. It’s never been in her nature to be that person. To not allow for free, open communication. But similar to Roman, she knows Nathan like the back of her hand. Knows that he’s so much like Roman that anything to come out of his mouth next would be deflection and unproductive, thus her interruption. “I told you before, and I’m gonna say it again, what happened between myself and Camryn had nothing to do with you.”
“A—”
She steps closer. “It doesn’t change the fact that she’s your mother, and at the end of the day, if you want to speak with her, if you want to try to repair things with her, then baby, that’s what I want you to do.” Heaven shakes her head, voice softening, “don’t allow my situation to dictate yours.”
Because despite this conversation happening once or twice already, that’s exactly what’s happened.
Heaven knows for a fact that Nathan hasn’t spoken to Camryn since that day in the hospital, the altercation in the hallway where she unknowingly revealed several life changing truths. And it wasn’t even a conversation between mother and son in as much as, it seems, a dissolution of the pairing.
She learned through Roman that Nathan was contemplating a visit to see Camryn in jail while she was awaiting trial, but he’d changed his mind last minute. He also hasn’t responded to Cam’s attempts to speak with him, information Heaven obtained through her parents legal connections. Again, she would never use them to benefit herself, but she’d damn sure use them for the people she loves.
And she has.
“That woman stopped being my mother the minute she told him where you were.”
Nathan’s cold, emotionless response to her heartfelt message is both doleful and surprising. For one and many reasons.
Heaven will be the first to admit that her own feelings towards the woman she once considered a sister more than anything are….complicated, to say the least. Macy being on the brink of death was terrifying enough to the point that Heaven finding out about her cousin and husband having an affair exposed via sex tapes wasn’t something that had really registered at that moment. But the confrontation at the hospital, learning that Camryn had lied to and manipulated her about Nathan’s paternity, amongst other things, triggered something. It triggered anger that would only and exponentially extrapolate over time as all of the skeletons started being yanked from the closet.
The years of lies.
Of scheming. Of plotting.
Of…..evilness.
How someone she shared so many special, precious moments with was at the same time the mastermind behind some of Heaven’s darkest moments, too. The ineffable concept of this woman who she’d laughed with, cried with, gone through life with—from first kisses, first heartbreaks, late night clubbing, and Mari concerts that were often documented in IG posts now scrubbed from a profile that’s as barren as the relationship, sisterhood, between two cousins—was nothing more than a facade. Kindness used to cloak and conceal transgressions. The entire time Heaven believed Camryn was helping her keep pressure applied to gushing, painful wounds, she was also the one who caused said wounds and always had another knife cunningly hidden behind her back, just waiting to be used.
Heaven still can’t quite comprehend what she could have done so egregious to warrant her cousin, starting back to when they were kids, doing anything and everything she could to keep Roman for herself. Her commitment to ensuring Heaven never learned of and realized that her now husband has wanted and loved her far longer than she ever realized.
How Camryn played such a critical, pivotal role in keeping Heaven from the man she now knows, without a shadow of a doubt, is her soulmate. The man she was always supposed to be with.
That sort of realization, however, is what started to attenuate her anger. Allowed the hurt to bleed in, and God does that shit hurt.
But Heaven never ever wanted or wants her pain to influence the young man before her.
She reaches to touch his arm. “Nath—“
“She knew what he was gonna do, and even if she didn’t, all that other shit she did?” Anger flashes in his eyes, his arm tense under her palm. “Naw….she’s dead to me.”
Heaven closes her eyes. “B—”
“I didn’t lose anything.” He’s the one interrupting now, prompting Heaven to take a deep breath and will her eyes back open to see Nathan looking down at her. “I never had anything to lose regarding her in the first place.”
Words that break her heart, because as dispassionate as Nathan can be, often taking after his father when it comes to heavier emotions, there will always be that little boy inside of him that grieves never having that relationship with Camryn she knows he wanted for so long. Even if he won’t admit or acknowledge it, Heaven knows it to be true.
He continues, in true Nathan fashion, curbing the heaviness with lighthearted humor. “I’ve got my dad. I got Macy. Future lil’ Bonnie and Clyde—”
It’s minimally effective, provoking a small, budding grin. “Nath—”
“And I got my mom,” he continues, voice and eyes softening, the corner of his lips also tugged upwards. “I’ve always had her.”
At that, Heaven has nothing to say, nothing to follow up with in terms of stressing and emphasizing true support of whatever he wants. Whatever relationship he desires with his mother, she is 100% behind. She just wants him to be happy and true to his wants and needs. It’s only in that moment, however, that she realizes those needs don’t come from the woman who brought him into this world.
Perhaps they never did.
They came from her.
They always came from her.
Emotion stirs as she steps forward, reaching and pulling his down into a hug that he effortlessly and gleefully accepts. Her eyes shut, clamping and concealing the tears. Heaven kisses the side of his head. “I love you, Nathan.”
His arms enclosed around her, reciprocating her verbal and non-verbal acts of affection and love, are wholeheartedly solidified when he gives life to what’s always existed just below the surface. “I love you, too.” A beat. “Mama.”
“Mommy.”
“Yeah, baby?”
Heaven closes the book, placing it on the nightstand and turning around just in time to see that instead of sitting on the edge of the bed or climbing off, Macy is still tucked in, hands holding up her blanket. Cookie under the pink and purple princess bedding beside her and Candy lounged at the floor of the bed, on her stomach, eyes shut but ears perked. Always alert until she knows for certain that her charge is sound asleep.
“I think….” She trails off as Heaven comes to sit on the bed beside her. Macy then meets her mother’s worried gaze. “I think I wanna sleep in my room tonight.” She then quickly adds, almost nervously. “Me, Cookie, and Candy.”
Heaven grows quiet as she observes her seven year-old daughter, partially waiting for her to change her mind. To claim it as a joke of sorts, though she fails to see the humor. Just like she fails to see any indication that Macy doesn’t mean exactly what she just said.
“Babies are down.” Heaven turns to see Roman walking into the room, rubbing his hands together as if knocking away invisible, lingering residue. His hair down, but the lasting effects of the hair tie evident in the way his dark tresses are naturally smoothed back like he’d laid it down with a silk scarf. His dark blue shirt fits snug around his big arms and clings to his chest while the flannel pajama pants have a looser fit and flare down at the bottom, brushing against his Ugg slippers. His nighttime look completed by the dark rimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.
Perfect timing.
Heaven shakes her head, working to find the words that feel almost strange, almost wrong once they leave her mouth. “Macy…” She waits until he walks over, sitting on the other side of the bed, reaching over to caress Macy’s temple. “Macy wants to sleep in her room tonight.” Roman lifts his gaze from his daughter to his wife. “Alone.”
His eyes immediately return to Macy, expression shifting from that of adoration to concern.
“Macy….”
She squints and wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Jey went away to where the bad people go, right?”
Heaven rolls her tongue across the back of her bottom row teeth, a simple but effective technique to avoid the toll such a brief, unexpected conversation is having on her. Primarily Macy’s most recent question. Not just her wanting an additional layer of reassurance, but the use of his name.
Macy hasn’t uttered it since before the fire.
“Yes, baby,” she finally answers. “He’s going away for a very very long time.”
Forever, essentially. The fact of the matter is that Jey will never see the light of day again. The day of sentencing, in the courtroom full of individuals who were either on one side or the other, most in support of Heaven and Co, was the last and closest experience he’ll ever have pertaining to “freedom.”
Jey will die in prison, and that’s just a fact.
But she’s not done. Macy flips her gaze back to Roman, her little lips pressed together, voice softening again. “So he can’t hurt me or mommy again, right?”
And once more, Heaven closes her eyes, unable to hold back the burning sensation of tears she’d give anything to keep at bay.
“No, he can’t.” Roman answers with swiftness and sincerity, his gaze focused on her as he cups her face. “And I won’t let anything or anyone ever hurt you or mommy ever again, I promise.”
Words that Heaven takes to heart and pockets for another day, time, and setting. Him accompanying her on several therapy sessions, her own, Macy’s, and even collab sessions between all three, has revealed that Roman still holds a moderate—probably more—amount of guilt regarding what happened. He blames himself, and Heaven hates that.
Hates it with everything in her, but she also somewhat expected it. In many ways, Roman is a traditional man. Believes his job as a man is to be a protector, and despite Heaven not being his legal partner at the time, and his identity as Macy’s biological father still an unspoken truth, he believed his duty was to protect them. And in his mind, he didn’t. That’s just how he views it. No matter how many times Heaven has attempted to convince him otherwise.
Similar to how she’s attempted to talk him into getting his own therapist, something he’s consistently put off. Cited wanting to focus on Macy, her, and the trial before exploring that. Partially true. Mostly avoidance behavior.
Classic Roman.
But it’s something Heaven is determined to not give up on.
She won’t.
She can’t.
“Then we’ll be okay,” Macy supplies, offering a small smile as she looks down at the end of the bed. “Right, Candy?”
Her four legged best friend’s response is a lift of her head and small bark, followed by her climbing up and laying down as she did on the floor, just now on the edge of the mattress. Right where Macy can see and reach her.
Where she needs her.
“May May, are you sure?” Heaven asks once more, her daughter turning her head to look at her. “You know you can sleep with mommy and daddy as long as you need to.”
“I know,” she answers in that mellifluous voice that Heaven craves when her baby girl isn’t around. Macy being homeschooled until she was able to successful transition back to attending brick and mortar spoiled Heaven. Roman, too. “But I don’t need to anymore.” Her eyes flick between her parents, voice raising an octave, embedded with a hint of pride. “I’m not scared anymore.”
Heaven’s mouth drops ever so slightly, as does that weight in her chest that collapses to the bottom of her stomach. She briefly makes eye contact with Roman, who, despite his efforts to remain emotionally indiscernible, is incapable of completely containing his emotional response to such a simple but powerful statement.
One that means the fucking world to a set of parents who’ve only wanted and done everything within their power to support and help their daughter. To provide Macy with everything she’s needed or could need over the past year and some change in healing from a trauma no child should have to face. It’s been one of the hardest things Heaven has personally had to go through, had to witness. And yet, here she is. Their brave little girl.
Their Macy.
Hugs, kisses, and a final reiteration to come wake them up if she needs anything, anything at all, are what follow. Roman and Heaven lingering near the door, watching as she signs a final I Love You before cradling Cookie and turning over on her side. Candy lifts her head once more only to immediately lower back down on top of Macy’s short legs. Final, protective placement.
A nonverbal act of reassurance.
I got her.
The minute they’re back in their bedroom, double doors closed, Heaven turns around and closes the distance between the two of them.
“Hey,” she starts, smoothing her hands up Roman’s chest, gently ruffling his shirt. “Roman,” she continues, deepening her voice just enough so that he looks down at her instead of at the closed doors as if doing so will make Macy’s knock come sooner. Because she knows that’s exactly what he’s expecting. “She’s…she’s okay.”
His jaw ticks, and she lifts her left hand to cup his face. “And if she isn’t…” Another noticeable, visible flash of concern in his eyes that she attempts to quell. “Then she knows where to find us.”
As they always have and always will make themselves readily available for their children.
No matter what.
His reluctance remains, however, prompting Heaven to opt for another angle. “Come on.” She leans up on her toes, pressing them into the soles of her slippers. Heaven kisses his cheek and drops her hand to grab his. “Let’s go shower.”
Persuasion starts to take its course as he flicks his eyes flick over her body. His right hand lowers and cushions her hip, soft material of her dress embedded in between his long, thick fingers. “We already showered.”
“Not together,” she corrects. Heaven tilts her head to the side, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his coarse, rough knuckles. “And are you really turning down an opportunity for us to be naked together—”
A knock on the door immediately yanks them from the moment, but while it tosses Roman back into fight or flight mode, Heaven was able to pick up on the nature and pattern of said knock. Hence the way she tightens her grip on Roman’s hand when he moves to walk towards the door.
“Don’t let me interrupt ya’ll from being nasty.” Nathan’s voice sounds from the other side. Heaven, having kept her eyes on her husband, noticing the way his strong shoulders drop, the definition of his side profile slightly minimized. Relaxation setting back in all around. “Just wanted to tell you I’m heading out.”
