I have been working extremely hard since moving back home in November of 2025. F… Aliyah Kemp needs your support for Help Me Save My Apartme
https://gofund.me/787ac7000
hi, loves. i’m back on here—so sorry to get serious once again. but i really need everyone’s help to repost, re-boost, share, donate, anything helps + you are a blessing regardless. plz plz plz.
so, i have been working extremely hard since moving back home in nov. of 2025. for a while, I lived with family and eventually moved into my own apartment in April of 2026. I’ve been doing my best to get everything together, but recently lost my job at the end of June due to discrimination issues. Throughout July, I struggled to find work—facing countless declines on applications, handing out resumes in person, attending job fairs, but no one seemed interested in giving me a chance. No interviews, no call backs, nothing. This entire month has felt like hell. I’ve gone deeper into debt with my utility bills, can barely afford groceries, can’t buy kitchen sets, and I’m late on rent and other upcoming bills. I haven’t even been able to afford furnishing my apartment in the three months I’ve been here, and all I want is to make my apartment a home.
thankfully, I recently got blessed with a new job, but that first paycheck always takes a while to arrive, and I’m on a time crunch. My apartment will file an official eviction to the court by the 19th if I don’t pay what I owe. I just need some assistance to get my feet off the ground and truly make this apartment a place I can call home. I worked too hard to get this place, and I don’t want to lose it so quickly. i thank everyone who donated on my last gofundme, and y’all are truly blessings + wish nothing but love for you. let’s keep this going !
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
previous + masterlist + taglist request form
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
——————
@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.
summary: zuko agrees to an arranged marriage with the princess of the earth kingdom but their alliance comes with terms. the most tasking one: producing an heir within a year. the only problem is zuko isn't over his ex, and you hate his guts.
pairing: firelord!zuko x earthbender!reader
wc: 6.5k
angst, zuko's kind of a dick sorry, abusive father, unprotected sex, creampie, forced marriage, series is not completely accurate to canon lore
queen charlotte au!!
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀ঌ⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
your clammy hands shook as you raised the inked brush to sign your name on your death certificate.
not death in the literal sense, but death in the sense of signing your life away. death in the context of marriage. a union you did not ask for, one you did not want.
only three months ago you were planning to finally break free of ba sing se and it's stuffy walls that locked you away from the rest of the world. you barely had friends, the only people willing to talk to you being the servants and your assigned guardian. as the eldest daughter and first born child of the king of the earth kingdom, most would believe you lived life in luxury and prosperity.
most people did not know that you were born to be a weapon. a tool specifically bred to gain an alliance with the fire nation and therefore, you spent most of your life hidden.
you had no real friends, didn't even know your own mother, had no social life outside of occasional appearances to keep gossip of the missing princess at minimum, and the once a year visit to the fire nation where you'd meet with firelord ozai and prince zuko to ensure the status of the forced betrothal and to bond with your future husband.
you were officially engaged at only ten years old, zuko being eleven. the visits moved to twice a year and during that time, you would be forced to spend time with the brooding prince. you had tried to, at minimum, be his friend but he was miserable and insisted he hated girls.
then ozai became firelord and the visits continued, becoming more frequent now that his father wasn't around to protest the idea of conquering ba sing se through marriage. after his rise in power, the plan was for you two to officially get married when you came of age at seventeen.
after zuko was scarred and banished at thirteen, the engagement was forgotten, though it was never actually called off. the attacks from the fire nation accelerated now that ozai wouldn't use his son to infiltrate the kingdom. this of course, was your fault in the eyes of your father. '
"you failed as his betrothed. if you had befriended him as i ordered you to, perhaps the brat would have been less motivated to speak out of turn! now look at us (name), you've doomed us."
of course this logic was nonsensical, but twelve year old you couldn't understand that. all you knew was that you disappointed your father and your people were dying because of you and the prince that refused to be your friend.
that was how you came to hate the man you were marrying.