Roman frowns as Heaven moves her body against his, wrapping her arms around his waist. She wastes no time in mouthing, ‘date’ when he looks down, his lips making a silent ‘oh’ of acknowledgment. “Alright. Text us when you get there. Have fun. Be safe.”
“I will,” Nathan agrees. “Love ya’ll.”
“Love you, too.”
“Love you, too, baby.”
Synonymous responses followed by the soft sound of footsteps from the other side that eventually fade into silence.
Roman looks down, returning his wife’s embrace, hands on the small of her back. “Isn’t it kind of late for him to be going out?” He lifts his wrist, verifying said time as Heaven bites back a smile. “And how the hell did he find time to squeeze in a date when he’s gotta be back in Cali—”
“He’s 24, Roman,” she reminds, lips curved into a wry smile. “Besides, I think he really likes this one.”
At that, his brow props upward, hand smoothing over the curve of her ass. “Yeah.”
Heaven nods. “Said he might even invite her to the next game we attend so we can meet her.”
“Damn,” he curses. “It’s that serious?”
She bites on the corner of her lip, quickly working on a reply that both satisfies without oversharing. “Something like that.” If things continue to go well between Nathan and the girl he’s been seeing, consistently, for the past three or so months, Heaven knows that he would like to be the one to explain to Roman the….situation. Primarily the young woman’s occupation.
A stripper.
Err, midnight ballerina, as she’s seen them called on social media.
At first, she was a little surprised. Skeptical. Fell right into that outdated hole of judgment and stereotypes, but then she remembered that this is Nathan. Like his father, he’s good at reading people. Not to mention, he’s far too astute to “allow” himself to be finessed and manipulated. If he says this girl is good people, that’s good enough for her. She trusts his judgment.
And so does Roman.
But his first instinct always has, and always will be, to look out for his son. That includes anyone who might be looking to use or take advantage of a young man who’s making more money in one year than some might see in an entire lifeline. Not to mention the investments Roman made Nathan setup the minute he signed his first contract, on top of a college savings account that’s remained untouched since its creation when Nathan was 10, as his entire four years of college were covered via his scholarships.
Add in his personal savings, no touch savings, and even the account Roman has set aside with money solely for Nathan, despite Nathan not knowing about said account…..he’s set.
Loaded as fuck.
Like father, like son.
Roman just wants to protect not only Nathan, but his assets and likeness.
Thus, she knows it’s best to let father and son handle that conversation when the time comes. She’ll just be there to offer support and insight when necessary.
And something tells her, especially given how cautious Roman has become after everything over the past almost two years, that he’s going to be guarded.
She can’t blame him, either.
Heaven yelps when he slides both hands under her ass cheeks and hikes her up onto his waist. Starts to ask him what the hell he’s doing when he starts walking them towards their connected master bathroom.
Almost an hour later, bodies cleansed and moisturized, courtesy of the effective, talented hands of one another, they’re laid up together in bed. Roman between her spread legs, his fingers making light caresses up and down her glowing skin. Her own hands embedded in his hair, down and air dried in its naturally voluminous state. She works her fingers through his scalp, all the while watching how he keeps his eyes open but his hand to the left of him near the phone that’s remained dark since they climbed into bed. The baby monitor situated on the nightstand on her side of the bed also another source of silence, as the only sound that fills their master bedroom is that which filters through the double doors that lead to the forever busy, boisterous city that is Miami.
At one point, amongst many other discussions occurring in the wake of the fire that all but obliterated the home Heaven once shared with her ex-husband and Macy, there were talks of moving. Leaving the city. Transitioning elsewhere. Tampa, near the top of the list. Heaven and Macy staying/living with him in the house he once shared with Camryn just wasn’t an option. As many memories it held, some good, some bad, some somewhere in between, both Heaven and Roman agreed that there was more discomfort with making it their permanent residence than benefits. Even more, he wanted to find a place for them that carried no memories but the ones that would be made in this new chapter of his life.
A new start required fresh soil and a solid foundation to be built upon, and if not for the time it would take to build and include what exactly he’d prefer their home to have, that’s exactly what they would have done. But it all worked out, as he’d hired the same realtor who helped him find the house that’s now sold and the one they live in now that’s, somehow, even larger and grander than the last.
Not that any of that even mattered to Heaven. She just wanted a home, and any place that had him, Macy, the twins, and even Nathan, was home.
Granted, she will never deny the peace that comes with being in a place that’s not borrowed or stolen. It’s hers.
It’s theirs.
“Are you working Bad Blood this year?”
Her question is a gentle stir to the silence. She watches and feels the subtle rise and fall of his big body against hers, leaning down to kiss his forehead.
“Not sure yet.”
At that, she rolls her eyes, tilting her head to the side, uncaring of the way he keeps his lids shut. “You know you want to.” The small smile playing on his full lips as he takes another close mouthed breath confirms as such. Heaven mimics his actions, also sighing, lips pressed into his temple. “Do it, babe,” she murmurs. “You know we’ll be there to cheer you on, Mr. World Heavyweight Champion.”
When Roman told Heaven that he was taking an indefinite leave from WWE, it came at no surprise whatsoever. With everything that occurred—Macy, Jey, the pregnancy—it only made sense that he too took a step back. Like herself, his priority was supporting Macy and navigating the legal fallout of everything that occurred. But as the months passed and they neared almost a year since Roman stepped away, Heaven started to drop subtle hints regarding his tentative return timeline. Not to rush him, far from it, but rather to let him know that it was okay. That they were okay, because she knows her husband better than anyone on this earth.
Knows that he would never return. That he would just leave his elimination at the 2025 Rumble as his final in-ring appearance. That if it was between work and family, he would always choose family. That, for Roman, there was no choice to make.
It was just family.
Period.
But while healing and recovering often require finding a new norm amongst the wreckage of the storm, if something can be salvaged, like the items not completely destroyed and damaged by the fire that almost took their daughter’s life, they should be retained. Heaven knows how much Roman’s career means to him. All the work he put in to get to where he is. All the sacrifices. It felt wrong to not encourage him to reclaim something she knew brought him joy.
Even more, juxtaposed to the year prior that’d been so focused on Jey, so catered towards launching his star, there was almost a petty part of her that wanted to see Roman take back everything he’d selflessly helped his cousin obtain.
“2025 was his year,” she said, sitting on Roman’s lap, hands on his cheeks, the sound of their kids playing in the background a soft buffer. “You make 2026 your year.”
And he did just that.
Heaven can still recall the way she jumped the moment the opening of his I Am Greatness theme played throughout Michigan Stadium. The way her eyes instantly shifted to Macy who’d insisted on keeping her hearing aids in, to the way her twin babies smiled and wiggled, even with their own headphones on. As if the powerful, magnetic sound of the beating drums demanded their attention and focus even without being directly heard.
Heaven has attended plenty of Roman’s shows over the years, but his surprise, unannounced return at the 2026 Royal Rumble remains the loudest pop she’s ever heard. The only thing to outdo it was the thunderous applause and roar of celebration that flowed throughout the stadium when he tossed Gunther out that ring.
When he won.
Tears filled her eyes watching the way he dropped to his knees, panting, sweating, holding onto the rope, head down. The gold writing etched on his gloves and in his custom Nikes. The names of their children. Of her. The way Macy clapped and cheered happily in Nathan’s arms as he too expressed congratulations. Kanoa and Kalia, six months old and oblivious to the specifics of what occurred, also beaming with joy, feeding off the jubilation that surrounded them.
Heaven had never felt so relieved that she pushed Roman on the subject of bringing them. She knew he could do it, knew he would do it, and she wanted to ensure he knew they were all there to support and cheer him on.
No one knows just how deeply his win, and subsequent backlash, back in 2015 affected him. Heaven has a pretty damn good idea. Better than most. But even she is not exempt from being shut down and having the conversation diverted at any attempt to get him to open up. It hurt him. Deeply. A hurt that, in her opinion, was largely chipped away by such a win and recapture of glory eleven years later.
Most of that healing and rewriting of history, however, came not from applause vs boo’s. It came from the presence of his family, of the kids, of herself, all of whom had a front row seat to one of the best sights she’d witnessed all year. Smiles stretched and spread when he climbed out of the ring and met them ringside. Nathan hyping and dapping him up. Macy wrapping her arms around his neck, wiggling and moving in unwavering excitement. Similar to that of Kanoa and Kalia, though far too young to understand what just occurred, offering babbles lost under the sound of his theme blasting throughout the stadium. And when he finally reached her, shifted his eyes from their youngest to her, bent over to hug and hold her as she stroked the back of his neck, it was all but confirmed.
Without a doubt confirmed when two months later, a similar outcome, response, and reaction as he won the World Heavyweight Championship in the main event of WrestleMania. If Heaven thought the pop for his rumble win was something, the one at mania nearly left her ears ringing for almost two days straight.
But it was all so so worth it. Everything about that night was magical and special. From his moving, almost sentimental entrance—slideshow of those who came before him and who he works to this day to honor and respect—the names of the kids and herself, again, etched and sown into his gear, and especially in the emotional celebration that, once more, occurred ringside.
That…..that meant more to him than any win.
His family.
“I’ll think about.” Roman’s answer tugs Heaven away from the recalling of pleasant, enjoyable memories. Ones that have felt like they increase in frequency and duration as time passes. As to be expected. Time doesn’t heal all, but it does ease the aches just a bit. And healing occurring alongside the pillars of support and love will always provide the necessary space for it to flourish and flow.
Heaven’s eyes bounce to where Roman has his phone lifted, his thumb moving to unlock and navigate to the most recently used app. Seconds later, footage that’s essentially the exact same as the last time he checked shortly before they stepped into the shower together.
Cribs stationed on either side of the nursery, names spelled out on the wall above said cribs, in the stereotypical pink and blue. Similar to the bedding and overall theme of a room Heaven spent far more time decorating than what was necessary, but it’d become an outlet. Something she could throw herself into. That she could control. A gracious, necessary space of mercy and release. One that still carries with it the peaceful and comforting atmosphere that, though she can’t prove it, aids in the way her twins so easily go down for bed.
Evident in the way they both are turned on their stomachs, lips slightly parted, little bodies rising up and down in slow, steady motions.
“It’s amazing how they sleep through the night,” she murmurs.
Roman chuckles. “That’s cause they use up all their energy during the day.”
She smiles and nestles her head against his temple. “I don’t know where they get all that from, either.”
“You and me both,” he agrees. “All I know is we’re signing them up for as many sports as we can the minute they’re old enough.”
“Roman.”
Not that she necessarily disagrees as it was the same thought that she had earlier in the day, there’s an element of exaggeration that fuels his motive. Kanoa and Kalia, while far from unafraid to express discontent and dissatisfaction in the way of babbles, screams, whines, and the tossing of whatever is in the closest vicinity, really are good babies. Heaven has noticed that they just tend to become more temperamental in the usual situations that would aggravate most young children. Hunger. Sleepiness. Overstimulated.
Not that much different from the man complaining about them.
“What?” He angles his head to look at her. “Heav, they gotta get that shit out somehow. I’m not about to be 50 something chasing them around this house.”
She rolls her eyes. He can be dramatic as hell sometimes. “You sound like Jimmy.”
“About once a year, he says something actually accurate.”
Heaven flicks his shoulder and continues to massage his scalp. She also watches how he switches over to the other camera that, again, greets them the same it did the last time he checked.
Macy, in bed, Cookie cradled in her arms and Candy at the edge of the bed.
Sleeping.
A calming, assuring image that only goes so far. Hence the way she reaches for his phone, Roman only casting her a brief glance before he hands it to her. He remains quiet as she clicks around and navigates to Apple Music—one day she’ll get him to switch to Spotify—quickly searching and playing the desired tune.
As the silence that filled the room is imbued with a familiar, well known tune for her, Heaven places the phone back beside her husband who looks over at her with a scowl that reminds her of the twins when they’re cranky. All of her kids, it seems, took after their daddy when it comes to that damn scowl.
“Isn’t this the song that plays when someone dies on that hospital show you like?”
“Roman.” As much as he likes to talk about Jimmy, he isn’t that far off with some of the shit he says. They both have no filter. Just in different ways. “It’s Greys Anatomy. If you would stop falling asleep every time I try to watch it with you—”
“I’m not watching that shit, Heaven. I told you that.”
The way he shuts her down almost immediately isn’t the least bit surprising. For all of the many, many things the man she’s holding has done, will do, and will always do for her, the one thing she’s never been able to talk him into is watching one of her favorite shows with her. Any of her favorite shows, really. They’ll watch movies together, but even that’s far and few in between outside of the animated, family friendly programs and films the kids like to watch. Beyond that, it’s a no-go. Ever since they were teenagers, Roman has always found Heaven’s taste in shows too “female focused” for him. To this day, she’s still not sure what exactly that means.
She snorts. “Yeah, cause you’d rather watch that violence.”
“Damn straight.”
Heaven flicks his shoulder. If it’s got gore, action, or a weird combination of both, he’s there. For her, there are a million and one things she’d rather do than subject herself to that macabre shit.
As the music continues to play in the background, reaching one of her favorite parts, she refocuses the conversation. “And yeah, it is synonymous with character deaths, but….” Once more, she leans over and kisses his temple, murmuring a soft, “just….listen.”
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Words that manifest and penetrate, Heaven watching how he closes his eyes once more, the most subtle tick of his jaw and falter of his lips telltales of her spontaneous idea and spur of the moment plan proving to be effective.
In more ways than expected.
Heaven smooths her hands down his chest and then over his shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze. For most, it’d be a gesture that requires clarification, but not Roman.
He knows what she needs, even without her even saying a word.
All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see
In a matter of seconds, he’s no longer in between her legs and her body is no longer propped up by the set of pillows set against their headboard. She’s instead curled against him, arm over his stomach, her cheek pressed into his chest. He pulls her closer, as if their bodies aren’t already molded together. As if they aren’t already one in every way that counts.
“Something did die, Roman,” she whispers. “That….that died.” That unnamed but known entity she refuses to give life to by naming and addressing. They’ve lived it. Survived it. “And this….this is where we breathe. Where we live.”
Because life is made up of more than just fleeting moments of joy and happiness. It’s frustration mixed with disappointment and tainted with occasional loss. Trauma and grief that co-exist, go hand in hand, but almost always follow up with the clearing of the sky and disappearing of the clouds.
Heaven was once told that it can’t rain forever. She didn’t understand it then.
She understands it now.
“We’re here. We made it here. That’s what matters.” After everything that was thrown and meant to work against them, to keep one half from the other half, and despite every single odd that could exist, they made it. They made it. “Somewhere beyond right and wrong,” A beat. “That’s where we found each other.”
a/n: and there we have it, folks. the long ass , too long awaited conclusion.
this is not the ending i wanted to go with. my initial thought/idea when starting to flesh out the story following the massive, positive response to rls was one much different than this. in my initial plot, macy ends up passing away, and jey is "mysteriously" found murdered.
thus, the storyline following roman and heaven trying to navigate life post macy's murder, heaven's pregnancy, as well as a bit of a "mystery" aspect where i would play around with "who killed jey" and a focus on roman and nathan as the potential suspects.
specifically, i wanted to explore the dichotomy of grief and love. exploration of how two people navigate a new norm that's juxtaposed to a past they can't seem to let go and heal from. heaven struggling to find joy in her pregnancy, and roman struggling with the guilt of it all. together, their shared regret at their actions that, to them, resulted in the loss of their daughter. the story concluding with roman and heaven meeting the little girl who received macy's heart, as they chose to donate her organs.
"we couldn't save our baby, but we had the opportunity to save someone else's. and that's what we did. an act of love. because that's what macy was to and for us. the representation and embodiment of love."
that's what the heaven sent short would have shown. but i had to be honest with myself and realize that i really do not have the time to adequately and properly write out such a layered storyline the way i'd want to. not with all the other 5011 wip's i got going on. thus, this alternative ending.
anyhoo, much appreciation and thanks to everyone who read this hot mess express of a mini series. forever grateful and thankful for you kind souls. i feel as though this ending could have been better, but you've all waited long enough for a conclusion. i just hope this one was satisfactory.
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ unprotected p in v, teasing, pet names (sweetheart, sunshine, pretty, baby + no y/n), oral (f. receiving), fingering, mutual pining, cream pie + one very down bad handyman ⋆✴︎.ᐟ
Knock. Knock.
“Coming!”
Your voice carries through the apartment over the steady trickle of water somewhere inside. Rain boots squeak across the soaked hardwood as you hurry toward the front door, splashing through a puddle before yanking it open.
The second you see Logan standing in the hallway, relief crashes into you so hard you don’t even think before reaching for him. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, tugging him over the threshold while you kick the door shut behind him with your boot.
“Oh, thank god.” You let out a breathy laugh, already pulling him farther inside before he has the chance to say hello. “Thank you so much for coming over. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”
Logan barely manages two steps before he stops. “…Jesus.”
His eyes move slowly around the apartment, taking everything in without saying anything. Every towel you own has been thrown across the floor in an obvious attempt to stop the water that has already escaped the laundry room and spread halfway through the kitchen.
Damp clothes hang from cabinet handles, dining chairs, doorknobs, and the oven handle, dripping steadily into baking sheets and mismatched bowls you’d shoved underneath them to catch the water.
A pastel floral duvet is draped across the backs of two barstools, three bras spin lazily from the ceiling fan, and a string bikini is looped around the refrigerator handle.
The whole apartment smells like fresh laundry, warm vanilla, and clean cotton lingering in the air beneath the faint scent of standing water. It’s complete chaos.
“I’ve been trying,” you blurt out before he can say anything else, throwing both hands toward the disaster surrounding the two of you. “I Googled it.”
“I can tell.”
“I watched, like…” You squint toward the ceiling, trying to remember. “…Seven videos?” He nods once. “And every single one told me to do something different.”
“I believe that.”
“So then I panicked.”
His eyes drift back toward the puddles stretching across your floor before settling on you again. “…Yeah.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “I can see that.”
“Come here.” You wave him toward the laundry room. “It’s worse over here.”
His head dips as a soft laugh escapes through his nose, though it disappears almost as quickly as it came.
Logan follows without a word, stepping carefully around a towel as his boots splash through the thin layer of water covering the floor.
You’ve somehow managed to get yourself almost as wet as the apartment. Damp strands of hair cling to your forehead while everything else has been shoved impatiently behind your ears, your fitted white tank hugging your frame.
That tiny jean skirt kisses your upper thighs, creeping higher every time you step over another puddle, bright yellow rain boots squeaking against the tile as you stop beside the open washing machine and look back at him with the most hopeful expression you can manage.
“There she is,” you whisper sheepishly.
Logan steps up beside you and looks into the drum. The washer isn’t full of clothes anymore because you already hauled every last piece out by hand. It’s still nearly full of cloudy blue water, soap suds floating across the top thick enough that he can’t even see the bottom.
“It won’t drain,” you explain, chewing lightly on your bottom lip.
“Alright.” He reaches for the cuffs of his flannel, rolling one sleeve up before doing the other, exposing his forearms. By the time he finishes, he can already feel your eyes on him.
Your lips part ever so slightly, your attention catching on his hands before drifting farther up his forearms, getting completely lost somewhere between the strength in his hands and the quiet concentration written across his face when he reaches in to check the depth. The water skims his flannel and it’s clear—the shirt has to go.
“This okay?” he asks, already shrugging off one shoulder. Your mouth goes a little dry, lips still parted, lashes fluttering when he asks you again. “Sweetheart?”
The pet name does nothing for your sanity, your cheeks blooming with warmth as you try to answer a question you never heard. “Hmm?”
“My shirt? Can I take it off?” he asks through a chuckle.
“Of course,” you smile. “Take anything off.”
A quiet snort slips out before he can stop it as he strips the plaid fabric off his body, showing off the white cutoff t-shirt underneath. He wraps the bigger shirt around his waist, cinching it with a knot before adjusting the bandana on his head.
“Let’s see what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into, sunshine.”
His bandana keeps most of his hair pushed back, though a few stubborn pieces still fall forward across his forehead as he squints down into the machine. The cutoff shirt stretches tightly across his shoulders every time he shifts his weight, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath sun-tanned skin as he twists the center agitator back and forth.
“…C’mon,” he grunts under his breath. You watch his jaw tighten as he gives it one more firm pull.
The agitator slides free. Logan takes a careful step backward, lifting the surprisingly heavy piece out of the washer with both hands. The movement makes the muscles in his forearms tighten beneath his skin, veins standing out as he adjusts his grip to keep it from slipping.
His worn blue jeans are tucked into work boots, and for a second you’re so distracted watching him that you almost forget he’s waiting for an answer.
“You got somewhere I can set this?”
“Oh!” You blink hard, snapping back to reality. “Hang on.”
You spin toward the hallway a little too quickly, and the rain boot hits another patch of soapy water. Both feet slide out just enough to send your arms pinwheeling through the air.
“…Oh, shit,” Logan huffs, his head snapping up instinctively as you manage to catch yourself, bent over at the waist. Nothing but ass and purple lace greeting him as you struggle to find your footing.
He tears his eyes away almost immediately, clearing his throat as heat creeps into his cheeks. His shoulders shake with a quiet laugh he can’t quite hold back, his head tipping to the side as the prettiest little thing he’d ever seen somehow managed to look like she’d stepped onto the ice with her skate guards still on.
“I meant to do that,” you smile over your shoulder, scurrying into the bathroom before returning a few seconds later with a thick striped beach towel bundled in your arms.
Logan blows out a breath as he watches you move, every inch of your apartment a hazard for a slip and fall. He smiles as you lay the towel on the floor, glancing up at him safe and sound.
“Perfect,” he hums, offering you a hand, guiding you closer.
The two of you lean over the washer together, peering into the cloudy blue water that hasn’t budged an inch. Logan studies the drum a moment before nodding once.
“I think your drain’s clogged,” he mumbles, looking to his left where you stand beside him, but you’re bent over now. The white tank top clinging to your curves is translucent—the purple lace bra underneath cups your breasts so perfectly he can’t help but sigh, the low scoop and soft swell of your breasts leaving him wondering what words left his mouth last and where he was goin’ with any of this.
His heavy eyes lift and you quirk an eyebrow teasingly, your glossed lips drawn to the side.
“Somethin’,” he huffs, and you nod. “I—I think things.” Words leave his lips, but they’re not the ones he’s reaching for. Your giggle fills the little laundry room, his laugh joining it. “Sorry—”
“Don’t be,” you smile, stepping a little closer, watching the breath catch in his chest.
“I think your drain’s clogged,” he says, getting his feet under himself again. Logan reaches both hands back into the drum, feeling carefully beneath the cloudy water.
His brow furrows a little deeper, the tip of his tongue slipping out to rest lightly against his upper lip while he concentrates, fingertips searching along the bottom where he can’t see.
“Hang on,” he mutters. “I think…” He pinches onto something beneath the water, his expression shifting with recognition. “I think I got something.”
His fingers tighten around whatever he’d managed to catch beneath the hazy water before giving it the gentlest tug.
“Shit…”
“What?” you ask, your eyes widening immediately as you peer over the edge.
“I think it’s gonna rip.”
Your nose scrunches and you laugh softly. “It’s okay.”
“You sure?” he asks, looking back at you. “I don’t wanna wreck your stuff, sweetheart.”
“If it fixes my washer, it fixes my washer,” you say simply, resting your hands on your hips, and he chuckles.
Logan smiles as he gives the fabric another gentle tug, every muscle through his forearms tightening. His biceps flex with the effort, boots squeaking faintly against the damp tile as he plants himself a little wider.
“Well…” he murmurs, glancing over at you with the smallest smile. “If I break it…” Another careful pull. “…I’m replacin’ it.”
A laugh bubbles out of you almost immediately. “Logan, you’re not replacing anything.”