ঌ
zuko was a man of honor. at least that's what he told himself to force his signature on the marriage document as he stood next to his bride who look equally as miserable as he felt.
he had put this off for as long as he could. he dated mai for several years, even came up with the idea to marry her but could never bring himself to do it. as firelord he could make it happen with the snap of his fingers but he could never get himself to just ask the fucking question, so he didn't. something always holding him back.
and he didn't blame her when she finally broke things off after his twenty-eighth birthday a few months ago, even if it turned him more bitter than he'd like to admit. she deserved someone who could give her the one thing zuko had not been able to offer.
later that night during the reception, zuko hardly looked at you, nor did you look at him. though when he did he couldn't help but to admire your beauty. you looked otherworldly in your bridal dress, which paid homage to both the earth kingdom and fire nation. your hair matched his in a half up, half down style and sat atop your bun was your crown that declared you firelady.
an uncomfortable feeling sat in zuko's chest that he tried to force away, snatching his eyes away from the ring on your finger when you had caught him staring. he kept his eyes forward, watching the traditional performance as a fire blazed in his chest.
it wasn't that zuko disliked you. he remembered you from when you were only children and how kind you had attempted to be to him despite his all but dismissive attitude. you would talk and he would sit with a permanent scowl on his face, wishing he could sink into the ground.
when his advisors had mentioned the idea of an experiment, seeing if the elements could mix, zuko brought up you. it was perfect. you were already royalty, an earth bender and legally, still his fiancé.
the last time he had seen you, was two weeks before he was banished for speaking out. you were charismatic as always, hoping to gain a sliver of the princes attention. now you were a woman, filling out your body in all the right spots and barely looked at him.
by the time the after party came and the dancing started, zuko was three glasses deep in wine and began to feel a little brave as a light buzz ran through his body. the stress of marrying someone he did not know and the conditions that came with it, slipping to the back of his mind as the music began to flow through his body.
zuko wasn't much of a dancer. he fucking despised dancing, but it was his wedding night and he was feeling brassy, so fuck it.
he stood from his chair, tall frame hovering over you as he stared down with golden-yellow eyes that burned with a look you couldn't quite decipher. he reached his hand out to you, lips quirked in what one might understand as a forced smile.
"wife." he grumbled and you took in a sharp breathe. you hadn't expected him to speak to you. "care to share a dance with me?"
you inwardly cringed, though being careful not to show it. you wouldn't ruin your union, not again. you would show your father that he could trust you, count on you to bring peace to the kingdom. maybe you would prove that you were worth treating as a daughter now. someone he could love as much as he loved his sons.
so as much as you wanted to decline, you gave a strained "yes." and took your husbands hand.
the dance was gentle, uncomplicated and would have been quite enjoyable if it were with anyone else. at least that's what you told yourself that night, arms around his neck as he bent slightly so could reach. his large hands gripped your hips as he pulled you close to his chest.
you smiled politely as the knot in your stomach unfurled and traveled between your thighs. heat spread across your cheeks but you weren't in the slightest embarrassed. while you had never had anything more than oral sex, you were far from a liar and knew you wanted this man in your bed.
he was beautiful and the long hair gave him an aura most men lacked.
this would be so much easier if he was ugly. you thought.
you hated him for his actions that led you to being seen as failure by your father but that didn't mean you were against fucking him. you were his wife after all, you were expected to perform your duties and that was far from the problem.
your father had ordered you to be with child within a year but you knew you could never have a child with a man you would never love. this union had turned into something distinct from it's original purpose. an experiment they called it, to see if royals from different elements could marry successfully and produce an heir. within a year.
you had your own plan, which was to take the preventative herbs (you bribed a servant for it) anytime zuko fucked you. you hoped that soon enough he would realize his poor wife is barren and pick up a few concubines to carry his heir.
you had other ways to make the marriage successful, even if that meant no child.
"i hope the night has exceeded your expectations, my queen." the words soured on zuko's tongue. here he was with a beautiful woman in his hands, and still his ex lingered in the back of his head. the relationship had been failing for some time, he knew that, but the sense of familiarity being snatched from him left behind a hole he couldn't seem to fill.
still, he tried to his best to forget about her. it was his fucking wedding night and his wife looked good enough to eat. he made a mental note to lay off the wine for the rest of the night, lest you show interest in consummating the marriage.
you faked a smile. "did you have a hand in any of the planning?"
you wondered. your father hadn't given you a say and left the planning to the professionals, with the one rule of incorporating earth kingdom culture. you were upset about being excluded from your own wedding but the green banners mixed in with red littered the room and it looked like a dream as the earth and fire symbol blended as one.
"not much." he chuckled as he spun you and brought your body back to his, swaying as he tightened his grip on you. not enough to hurt but enough to keep you put.
"i only played a part in approving the budget, if that counts for anything. not much of an expert in the wedding area. got kicked out of the room when I asked why decorations were necessary"
you fought a smile and nodded in agreement. a sick part of you was glad he had been forbidden from participating as well, knowing you weren't the only person deemed unworthy of planning.
your first common ground as a married couple. nice.
just when you were about to respond, you were cut off by an obnoxiously loud voice yelling over the music and moving closer to where you and zuko stood. you could see the annoyed but amused smirk spread across your husbands face as he straightened and you despised his happiness.
when he pulled back from you and took your hand in his as you turned to face the incoming squealer, you had to fight the urge to snatch your hand away.
for the earth kingdom. for my honor. you reminded yourself.