“We’ll negotiate later,” Logan says, his brown eyes flicking toward yours for just a second before he braces himself for another pull.
You let out a breathy little laugh, shaking your head as you fold your hands behind your back. “There is no negotiation.”
“We’ll see,” he hums, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looks back into the washer.
A strip of black lace slips through the cloudy blue water first, dripping between his fingers before hanging there in complete silence.
Water drips steadily from the towels hanging around the apartment while neither of you says a single word. His eyes drop to the lace dangling from his hand before very, very slowly lifting toward you. Yours are already on him. “…Oh.”
He pulls again, and this time pale blue satin slides free beneath the black lace, a delicate strap catching somewhere inside the drain before cherry-red mesh follows behind it, tiny bows glistening with soapy water as they break the surface.
Your lips part and Logan’s lashes flutter. “I—Umm… I don’t…” He clears his throat when his voice cracks around the words. A horrified giggle escapes you before you can stop it.
“Oh my gosh.” You press both hands over your mouth, already feeling your face warming from your neck all the way to the apples of your cheeks while Logan looks very deliberately back into the washing machine, trying to focus on literally anything except the fact that he’s somehow standing in your laundry room holding what is very obviously the prettiest collection of panties he’s ever encountered.
“I don’t think I’m done,” he admits after another second.
“You’re kidding,” you sigh.
Bubblegum pink lace slips free this time. Then delicate little white florals. Another gentle pull brings soft lavender mesh knotted through the first three, followed by a ribbon of satin that disappears beneath the growing bundle collecting in his hand.
Somewhere deep inside the drain they’ve managed to twist themselves together into one impossible knot, every tiny strap looping through another until what should’ve been one pair becomes two…then four…then six, the growing chain spilling farther and farther across the striped beach towel you spread on the floor only minutes earlier until you’re in the double digits.
He lets out a slow breath through his nose, the corners of his mouth trembling as he tries not to smile.
“I am so embarrassed—”
“I’m impressed,” he mumbles.
“Stop,” you giggle, holding out a hand to block his handsome face when he catches you peering through your fingers.
“This is quite the collection,” he teases, hissing under his breath in faux pain when you shove at his shoulder.
You cross your arms over your chest, turning away slightly, rubber boots squeaking against the tile when a little whistle breezes past his lips. The culprit of it all, the white lace t-string that barely qualifies as underwear in the first place, threads through his thick, rough fingers. The final pair of panties in the makeshift line.
He looks down at you, the dimple in his cheek deepening, waiting to catch your eye again.
“C’mon, pretty. Don’t be like that,” he chuckles as he drops the panty chain to the floor in a heap, reaching for you as he straightens, his hand settling against your hip to turn you toward him.
Your heart beats a little faster when his brown eyes rest on your lips, the tension in his shoulders unwinding when your mouth tips into a smile.
“I can’t believe there were that many,” you whisper, trying not to laugh.
“That’s what I’m sayin’,” he sighs, glancing at the pile before returning his attention to you. “How do you think I feel? I told you I was replacing them.”
“Shut up,” you chuckle, feeling your stomach flutter as he wets his lip, his thumb rubbing against the wet cotton at your hip—snap!
The sudsy water gurgles, bubbles popping from the middle of the drum, as the blue soapy water twirls down the drain like a cyclone until all that’s left is a clean slate.
Your lashes lift and your gaze rests on his. A part of you knows you should be relieved that the water is gone. A smaller, far less practical part of you has been hoping the machine might remain stubborn for an extra hour if it meant Logan had to stay.
“Well, look at that.” He smiles, looking down at the drum.
“You’re amazing.” You squeal, your arms wrapping around his neck, lips pressing against his cheek before you draw away.
For one long second, Logan forgets how to act.
His eyes stay on yours, searching your face like he’s making sure you really meant to do that, the warmth of your lips still lingering against his cheek.
His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip before he lets out a slow breath through his nose, one hand tightening where it rests against your waist.
“Well,” he murmurs, his voice lower than it had been a second ago.
“What?” you ask, the smile playing in your voice.
“I don’t think anybody’s ever thanked me quite like that.”
Your hands smooth down his chest, his hand falling away from your hips reluctantly. He looks away under the excuse of checking the washer again, dragging one hand along the back of his neck.
He’d spent plenty of time fixing things for people—broken garbage disposals, leaky faucets, doors that wouldn’t quite shut, washing machines that refused to drain just like this one.
None of those jobs had ever left him standing in a tiny laundry room with the most beautiful woman he’d ever met smiling up at him like that. For the first time, he finds himself wishing something else around the apartment were broken—not because he wants another repair, but because he isn’t anywhere near ready to leave.
“I, uh—think we’re golden,” he says, reaching down for the agitator and resting the final piece of the puzzle back in before clicking it in place like it’s nothing.
“That’s it?” you ask, glancing between him and the washer. “You’re completely finished?”
“Unless you’ve got something else hidin’ somewhere that needs me,” he answers with a chuckle, hoping there’s something around here that will give him a little more time with you and another kiss on the cheek at the very least.
You glance around the apartment, taking in the soaked towels, the mixing bowls scattered beneath dripping clothes, and the duvet still draped across two barstools in the kitchen.
There is more than enough cleanup left to keep you busy for the rest of the day, but none of it technically requires a broad-shouldered hockey player you’ve had a crush on all semester.
Your lips press together in a slight pout before you can stop them, your boot digging lightly against the wet floor as you look back into the empty drum.
Logan notices immediately. “What’s that face for?” he asks, brushing the water off his rough hands on his jeans.
“What face?” you ask, peering at him out of the corner of your eye.
Logan catches you smiling before you realize you’re doing it. “That one.” He nods toward you, amusement pulling at his mouth. “You looked happier when your washer was broken, sunshine.”
“Did I?”
“You absolutely did.”
You bite your cheek as he lowers the lid of the washer, starting an empty load just to test it out. “So did you,” you mumble, calling his bluff, and his lips fall open like that can’t be so—like you’re reading him all wrong—but the chuckle gives him away.
“You think so?” Logan asks quietly. “…Guess I wasn’t hidin’ it very well.”
“M’happy it’s fixed,” you hum. “Obviously. I just thought it might take a little longer.”
Logan rests one hip against the washer, folding his arms loosely across his chest as he studies you. “You wanted it to take longer?”
“Maybe,” you smile.
“Huh,” he huffs, one hand lifting from his side to rest on your cheek, making your pulse jump as the other slides around your waist again.
Logan brushes his thumb across your cheek, his palm settling carefully against the side of your face when you lean into the touch.
“You know,” he murmurs, “it didn’t take shit breakin’ for you to call me over.”
“No?” you ask, and his arm tightens around your waist, guiding you closer. You smile bashfully, hands wrapping around his waist as well, chest pressing against his until your soaked breasts push into his broad chest.
“Been waitin’ for a while,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a slow pass over your skin. “Just needed you to give me a reason.”
“Yeah?”
His eyes hold yours as the corner of his mouth lifts. “‘Course.”
The sincerity in his voice steals whatever response you were about to give him. Your fingers tighten in his shirt, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath the thin fabric as you tilt your chin up toward his.
“Are you going to kiss me, or did I flood my apartment for nothing?” you whisper, your lips so close to his that all you can feel is the breath of his chuckle.
“You didn’t flood your apartment for this,” he mumbles, the warmth of his words brushing over your lips as he teases you.
“You know…” he murmurs, pulling back just enough for you to chase his lips, “…you’ve been lookin’ at me all afternoon.”
“So’ve you.”
“…Yeah.” The admission comes so easily it makes your heart stumble. “I’ve been tryin’ real hard to be a gentleman.” He lets out a quiet exhale through his nose, like there wasn’t much point pretending anymore. “Been havin’ a hard time lookin’ anywhere else.”
Your mouth parts on a soft breath, and Logan’s body reacts to it instantly. His own lips part, catching your bottom lip in a gentle tug, humming out a deep sound before he murmurs, “I think you’re makin’ it pretty difficult.”
His forehead falls to yours for the briefest second, both of you smiling into the inch of space between your mouths. His thumb strokes once along your jaw before his lips press together, like he’s trying to convince himself to keep doing the gentleman thing he’d been talking about thirty seconds ago.
“Fuck it,” he murmurs.
Logan’s big arms wrap around you in one smooth motion as he lifts you clean off your feet. Your legs hook around his waist as his mouth crashes into yours, stealing your breath as you kiss him for the very first time.
He turns and presses your back to the wall, his body settling against yours with a heavy weight that makes your breath catch as your spine meets it.
He dips in again, kissing you slower this time, deep enough to make your head spin and everything else fall away. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, nails sliding in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling a deep groan from his lips.
You giggle breathlessly, and he buries his face in your neck, his fingers flexing against your skin as he physically holds himself back. His smile pulls along your skin, the weight of his body still holding you where he wants you, and even though he’s not kissing you for the moment, you can tell that it’s killing him.
“Sweetheart,” he mutters, warm at your neck, his teeth sliding against your skin.
“John?” you answer, the sound of his first name leaving your lips doing nothing for his restraint. He glances toward the ceiling for a second before looking back at you, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a quiet sigh.
“Baby,” he mutters against your neck, his voice rough enough to send a shiver through you. His eyes squeeze shut for a second before he tips his forehead to yours with a quiet laugh. “I’m bein’ so damn good right now.”
He sets you to your feet, your body still pinned to the wall, his rough hand cupping your cheek as the other holds you close, kissing you again.
“You don’t have to be,” you whisper, and his jaw tightens, his deep, dark eyes falling to your lips again.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, smiling when the corner of your lips curls. “You are trouble, aren’t you?”
You look back at him through your lashes, shaking your head no, but everything in your body language screams yes as he stares back at you, his lips still tingling.
“Can I ask you something?” he whispers.
“Mhmm,” you hum.
“Would you let me take you out sometime?”
You bite your lip, stifling the giggle bubbling on your tongue because the answer had been sitting on the tip of it before he’d even finished asking.
“I’d really like that,” you whisper.
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” you answer.
“You can keep those boots on,” he teases as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours, and it’s clear that the last thing he wants to do is wait until then.
“I have something a little cuter I can wear,” you whisper.
Logan’s eyes drift over your face before the corner of his mouth lifts again.
“Somehow…” he murmurs, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your hip, “…I don’t think that’s possible,” he sighs, stealing your breath when he steps back. “Pick you up around six?”
“Six sounds perfect.” You smile, fixing your skirt where it’s ridden up your thighs a little, feeling your body throb from your head to your toes.
Logan reaches for his toolbox, then the doorknob, his fingers wrapping around the brass handle before he slowly pulls it open.
He steps out before turning back toward you.
“Tomorrow.” You smile, your head resting against the doorframe—a floaty sensation coursing through your veins, the desperate need to kiss him again leaving your body trembling with adrenaline.
“Tomorrow.”
For one impossibly long second, it feels like you’re both waiting for the other person to break. Instead, Logan smiles. He gives one small nod before finally forcing himself to turn away, the old toolbox swinging lightly beside his leg as he starts down the breezeway.
You stand in the doorway long after he should’ve disappeared from sight, one hand still resting against the edge of the open door as your eyes follow him farther and farther away.
The afternoon sun catches the back of his shoulders, flannel tied around his waist shifting against his jeans. He looks over one shoulder, catching you still standing there watching him.
You lift your hand, waving with the tips of your fingers, feeling your heart race in your chest before he rounds the corner and falls out of sight.
You let out the tiniest sigh before easing the front door shut, the latch clicking softly behind you. Your back settles against the cool wood of the door, your eyes drifting shut as the biggest smile you’ve worn in weeks spreads across your face all over again.
Your shoulders slide another inch down the door until your rain boots squeak against the hardwood beneath you.
“Tomorrow,” you repeat, nodding to absolutely no one. “Not today. Tomorrow.” You press your lips together, trying very hard to look serious despite the fact that nobody is there to witness it.
“Which means…” You point one finger toward yourself in mock warning. “…You are not going to chase after him.” You nod solemnly. “You are a grown woman. You are capable of waiting…” Your eyes drift toward the front door. “…Twenty-four hours.” You pause. “…More or less.”
The washing machine sloshes cheerfully behind you as your head tips back against the door with another little groan. “Oh, he’s so handsome though,” you pout, your lips still tingling, the smell of his cologne clinging to the cotton of your tank top.
You push yourself away from the door and wander aimlessly toward the kitchen, your fingertips trailing across the backs of dining chairs draped in damp clothes.
“You’re not texting him.” You tap your cellphone as you pass it. “You’re not calling him. You’re not coming up with some household emergency because—because you can’t…”
“And besides…” Your eyes flick toward the laundry room where the machine continues humming along perfectly. “He fixed the only one you’ve got.”
A smile slips across your face before you can stop it. “He asked me on a date.” You gossip the words into the nothingness of your kitchen, your yellow puddle boots squeaking when you twirl. “He asked me.”
You stand there for a beat, the quiet hum of the washing machine filling the apartment before you let out one long sigh through your nose. “…Alright.” Reality.
The flood might be over, but your apartment still looks like a tornado spun through for fun. Towels lie scattered across the hardwood, damp clothes hang from cabinet handles and dining chairs, and somewhere beneath the floral duvet draped over your barstools is probably the mixing bowl you’d spent half an hour using to bail water out by hand.
The laundry basket waits against the wall exactly where you’d abandoned it earlier. You cross your arms over your body, peeling off the white tank top first, flicking it into the basket, shimmying the denim skirt down around your hips before lofting it into the heap as well.
You gather a handful of drip-dried clothing strewn across your place, cheeks warming all over again as flashes of the last hour replay in your mind.
The crease between his brows while he concentrated. The way he’d completely forgotten how words worked the second he’d looked over and caught sight of you. “…Poor guy.” The smile refuses to leave your face.
One by one, you begin dropping everything into the hamper, wandering back toward the scene of the crime as the water from the test-run starts to drain, the metal drum turning like a top for the final spin.
Something metallic rattles softly on the washer and your brows knit together, eyes snapping toward the appliance.
A wrench?
It sits on top of the metal lid, bouncing with the last lazy turn of the drum before settling perfectly still in the middle of the washer.
A laugh escapes before you can stop it.
“John Logan…”
He hadn’t touched a wrench all afternoon. Not once. You’d watched every second of it. He’d rolled up his sleeves, reached into the washer with those big hands of his, hauled the agitator out without so much as looking for a tool, and somehow fixed the entire thing anyway.
The wrench wasn’t forgotten… It was an excuse.
You lift it into your hand, turning it over once between your fingers as your smile grows impossibly wider.
Knock. Knock.
Your heart stumbles, a smile breaking across your face before you can stop it. You round the corner, not even glancing toward the peephole before you throw the door open.
You lean into the doorframe, smiling as the wrench hangs lazily from your fingers, giggling breathily as your heart pounds.
His eyes find yours first, his lips parting like every word he’d prepared has disappeared into thin air when he sees you in those little puddle boots and the panty set he’d spent the last few minutes fantasizing about, but it’s so, so much better.
Logan simply stares. Every coherent thought leaves him as his little plan unfolds into something more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.
The toolbox hanging from his hand suddenly feels twenty pounds heavier as his eyes fall down your body, lingering for a moment before lifting back to yours. “I—I forgot somethin’,” he manages, though it comes out rougher than he’d intended.
“Did you?”
You look down at the wrench resting in your hand before lifting it between the two of you. His eyes flick to it for all of half a second before they wander right back to your face.
He steps forward as your fingers fist in the front of his cutoff, bunching the soft cotton beneath your hand as you give him one determined tug over the threshold, and his lips find yours first.
The toolbox clatters to the floor, the front door slamming shut as every ounce of restraint he’d pretended to have around you disappears the second your lips meet.
Logan lets out one low sound against your mouth, lifting you off your feet just as effortlessly as he had before. The urgency makes your heart race, the wrench slipping harmlessly from your hand into the hamper of clothes as he presses deeper into your place, work boots pounding over the hardwood, and your fingers fist the hair at the nape of his neck.
“In there,” you mumble through a smile into your kiss, and he chuckles hungrily, his hold on you tightening.
He kicks off his boots at the threshold of your bedroom without missing a beat, setting you down just to walk you back to the mattress, his hands coming up to comb the bandana out of his hair as your fingers greedily tear at the knotted flannel around his waist.
Logan strips off his shirt as you toss his flannel aside, smiling against your lips as your fingers unfasten the hardware of his blue jeans, his voice deep and warm when he whispers, “You sure?”
“Don’t stop,” you breathe, your hands reaching behind your back to unfasten your bra as his jeans fall in a heap at his feet.
“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles, dipping down to get closer as his big, rough palms reach up, cupping your breasts in his hands, his lips sucking down on your neck. Your fingers wrap around the band of his boxers, drawing the material lower, shoving them down his thighs.
Logan kisses up your neck, lips brushing by your ear as he sighs deeply. His fingers hook around the panties on your hips—the last piece of clothing separating you from him.
“I’m still trying to be good,” he whispers against your ear, his voice honeyed and deep. You can hear the smile in his voice as he snaps the fabric against your skin, making you suck in a breath.
Your hand drifts between you, the tip of his thick cock already pressed against your thigh. He groans beside your ear when your fingernails trace softly from the base of his dick, shuddering out a breath as you work your way slowly to the tip, goosebumps spreading across his tanned skin.
“Are you?” you ask teasingly, sucking in a breath when he lifts you off your feet, taking you down to the mattress, pinning you under his weight as he steals the smile off your lips.
His tongue slides between your lips, rolling slowly with yours as your fingers thread through his hair, his hips rocking into you with a practiced sway, rutting against your clothed clit, making your thighs fall open.
“Been waitin’ for this forever,” he mutters into the kiss, his forehead dropping against yours when he breaks the kiss, looking at the space between you as his dick grinds over the purple lace between your thighs.
“Please,” you whisper, and his eyes lift to yours.
“Teasin’ me all afternoon?” he chuckles, pulling back, his body sliding lower on the mattress. “Think you don’t deserve a little teasing too?” His lips travel over your chest and stomach, pressing softly below your navel as his thumb traces over the lace panties along your slit.
He works lower, lips teasing the insides of your thighs as he kisses down your legs, stripping off your boots before he lets them fall to your bedroom floor. His biceps and shoulder muscles swell as he dips down again, the stubble on his jaw grazing your soft skin.
“Logan,” you pout, and he chuckles between your thighs, the warmth of his laugh making your legs draw in, but he spreads them apart again, those rough hands you couldn’t keep your eyes off earlier pressing your thighs into the mattress.
“Tell me you didn’t wear that little skirt just to torment me?” he hums, his mouth dipping down so his teeth can catch along the lace, dragging it down your thighs. “A wet, white tank top… How?” he asks as he tugs the lace the rest of the way down your legs before he bunches it up in his fist, tossing it to the side. “How was I not supposed to end up right… fucking… here…?” he asks, his breath blowing warm against your clit.
“I’m gonna take good care of you,” he murmurs, the words making your thighs tremble. Your hips lift off the mattress when his tongue drags up your center, a moan falling from your lips and filling your bedroom as his groan vibrates between your thighs at the taste.
Logan smiles, pressing your legs wider into the mattress, kissing your clit and making your back arch off the mattress as your hands fly to his hair, holding him close.
His rough fingers trace up your legs as his tongue circles your puffy clit, sucking against it as two thick fingers shove through your entrance.
Your eyes roll back in your head as he works his fingers in and out, curving them to hit that spot that has your thighs shaking with every push of his hand and flick of his tongue.
“C’mon, baby,” he mumbles into your pussy, adding a third finger, stretching you out as he feels you tightening around his digits, humming against your clit as he tastes your sweetness on his tongue and you break, fluttering around his fingers as his name leaves your lips in a breathy cry.
He watches you from between your thighs, working you through each wave of your orgasm until you’re gasping and whimpering in overstimulation, your hands tangling in his hair to drag him up to your lips.
“Proud of you,” he mumbles between kisses as you try desperately to catch your breath, the two of you smiling into your kiss when he rubs the thick head of his cock between your thighs, catching the wet mess he’d left pooling between your legs.
“Fuck, you drive me insane,” you whisper, feeling him rub his tip against your entrance.
“Yeah?” he asks, pressing just enough for your lips to fall open. His mouth curls against yours, feeling how desperate you are. “How was it?”
“So fucking good,” you whisper as your hands wrap around his body, nails sliding down his strong back.
“What about this?” he asks, feeling your hips lift off the mattress, making him sink deeper into your pussy as you grind up to fuck yourself on the first few inches.
“Keep teasing me, Logan. See what happens,” you smile, and he laughs.
“Still picking you up at six tomorrow,” he manages to push out, the muscle in his stomach tightening with how good you feel around him.
“Can’t wait,” you breathe, your eyes flicking up to him.
“I’ll drop you off and you can drag me back inside and we can do this shit again, huh?” he asks as you reach up, cupping his face in your hands, pulling him down to your lips. You catch Logan’s deep moan as he presses your hips down into the mattress, pushing in, stretching you wide.
“Yes, s-shit,” the words whimper past your lips as you cradle his sharp jaw in your hand, peering down to watch his hips draw back, the length of his cock pulling back slowly just to drive back in.
“Feels so good,” he groans against your mouth, pushing in and out. “Taking me so good,” he breathes, his forehead resting against yours to watch as his toned hips strike your skin again and again.
“Fuck, baby. That’s it,” he praises as you lift your legs, hands squeezing the back of your thighs, a loud moan falling from your mouth as his pace quickens, thrusting harder, in and out.
He leans into you a little, the position letting him fuck into you impossibly deep, his eyes rolling back into his head as your bottom lip slips between your teeth, your hands twisting the sheets below.
“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, and he nods like he knows what you need, changing the angle just enough to fuck into you as his fingers rub and circle your clit.
“Fuck, John,” you whine, your back arching off the mattress as he rocks into you further, swirling his fingers over your clit when his lips find yours.
“Cum for me, baby,” he breathes. “Cum on my cock—”
Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him into you as your body falls apart around him, your pussy squeezing him so tight he buries himself in your neck, grinding his teeth with the effort, moaning against your skin as he fills you with his climax too, his hips stuttering as your body softens around him.
“Fuck, baby,” he sighs into the crook of your neck as you giggle blissfully, your fingers slipping and threading into his hair. He stays like that for a moment, breathing and nuzzling into your neck, taking in the scent of your sweet perfume as he presses gentle kisses up to your ear. “I don’t think anybody’s ever thanked me quite like that.”
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒𑁤 love runs deep, but sometimes the pain runs deeper. and sometimes....it's irreparable.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𑁤 angst.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒𑁤 six thousand, five hundred, and some change (6k+)
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𑁤 roman reigns x black!oc
𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𑁤 graphic and dividers by me.
𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𑁤 ❝mirror❞ by justin timberlake
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𑁤 be sure to have read part one, never be the same and part two, say something, before reading this.
“And that’s the problem!” He shouts, either too deeply embedded into his own feelings to notice the way Solana jumps at his volume or perhaps, in this rare moment, he’s just uncaring. “That’s always been the fucking problem.” Roman punches his hand into his open fist to accompany each perfectly enunciated, sharp word, further emphasizing his frustration. “We’ve been stuck in this goddamn cycle for over twenty years now, and at this point, I don’t know how we break it.” But the frustration collapses with the slump of his shoulders and dip of his lips into a deep frown. “Or if it’s already broke us.”
Gail immediately refocuses on Solana, unsurprised to see her body language mimics that of her husband with the additive of the silent tears that stream down her face. Shoulders also slumped, mouth opening and closing as she struggles to verbalize what Gail knows must crush her to say aloud.
“Feels pretty broken to me.”
The silence is deafening.
Lita casts a quick glance between the two of them, leaned forward as she lowers her voice.
“Okay, there’s a lot—”
“I can’t do this right now,” Roman murmurs. Two set of eyes flick in his direction as he stands, turning in the opposite direction of Solana who remains seated, eyes shut, the tears continuing to fall.