"flameo hotman! congratulations on the wedding." yelled the avatar himself as he gripped zuko's shoulder, clearly drunk and pulled him into a quick hug. another man with shaved sides and a bun joining in. you had forgotten zuko was now friends with his once mortal enemy but you had no idea who the other person was.
your stomach churned at the thought of zuko having friends. something was truly wrong with you if he could buddy up with someone he once wanted to capture and not you, a girl who only wished to hold a basic conversation.
you swallowed your jealousy and smiled at the men who gawked at you.
"wow zuko, didn't think you were capable of swooning a goddess." the man in blue joked.
zuko groaned as you bit back a laugh. "sokka. please stop." though his hand moved to your lower back, posssessively.
"this is my wife, (name)." he allowed the men to introduce themselves. you of course already knew who aang was but took a special interest in sokka. he was funny and you loved that he embarrassed zuko. you could still hear his laughter as your husband walked you two back to your now shared room.
behind you, trailed your father, some earth guards and a few of zuko's advisors and guards of his own. they escorted you to the bedding ceremony but would not be staying. when you both got to the door, zuko turned and talked to his advisors while you turned to your father.
your heart skipped a beat at the look on his face. he was a tall man but still shorter than zuko and every bit your reflection, which made your lack of a relationship even more depressing.
"you've gotten this far. do not disappoint me child. remember all that is at risk." was all he fucking said.
not I love you, or I'm proud of you. not even a simple well wish for his daughter on her wedding night. but you smiled anyway and when you went to drop into a bow, his hand grabbed your arm to stop you. you ignored the burn from his too tight grip and bit back a wince.
"you are the firelady now. you bow to no one."
you stood straight and nodded your head, acknowledging that you heard him. his grip tightened a bit before loosening but not letting go completely.
"an heir within a year daughter-"
"wife. everything alright?" a deep voice cut through the lecture you were about to receive and you turned to see zuko with a death glare on his face.
"firelord zuko, all is-"
"wife. are you okay?" zuko ignored your father, eyes locked on you as if no one else existed.
you nodded and rubbed your arm after your father dropped it. you fought the burn in your eyes and moved toward the room door. your father didn't wait, simply smiling and moving down the hall. guards on his tail.
zuko left you in room that night after making sure you were fine, moving through the doors that connected yours to his. you had expected him to consummate the marriage but he only bid you a goodnight and closed the door behind him.
you of course, had no idea that zuko spent the next hour fighting the urge to find your father and knock his head off his shoulders for putting his hands on you.
you awoke to the sound of bells the following morning, your hair a mess from the deep sleep you had fallen into. only a minute later, servants and what appeared to be your lady in waiting burst through the doors with clothes and a tray of fruits and cheese.
after you ate and washed, your lady (who called herself yuri) began to dress you in a silk thin strapped dress before adding a corset and tying it tight to your body. you winced as the woman sat you at the vanity and began pinning up your hair, adding whimsical fire lilies and daylilies.
you grumbled at the manhandling but kept quiet nonetheless.
after breakfast, you found yourself walking through the halls of the palace, on a mission of exploration.
"yuri. what is expected of me today? will I have any council meetings of my own?" please say no.
she chuckled next to you, speeding up to match your pace, two guards following behind. "you have no schedule, firelady."
"and why not?" you shot her a look of confusion. your father had you tutored in fire nation politics and etiquette since you were a child, so you weren't expecting this.
"because you are on your honeymoon, my lady."
you stopped, the guards behind you slowing their pace with annoyance. you hadn't thought of a honeymoon. you and zuko were supposed to be spending these hours cuddled in bed but he was no where to be found. what would you say anyways? you still hated him and felt incredibly awkward after he experienced the way your father handled you.
so you spent your first days as firelady eating sweets, drinking tea, exploring the palace grounds and reading a book. you did not see zuko. not at breakfast, or tea time, or dinner. how were either of you meant to fulfill your duties if he avoided you like you were a plague?
your guards began to bother you. they were constantly on your tail, the only alone time you got being when you slept or bathed. you had no doubt that zuko ordered them to do so, though you couldn't understand why. you were his wife, not his enemy and there was peace between your respective kingdoms, as far as you knew. plus you were more than capable of defending yourself.
the next time you saw zuko was five days past your wedding night. internally, you were fuming and feeling more insecure than ever. on the outside, you flashed your practiced smile and sat with him over a private breakfast in the gardens. he had a small enough table brought out and the two of you sat in silence.
he looked everywhere but at you and you stared through his soul. he looked hungover and agitated, as if he would rather do anything but be in your presence right now.