“Roman—“
The last minute attempt to convince him to stay is a failed one. The door shutting behind him with a softness that contrasts everything that just occurred and remains in the small room that suddenly feels overwhelming with an influx of emotions.
“He’s done,” Solana whispers. Gail starts to move to reach and place her hand over Solana’s, but the other woman shakes her head. A one shoulder shrug and the saddest smile that’s ever graced someone’s face. “We’re done.”
“I’m getting really worried.”
Leya’s whispered confession draws the focus of her siblings. Her eyes remain down on her lap, on the intricate design of the pillow that she has hugged against her chest. It’s a sort of therapeutic technique she learned a long time ago. When she was younger and her OCD was the worst it’s ever been. Brie would instruct her to hold a pillow close to her chest, holding and squeezing it while taking deep breaths, pretending that the combination and eventual release of her breath and the tension in her body represented the “bad thoughts” being released.
It was helpful. Very helpful in some cases.
But right now, it’s not doing much.
“He’s still not back home,” Nic adds, frown deepening. His eyes flick around the room, his jaw shifting in the same way their dad's does when he's in the midst of thought, working and mulling over scenarios in real time while still maintaining verbal communication. “And he and mom are talking less and less.”
“Not even that,” Aria speaks up, looking among her brothers and sisters. Like once before, she sits only a few inches away from Leya. A symbolic seating of sorts considering they are two of the few siblings who still live at home. All for obvious reasons, whether it be them still being minors or situations like Leya where it just makes since given her having RJ. But their residing in the home also means that they've been granted a front row seat to the tension that's marred their family home over the past few weeks. “You could….you could tell they were upset with each other before, but now…now they don’t even seem angry anymore. They just seem….sad.”
It’s a shared sentiment among the older of the Reigns kids. Even Aroha, on the verge of her twelfth birthday, has pressed her siblings for questions regarding their parents obvious conflict. Both Aria and Leya have done their best to answer without answering, but Aroha isn't the baby of the family anymore with a limited ability to understand what's going on. She knows that something is very wrong, and there's only so many different ways they can dodge the obvious before she becomes aware of how dire the situation is.
Soon enough, Aubrey, Tavita, and RJ will be the only ones spared from the glaring realization that something is definitely, deeply wrong.
The kids were hoping that the joint therapy session Aria saw on her dad’s calendar when updating his phone for him would be the thing that did it. That helped their parents get through or over this hurdle that they’ve seemingly encountered.
But the evening of said session, Solana returned home alone. Roman didn't walk into the front door until they were setting the table for dinner, and Koa and Kai were feeding the pets.
And once all the younger kids were down for bed, Leya checked the camera app on her phone to see her dad climb into one of the family's many cars, start it up, and drive off.
She must have stared at the empty spot where the car once sat for a good ten minutes. At least until the image was blurred and distorted by the tears that were burning her eyes.
The displeasure of having a front row seat from the moment this all began, when her mom marched into the home carrying with her an energy that would change everything, has meant that Leya has, in many ways, been affected the most by it all. Lost in the chaos of a storm that has no visible end in sight and leaves in its wake destruction that's gradually starting to feel irreparable with each passing day of no reconciliation in sight.
For her and all of the rest of her siblings outside of the OG's 2.0, it’s been the most fucking uncomfortable thing ever. When the rough patch hit years prior, there were at least attempts to feign and maintain the role of a happy couple. Their efforts were not without the holes that the older kids were able to spot plain as day, but the fact that their parents at least tried to pretend that everything was fine, for the sake of not wanting to worry their kids, meant something.
But this isn't then.
Their parents aren’t even trying to force or fake shit. They’re just….there.
“I briefly overheard them talking last night—”
“Really?” It’s the most hopeful Leya has felt and sounded since they all arrived at Lina’s place, needing the space to speak and talk freely without Aroha or their parents overhearing. “What—what did they say?”
Koa shakes his head. His foot taps against the floor, his fingers also moving in rhythmic patterns against his knee. “I couldn’t make out all of it, but something about waiting until after Aroha’s birthday—”
“Waiting for what?”
Kai fixes his gaze on Lina. “He just said he couldn’t make it out.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Guys,” Tama’s deep voice cuts through what’s sure to be a part two from the last time they gathered together, except this time, he’s not about to let things get as far as they did before. He wasn't for it then, and he damn sure isn't for it now. Things were just bad then, but they're significantly worse now, and that's saying something. “Stop it. Now.”
“What if it’s happening this time?” Leya whispers. To herself. Maybe her siblings. She’s not sure. She just knows the sensation of her eyes burning is followed up with a wet feeling against her cheeks. “What if…what if they’re getting a divorced?”
“No way.” Nic's rebuff is quick and sharp. His voice drops an octave, deepening in the way almost all of the boys' voices do when they're irritated or uncomfortable. Again, just like their dad. “No one loves each other more than mom and dad.”
“Certainly doesn’t feel that way anymore.”
“Koa!”
“What?” He snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s been over two weeks, and things aren’t getting any better. They’re only getting worse.”
“I can’t believe he had a stroke and didn’t tell mommy,” Lina voices what she’s been wondering since her sister broke the shocking, alarming news. “They tell each other everything.”
“Not this,” Kai mutters.
Tama starts to check his younger brother once more but opts to try to keep the conversation focused and on topic. “He probably didn’t want to worry her—”
“He’s done a great job with that.”
“Sissy,” Leya sighs. Lina looks at her twin, the solemn expression on a face that’s hers but also not making her shoulders drop. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “I just—” She swallows, eyes growing watery. “This can’t be happening. Mommy and daddy are soulmates. They can’t—they can’t get divorced.” She looks around the room, a sense of helplessness that’s foreign and suffocating. “They still love each other. I know they do.”
Lina has always been the problem solver of her siblings. Tama as well, but the final say has always been run past her. It’s always been her gift in life. A gift she inherited from her father. Underneath an often rough, tough exterior is a problem solving brain that is typically the source of countless, possible solutions.
But she sits among her brothers and sisters, stunned and damned to the silence that represents failure.
She can’t solve this.
Doesn’t know how.
Her words, however, trigger something within Aria. She lifts her head, slowly, mouthing something to herself. It’s faint and low but heard and noticed by Leya who looks at her with glossy eyes.
“What is it?”
The question manages to temporarily relieve the rest of kids from the depressing realization that the life they’ve always known, loved, and appreciated might be on the path of change.
And not the good type.
Samaria licks her lips, looking around the room, her gaze settling on Tama and Lina.
“I think I have an idea.”
————
The sound of the front door slamming and the soles of her foot slapping against the wooden floor serve as blurred background noise. Everything outside of racing thoughts, most of which were intrusive in nature, have clouded up her headspace. Ever since her phone lit up as she was in the midst of vacuuming out the OG's 2.0 playroom and saw a text from her eldest son. Simple in nature. Heavy in meaning.
We need you.
Solana was out the door in under twenty minutes. The short distance from the Reigns estate and the home of her eldest two children has never felt so far away as she sped through traffic, uncaring of any laws being broken in the process.
All she could think about was the fact that it was rare for her son to send such a short, non-descriptive message. Even more, especially since he moved out, Tama has always preferred to talk over text. At least with her.
So Solana knew that something had to be very wrong, hence the urgency that guided her movements and relentless efforts to make it to her babies.
Except the minute she rounds the entryway and heads for the living room, calls for her son and daughter left unanswered, worry is swapped for something else.
Shock.
Emerging from the kitchen, most likely through the backdoor entrance off said kitchen, Solana stands across from the man she's barely spoken more than ten words to over the past several days.
Roman.
His expression, she's certain, mirrors hers. He eyes her skeptically before his mouth settles into a line and her own mouth parts once and then twice before she manages to speak.
"What—what are you doing here?"
Though the minute it comes out, she immediately both regrets and answers her own question. If Tama reached out to her because something is wrong, of course he'd reach out to his dad as well.
Roman must realize this, too, as his answer never comes, or rather it's intercepted by the sound of footsteps as she turns around to see several of her oldest children. Tama is included in said group, but the expression on his face, on all of their faces, doesn't indicate a level or urgency.
It indicates….anxiety.
Like they're nervous about something.
Roman finally breaks his silence, voicing what Solana is thinking. "What's going on?"
Lina steps forward, her siblings eyes fixed onto her as she motions with her arm to the living room. "Please. Sit." She leans to the side just enough to ensure locking eyes with her father. "Daddy, you too."
And just like that, the concern about what had happened shifts to what's about to happen. Solana, however, would like to believe that her kids wouldn't have called both herself and Roman over here for nothing. So instead of pushing back the way she wants to, she silently walks into the living room, placing her purse on the space beside her.
Roman follows suit, sitting across the way, of course.
Though she understands it and prefers it, she also hates it. As upset and angry and hurt and everything else as she is towards and with her husband, it hasn't dulled the wound in her chest that's been birthed and only grown day after day since this all went down.
"Kids." Solana turns to see Roman is focused on their children who've also joined them in the living room, lined up almost in front of the television. Lina. Leya. Tama. Aria. Nic. "I'm not gon' ask again."
As much as Solana dislikes the almost irritated tone he's taken with them, the question is valid. Though she has a feeling she's not going to like the answer any more than he will.
Tama takes a deep breath and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. "Look, we know….we know you guys aren't in a good place right now."
Solana shuts her eyes. Her suspicions have now turned into confirmations.
"Tam—"
"And we know that you've always told us to stay out of it," Lina cuts in, the only one in the group other than Tama, that would have the balls to interrupt Roman like that. "That your marriage is none of our business and between the two of you."
Solana licks her lips, gradually willing her eyes open. "Lin—"
"But whatever is happening between you guys right now is affecting all of us," Nic's additive does nothing more than increase that weight on Solana's chest. She's not stupid. As much as she would like to believe she and Roman have done their best to not allow their situation to impact the kids, that's just not a feasible nor realistic expectation. With the exception of Aubrey and Tavita, Solana knows her children well enough to know they inherited their father's discernment.
They can see what doesn't need to be stated.
Aria takes another deep breath as she takes over for her brother." We know something is wrong, and we love you both too much to sit back and do nothing."
Solana doesn't need to be looking at her husband to see the way his jaw shifts and moves as he works to find the right, best words. “Samaria—”
“Please,” Leya cuts in, stepping forward, lips pressed together as her parents focus on her. “For…for us.”
It’s a bit of a cruel string to pull. A manipulation tactic if not for who it was to evoke it.
The only thing that neither Solana nor Roman can ever say no to.
When it comes to their kids, it’s always a yes.
It’s why, despite them sitting on opposite sofas—Solana on the one facing the TV and Roman on the one adjacent to the TV—they're on the same page for a first time in a long time.
Aria is the one to walk over to them, breaking from her brothers and sisters. “We know that we’re obviously biased since we’re your kids. Not to mention it’s not really our place, but we thought....” She stops, looking over at someone else to take over as she grabs the remote, setting up the television, the emotion in her voice indicative of her struggle. “We thought maybe if you hear it from someone other than us, it’ll help you remember.”
Solana shifts on the sofa, hating the way she struggles to maintain her volume. Indication and reminders of her immense difficulty over the past two weeks in trying to keep it all together. “Remember what?”
Lina is the one to handle the question, the final one, as the kids start to spill out the room.
“That you’re RoSo.”
The term makes both husband and wife still. But whatever is felt from hearing something that carries so much history and weight is redirected when music starts to play. A song she recognizes almost instantly.
Aren't you somethin' to admire?
'Cause your shine is somethin' like a mirror
And I can't help but notice
You reflect in this heart of mine
The dark screen lights up, cursive black font set against a white backdrop.
RoSo
Solana’s hand drops to her stomach at the transition to Dwayne and Matteo, clearly at the Warehouse, in the midst of a workout. The music remains playing in the background at a lower volume to accommodate the sounds of the interviewees.
“Uncle Dwayne. Uncle Teo.” Tama’s voice is loud and clear, confirming he’s the one filming the two men who stand with light sheen of sweat splayed across their forehead, hands on their waist. “What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of RoSo?”
Dwayne chuckles, looking at Matteo. “You wanna go first, Fabio?”
Matteo casts a wry smile and glances at the camera. “That’s easy.” He shrugs. “Love.”
Roman’s jaw clenches.
“Fucker stole my answer,” Dwayne curses, also looking at the camera. “But like he said, love. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen, either.”
The clips switches as a smiling Afia and Bayley stand next to each other. Like the men, dressed in workout/training attire and clearly at the Warehouse but caught right before the beginning of their sparring session.
“Tias.” It’s Lina’s voice this time as she presents the same question as her brother. “What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of RoSo?”
Bayley scoffs. “Douche, but that only applies to the first half.”
Afia lightly slaps Bayley on the arm, shaking her head before taking a soft breath. Her pretty eyes flick upward, narrowing slightly in the way she does when in deep thought. “Soulmates.”
“As much as I hate to say anything remotely good about your irritating ass dad, she’s right.” Bayley feigns an over-dramatic sigh before her mouth settles into a small, genuine smile. “Soulmates for sure.”
'Cause I don't wanna lose you now
I'm lookin' right at the other half of me
The vacancy that sat in my heart
Is a space that now you hold
Another transition to another clip that reveals Cameron, Melina, and Mickie, also at the Warehouse, which instantly has Solana convinced that the kids must have asked everyone to meet them there.
That faction of Solana’s friend group only attends the Warehouse for fight nights and major matches, primarily when Roman is fighting, and even then, they’re more there for her than for the actual fights.
And just like the last two times, the same question is presented, but the timbre of Nic’s deep voice is heard instead of Lina’s much lighter, softer one. Mickie is the first to answer in the way that only Mickie would.
“Hot.”
Nic’s exasperated sigh makes Solana smile. “Aunt Mickie.”
Cameron, however, quickly jumps in with her own answer accompanied by a soft smile. “Inspiring.”
Melina casts her a sideways glance, playfully nudging her. “You make them sound like motivational speakers.”
She shrugs, pushing her braids back over her shoulder. “I mean, Solana kind of is.”
It’s hard for Solana to pinpoint exactly what part of what she’s watching affects and impacts her the most. The words. The participants. The effort her children have clearly put in to make all this happen, and in such a short period of time, it seems. Each compliment, however, seems to do something to her. Lessens just a little bit the weight she’s carried with her nonstop the past two weeks.
But she's tuned back in, resisting the desire to look over at Roman who’s also watched quietly thus far, as Mickie makes a ‘pfft’ sound. “Roman isn’t.” She rolls her eyes, lifting her hand to examine her nails. “He’s the meanest person I know.”
“Mickie,” Melina mutters, gesturing to the camera. “That’s his dad.”
“Oh my God, it’s not a secret. Literally everyone knows Roman is mean.” She throws her hands up, looking away, gasping. “Here. You.”
Confusion dwells as the footage becomes shaky before the camera refocuses on an unfamiliar face, but he wears a solid black shirt with a familiar, red insignia on the right side, just above his pectoral muscles.
Bloodline.
However, Solana’s guess would be he’s not of the…..field type. Perhaps something related to tech. Slim build, greasy hair, some strings clinging to his forehead, and the way he pushes his thick rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose as well as the overall startled expression all but confirm it.
There are numerous positions available throughout the Bloodline, and despite popular misconception, not all of them require the ability to maim and kill. There are many other roles that need fulfilling, some of which include sitting behind a desk.
This man is clearly a desk type.
“What’s your name?” Mickie asks but immediately waves away as if physically pushing her initial query to the side in place of what’s most relevant. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Isn’t Roman Reigns an asshole?”
“Mickie!”
Another smile appears on Solana’s face as the nervous expression on the man’s swiftly morphs into something of horror. His widened eyes and dilated pupils magnified 10x over.
“The—the Tribal Chief?” His eyes switch to the camera, slightly above the frame, which Solana would guess is him realizing just who is holding said camera. He gulps. “No. N—no. The—the Tribal Chief is a great man—”
“Okay, that’s enough.” A quiet laugh actually spills over when Mickie literally shoves the man away, prompting outcry from Cameron and Melina. “See, even strangers are afraid of him. Why?” She mouths she word, sound absent but lips easily readable. “Asshole.”
“Ignore her.” Solana watches Melina shake her head when Nic refocuses the camera on her, and even before she can fix her mouth to say it, Solana just knows. Can tell by the gleam in her eyes what the answer is.
“Amor.”
Love.
Additional clips interviewing closest family and friends continue to flash across the screen, but Solana feels frozen in place and time from that word. A word that so deeply encompasses so much of her life. Of her relationship.
Carved into her, metaphorically and physically. The latter of the two further emphasized when she realizes her hand is placed against her chest, fingers covering the black and red ink near her clavicle.
Her tattoo.
The one she got for Roman.
For them.
She swallows, emotion continuing to build as the lyrics burn into her soul.
Show me how to fight for now
And I'll tell you, baby, it was easy
Comin' back here to you once I figured it out
You were right here all along.
Except the emotion only extrapolates when unexpected participants fill up the flat screen TV.
Aubrey, Tavita, and RJ are sitting at the table she recognizes from being the one in their shared playroom. Naturally, all three are wiggly, but only Aubrey is smiling happily. RJ and Tavita instead carry pouts and scowls that remind her so much of….of Roman.
Roman
“Okay, guys—”
Koa’s voice is cut off by a whining, pouting Aubrey as she reaches up with her arms. Tavita and RJ present a question Solana can’t entirely make out. “Can you hold me?”
A heavy sigh makes her chuckle as she wipes at her eyes. Koa offers, in the nicest voice he can, she’s certain, a delayed acceptance. “After, Aubrey.”
Kai’s irritated voice sounds from elsewhere, most likely behind Koa, with his arms crossed and frustration written all over his face. Neither of her twin boys have ever been very good with….little kids. “Why does she always want to be held?”
“I don’t think she knows how to use her legs.”
“Leave her alone. She’s only three.” Aria snaps, and it causes the tears to spill over at a faster, heavier rate. All the kids. All of her kids partook in this, the older ones handling the filming with her younger kids partaking in the answering portion. Hence why she would guess this interviewing of the OG’s 2.0 would be the last set. “And would you two shut up? I don’t want to have to edit this out.”
“Guys.” Kai cuts in, forever the one to keep everyone focused. “Do you know what RoSo is?”
It’s a shared answer with a loud “yeah!” coming from all three.
“Who is RoSo?”
Again, another joint answer, naturally, RJ’s answer differing from that of his technical aunt and uncle.
“Mommy and daddy!”
“Grandpa and abuela!”
Solana sniffles, smiling at the kids’ enthusiastic replies, Aubrey clapping happily. And for the first time since the start of the video, Solana’s eyes drift over to the other side of the room where Roman sits on the edge of the sofa. Leaned over, his hands fisted together over his mouth, brows furrowed and and focused on the screen with the same level of intensity and intrigue that’s sat with her from the moment the video started.
It makes her heart swell.
“That’s right.” Aria giggles and gasps dramatically. “And how do you feel about RoSo?” A beat. “Do you guys love RoSo?”
That final question, however is what really evokes the biggest smile, laughs, and glee from the children with a loud, unanimous “yes!”
The timing is synced perfectly, it seems, as the final refrain begins and all of the clips fill the screen, one by one, sounds muted to allow the music to play louder and without interruption. But it’s when the post-chorus begins that Solana nearly loses it.
“Oh my God.”
Clips of herself and Roman.
From their wedding in Mexico shortly before the girls were born. Solana smiling and holding onto his arm.
Several from their vow renewal ceremonies over the year.
Her dancing playfully as he spins her around and tugs her against him, craning his head down to kiss her shoulder, her own over his forearm. Smiling.
Them in the pool, him holding her as she smiles down and kisses him. Right before he squeezes her ass under the water, prompting her to gasp and swat at his shoulder.
Of her in the kitchen cooking and him sneaking up to hug her from behind. Her hand over her chest, smile on her face and head tilted back to cradle the back of his head as he kisses her.
Roman sitting at the table talking to the kids, giving them one of his many lectures, hand gestures and all. Solana behind him, nodding and playfully mimicking his non-verbals. The amused smile on Leya’s face giving her away as Roman turns to look at her. Her expression immediately dropping, eyes widening with faux innocence. Lighthearted mockery veiled by her quickly kissing his temple and darting away.
Them on the beach, her giggling and attempting to run only for his long legs to easily allow him to catch her. Though the original audio is muted to allow for Timberlake's volalization, Solana can hear her laughter through the screen as he picks her up and spins her back around.
Hospital footage from several of the kids’ births. Roman sitting at the edge of the hospital bed, holding their baby, her peering over his shoulder.
Him holding her against him as she leaned her forehead into his chest, squeezing his arms while he swayed gently with her to ease the pain and discomfort from her contractions.
Her standing between his open legs, comb in hand as she parted his hair while saying something to the kids only to jump when his hands lifted to her waist, clearly squeezing playfully. The smile on her face as she looked down and captured a kiss before gently tugging at his beard before resuming.
Roman's head back, lips slightly parted as she was curled into him, hand on his chest. On the family's private jet, clearly on the way home from one of their vacations. Both of their eyes shut as they stole a rare moment of the peace and quiet needed for a quick nap.
So many clips.
So many stolen moments, some of which, she hadn't even realized her kids captured on video.
So many memories.
By the time, it’s finished, Solana can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t anything. She’s overwhelmed and filled with an abundance of unnamed entities that have her heart heavy, her stomach tight, and her hand over her chest. It’s a trick of the mind, she’s certain, but she can almost feel the thud of her heart against her shaky palm. Her eyes burn and jaw trembles. It’s only as the sight ahead of her becomes blurry and the weight travels down to her legs that she has to move.
Has to find escape, her legs carrying her out of the living room and to the back of the townhouse, through the kitchen and out the back sliding door.
Her vision remains disrupted, big gasps of breath taken to inhale as much of the fresh air as she can handle, but it’s a shaky process. Her inability to regulate her breathing fueled by the sob making its way up the back of her throat. She continues to walk, feet carrying her into the patch of grass the outlines the patio and recently uncovered pool.
The same grass that cushions her knees when she falls to the ground, one hand over stomach, the other covering her mouth as the sob finally breaks through the surface. She’s doubled over, emotions overflowing and manifesting in the way she wails loudly. Intermittent gasps and sharp intakes of breaths as crying battles with the crippling somatic sensations that feel an awful like the early stages of a panic attack.
It most likely is one, too.
It’d be the third one she’s had over the past week.
But new sensations, different yet familiar, gradually seep in and manage to de-escalate. A gentle touch, fingers grazing against her arms. A gentle tug that has her back against against something firm but soothing as the hands shift to where solid, strong arms circle her waist. Solana’s hands naturally fall on Roman’s forearms that secure and lock her to him.
It makes her stomach twist tighter and tears fall harder.
Neither stop her, however, from uttering the first real, authentic words to him since their disastrous therapy session. Any interactions and conversations since then have been forced, fake, and inauthentic.
There’s nothing inauthentic about the heartbroken words that she manages to force out in between gut wrenching crying. “I’m sor—I’m sor—”
“Sol—”
“We’ve—we’ve built a life t—together.” It’s a life she never envisioned for herself. Before Roman, Solana didn’t see herself making it to thirty. But because of him, she’d had her first set of kids by thirty. “I can’t lose—that. I can’t lose you.”
Despite the tightness in her chest and the way her eyes burn from how much she’s cried over the past few two weeks, she manages to channel enough strength to turn to look at him.
It’s like looking at herself. A different side of herself. Harder, stronger, firmer. A pillar. The other and best parts of her in so many ways.
His glossed eyes burn into her, hand lifting to palm her cheek. “Solana—”
“You’re my best friend.” She sniffles, shaking her head as his thumb brushes away her tears. “I don’t know how to do life without you, Roman, and the fact that one day, a day that's sooner rather than farther, is a reality that I will have to face terrifies me. I don’t—" Another deep, sharp intake of breath that makes her chest tighten and shoulders slump once more. "I should have told you about the pregnancy."
"Sol—"
"I hated—hated lying to you. I—I shouldn't have, but I—I thought if I could—if I could spare you from feeling that pain, then—then I was going to do that for you. All you've ever done is protect me, and I—I wanted to be the one to protect you for once. "But in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really matter anymore. It was selfish of her to keep such a thing from Roman. Yes, just as she stated, she wanted nothing more than to protect her husband the way he'd always protected her. Intentions, however, matter not in the face of the outcome and reality. She was wrong, and there's no way around that. Plain and simple.
She bites down on her bottom lip, realizing that this is the moment to lay it all out. Good, bad, whatever it may be, Roman is more than deserving of the truth. He always was.
"For almost twenty years, there wasn't a single day where I wasn't haunted by the —the memories of my rape or—or my mother's murder, and sometimes—sometime both." Solana manages a shaky breath, powering through it all. "I couldn't help it. Couldn't control it. But that…that I could. I—I know you don't believe me, but I hadn't thought about it in years, Roman." She lifts her eyes to his once more, having to push back the next wave of tears just beyond the horizon. "When—when we got pregnant with Nicky, when we had him, I pushed it so far to the back of my mind that it wasn't until we were arguing—"
And just like in the days following both the discovery and the loss, an immense weight on her chest and in her heart. That weighs her down and makes her desperate to reach for something. For someone. Because there wasn't a day that passed that Solana didn't want to tell Roman, didn't want to share the truth as to why they couldn't be intimate. What'd happened. What they'd lost.
But she didn't. And that is a mistake she will have to carry with her for the rest of her life. A mistake that she'll regret for the rest of her life.
Looking at him once more, seeing the emotion dancing in his eyes, a rare display and reflection of vulnerability that's never felt stronger, Solana is overcome once more.
“I love you.”
A combination and accumulation of everything that’s transpired over the past two weeks. Emotions that have deprived her of peace, stripped her of calm and layered her with the weight of loss.
Solana’s children have always been her greatest source of joy, but the fact of the matter is that she has them because of him. Because of Roman.
And as frustrated and upset as she’s been with him, that she was, the bulk of her emotions hasn’t been anger.
It’s been hurt.
A type of pain that she hasn’t experienced in years. Old wounds gradually and torturously ripped open that, prior to this, she was sure she’d healed from. A level of unhealthy codependency.
She would never ever do anything to hurt herself. Would never do that to her kids, nor does she have any desire to not be alive.
But….
There’a sick, twisted feeling that’s sat with her since that session. Since Roman more or less, and maybe she did, too, confirm that their marriage is over. A feeling she hasn't experienced since before he entered her life. Before he turned her existence into living. And just the thought of that living not including him in any sort of capacity….it's something she can't bear.
She can’t. It's why her initial approach to the deeper reason as to why she reacted so strongly to learning of his stroke was traded in for another heavy truth that needed to be addressed. Upsetting to discuss, of course, but not nearly debilitating as that truth.
"I know…" She closes her eyes, hand over his that's still on and hasn't left her face. Same with his intense stare and the presence of his body before her as they remain on the ground, unmoving and frozen in space and time. "I know you're upset with me, and—and that you don't want to see me, s—"
"Solana."
It's not like it's the first attempt he's made to speak in the midst of her verbal catharsis, but something about the pleading undertone of his deep voice penetrates through her dense wall of contrition, regret, and remorse. She blinks away the next set of tears, incapable of ignoring the wave of relief that stems from him looking at her, touching her even, in a way he hasn't in weeks. His regard and disposition towards her, as well as hers towards him, have been nothing short of frigid. But the warmth felt from his touch, seen in his face, and heard in his voice almost instantly melts away the icebergs that formed perimeters around her heart.
And perhaps maybe his.
One hand dips to her waist as Solana realizes at some point in the midst of her sentiment fueled soliloquy, he'd angled them so that her body was facing his. The press of his fingers into her skin as he gently tugged her close made something thud in her chest. A precursor for what would follow following his next statement.
His eyes narrow, gleaming with intensity and adoration she hadn't realized she'd been craving and yearning for so deeply. The absence of his affection has been a sort of torture she hadn't realized she was gradually succumbing to in the midst of their impasse. "All I see is you." Her lips part as a shaky exhale is lost in the midst of her anguish and relief at words that carry more weight than anyone outside of herself and the man in front of her could ever know or understand. "You said you can't lose me, right?" The faintest, smallest hint of a smile weighed down by reciprocated sentiment is preceded by the way he shakes his head in a small, subtle motion. "Well, that makes two of us, cause I can’t be without you, either.”
The combination of the words, the emotions, and the echoing of her own vulnerable confession, is what forces the next wave to the surface. And Solana will never deny that there's a continued theme of selfishness as she throws her body against his, allowing him to hold and cradle the back of her head as she sobs into his chest. Recognizes that there's certainly some level of relief he also feels at this devastating rough patch of theirs finding some sort of path to resolution in comparison to the alternative that was dangerously close to being the final decision. But it, if she had to guess, doesn't outweigh what weight is pulled from off her as he once again reiterates his love for her.
"Tell—tell me—" she hiccups, grasping at his shirt once more. "Tell me what to do to fix this. I'll do—I'll do anything, Roman. Just….just tell me what you need me to do." And she means it. Whatever frustration and anger still lingers towards his concealment of the stroke is heavily outweighed by her desire to heal. To fix.
Whatever it takes.
"We need to get away," he finally answers and pulls back to look down at her. She continues to hold onto his shirt, as if release means releasing him as well. Never. Roman lifts his hand to stroke the top of her head. "This weekend. Leya and Rashad can watch Aubrey and Tavita." Solana nods, her willingness to blindly accept not even allowing her to consider who would watch their youngest set of kids. But of course, Roman is already several steps ahead. He's always been the one to plan and arrange so she doesn't have to. Always done everything he can to make her life as easy as possible.
But ease doesn't exist in her world without him.
She can't imagine a world without him.
"And we'll talk," he continues. Her eyes flutter shut once more when he lies his forehead against hers, minty breath fanning her face. "Okay?"
In perhaps most settings, the promise to "talk" would ignite a massive wave of anxiety. But for Solana, it's exactly what she needs to hear. Exactly what they need to do. Should have done a long time ago. Such a simple but powerful necessity to maintain and sustain a marriage. A marriage she's not willing to give up on. She won't.
She can't.
Whatever it takes.
Nodding in acknowledgement, she can't stop herself from moving her arms around him, holding him as another round of tears accompany her heartfelt, "I love you."
Her eyes clench shut once more as he drops his hand to the small of her back, voice tight and thick. "I love you, too, Solana. I always have, and I always will."
ᥫ᭡. 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃 — john tucker x ( black!fem!reader ) contents: fluffiest of fluff. discussion of black hair care & maintenance. AAVE. flirting. secret crush dynamic. not proofread.
"ouch!"
"i barely ran the comb through, jay."
you sat the hot-pink comb down onto the counter. folding your arms across your chest, you moved to stand in john tucker's view. his face scrunched in genuine agony. you sighed.
"be honest. have you ever gotten your hair braided?"
panic flashed across john's face. quickly, he schooled his expression folding his hand behind his head. he shrugged all in effort to play it cool.
"yeah."
"john tucker—"
"fine! no? but what if i said my little cousins put plaits and barrettes in my hair a couple times. that count?"
"nope."
john grumbled. his plump lips formed into the most adorable pout. you couldn't help but giggle.
"don't laugh." he groaned. "it's not funny."
"oh, but it is. you're a whole ass hockey player! you get shoved, punched, and yelled at on the reg." you mimicked his pout, and softened your voice. "but this tough wittle hockey player is tender headed."
he slumped against the chair, running a hand through his curls. "i know! i'm just tired of the maintenance. i sweat during workouts, at practice, during games. i’m tired of washing it everyday—"
"wait, you wash your hair everyday? you poor thing." reaching out, you ran a hand through his gorgeous strands. surprisingly, they were moisturized and super coily. okay, maybe john tucker wasn't a complete novice. "stop washing your hair everyday. you'll kill these curls."
"see! this is why i need you." he reached for your hand, the same that was just touched his hair seconds prior. his hand eclipsed yours, swiping his thumb across your knuckles. gently, caressing the skin. the gesture was small, still launched a flurry of butterflies in your belly. john kept his gaze on you, those big, brown puppy eyes staring up at you. "please."
why did he have to say it like that? sure, it was no secret that john tucker was a complete sweetheart. that was drew you to him in the first place. one-night sophomore year you got lost coming from a frat party off campus. he was finishing a late-night workout session when he saw you, in tears and phoneless. you never forgot how gentle and calming his voice was as he made you a cup of tea and called you a uber back to campus. but this—the softness in his voice was a first. it had a twinge of need within, almost like it was reserved for you, and you only. that combo made you all soft and gooey on the inside.
"fine. no whining or complaining. got it."
"yes ma'am."
your cheeks warmed as you grabbed the hot-pink comb. in effort to distract john you switched to ratatouille on your bedroom tv. as you parted his hair, he would crack jokes and tossed conspiracy theories about if wolfgang puck or gordon ramsey had small rodents controlling their every move in the kitchen.
"i mean, c'mon. what there was a lil mouse or something hiding in his blonde bouffant."
"first off, bouffant is crazy. second, even if gordon did have a rat up there, isn't that like a health-code violation?"
john tucker shrugged. "i'd still eat the food."
you playfully smacked his arm. "jay that's nasty."
"bruh makes a banging beef wellington."
once you were done parting, you grabbed the paddle brush.
"you ready?"
slowly, john nodded. "just be gentle. 'kay?"
"ok-ay."
you sectioned off half of john's hair. then, you gathered the other section in your free hand. with the brush you started at the ends, gently and slowly working through the knots. john was a trooper. every now and then, he would squirm in his seat or let out the tiniest of whimpers sending your mind elsewhere. wondering if that's what john tucker sounded when he—
girl, focus!
you cleared your throat as you twisted the freshly detangled section out of the way.
"you okay?"
"y-yeah!" you squeaked. "just gotta work out the knots on this side. and then i'll start braiding."
"you weren't doing that the whole time?!"
"aye, what i'd say?"
john's grumbles made you chuckle as you worked the paddle brush through the last section of his hair. after that was done, you worked your fingers towards john's scalp gathering a few strands for the cornrow. not creating too much tension, your fingers gathered more strands as you braided down his curls. you made sure to move quickly, as you finished the first braid, moving to the other side. you let your fingers stay in rhythm as you braided down the second section.
"all done!" you grabbed the hand mirror and handed it to john tucker.
his eyes raked over his reflection. fingers glided against the two, neat cornrows. a toothy grin grew on his face as he turned to face you.
"damn, you really hooked me up." he rose, easily towering over you, he enveloped those muscular arms around you. hugging and squeezing you tight.
more warmth bloomed, traveling from your cheeks down to your neck as john lifted you off your feet. he dangled your for just a moment, before sitting you back down, on the plush carpet.
"thank you." he murmured. his gaze boring into yours. making your heart skip a beat.
"no problem." you adverted your eyes, sliding your chair back under your desk. "just remember to wrap it at night. you gotta durag?"
"durag?"
you whipped your head around. all to see a goofy smile plastered on john's face.
"boy if you don't—"
"i have one, damn! i'm not completely clueless."
y'all both laughed as the movie credits rolled on the tv screen. the closing score played softly, in the background.
"so," john took a step closer. his eyes sweeping over your face. "how can i make it up to you?"
you tapped a finger against your chin. thinking. "what about that beef wellington you been ranting about?"
he grinned. "deal."
⋆˙⟡♡⟡˙ ⋆
author's note: okay this might be the fluffiest thing i've written so far lol. i'm on a roll :). but just a little fic for my john tucker <3 i feel like there's not a lot of fics for him, especially with black-fem/woc-fem coded readers or oc's. so, this is for my off campus girlies, enjoy xo!
gamechangershow
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
jimmyeatworldofficial