"where have you been?" you broke the ice. tea long gone, patience beyond worn. five fucking days. unbelievable.
zuko straightened and ran his fingers through his hair. it was free today, falling down his back as the wind blew it back gently. "I uhm-" he cleared his throat.
"have i offended you?" you had always been blunt when upset and no matter how much your guardian attempted to erase it, that had remained your one trait that stuck.
his eyes widened as he faced you fully this time. "no! i- just, i was busy with firelord duties. I did not mean to make you feel neglected."
you scuff and ball your fists under the table, fingers digging into your palms, your own hair whipping from the wind adding fuel to your agitation. it was more than just his duties, the man was actively avoiding you. you never saw him in the halls or pretty much anywhere and whenever you asked for his whereabouts, you were stiffly told that he was otherwise occupied. you were beginning to think-
"do you have a lover?" you hadn't the energy to bite your tongue. he was your husband after all and if you could not speak freely, this marriage was sure to fail.
he sighed and put his elbow on the table, forehead going onto his hand. "i am far too tired for this conversation. can we postpone?" the bottom of his palm rubbed at his sunken eyes.
your eye twitched. how fucking dare he. "when is a convenient time for the firelord to argue with his wife? i must admit, I thought you would have grown out of this by now, seeing as your buddies with your mortal enemy but can't spare your wife a few minutes to converse or let her know you're fucking alive."
"you are unbearable." he muttered before standing.
you were hot on his heels, following him to your rooms in a silent rage as to not cause a scene. you were madder than you had ever been. the only person to have ever dismissed you so rudely was your father and you would die before you took it from your husband as well.
but why were you so upset? you hated him, you shouldn't have wanted anything to do with him. maybe it was your trauma of being treated as less than, maybe it was jealously that his attention was going elsewhere. maybe you were sexually frustrated and needed a release.
it didn't fucking matter. zuko was acting like anything but a husband and you refused to deal with it past this day. which is why as soon as the door to your room slammed shut, you followed him to his conjoined chambers, ignoring his grunts of annoyance.
"why don't you just tell me what i've done wrong huh?" you bellowed, fist balled at your side.
zuko stared at you like you were mad as he shrugged off his robes. you tried to not stare at his arms, failing miserably. "are you so self absorbed that you believe everything is about you?"
"ha!" you sarcastically laugh, throwing your hands up. "considering you've been avoiding your new wife when we should be on our supposed honeymoon. can you really blame me for feeling that way?"
this man was maddening and you were fuming at yourself for having this conversation. you should have allowed him to stay away, to avoid building any kind of bond with this animal who you despised.
why were you allowing him to get under your skin?
"you've done nothing wrong, wife." he spits the word with disgust and the feeling was fucking mutual.
zuko honestly didn't know what had gotten into him. he was frustrated, hung over from his visit to republic city with sokka and consumed with guilt over his marriage after he'd gotten a letter from mai.
he'd hid it away without reading it, opting to leave his past in the past. he was fucking loyal, wether you believed him or not he was a far cry from the man his father was. so why couldn't he just say that?
"fine, I'll leave."
he ignored your yells as he marched out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
ঌ
for the next two weeks you danced around each other, only saying good morning, small hellos if you passed one another in the hall, or short conversations if you needed to discuss anything that required both of your signatures. it was a marriage in the formal sense only. you weren't even friends, hardly acquaintances, far from lovers.
most of your time was spent making public appearances, council meetings with zuko, reading, gardening or honing your bending skills in the training yard.
that's where you had been when zuko summoned you for the first time. anger burning bright as you used your feet and hands to earth bend, lifting different sized boulders, smashing them against walls and metal bending surrounding weapons. your hair which was braided behind your head, whipped with each vicious turn.
the guards watched with concern and a mild interest. some glared, not happy about the reminder that their firelord married an earth bender, let alone one that could bend metal.
"my lady. the firelord wishes for you to join him for lunch." yuri called from afar, too scared to get close.
you wished you didn't hear her because now you sat across the table, glaring daggers at your husband who looked unfairly desirable with his hair tied behind his head, bangs falling to the sides of his face.
you were freshly showered, now dressed in a fire colored silk dress, hair covering your shoulders as it was still drying from your bath. you were silent but zuko said nothing either, both waiting for the other to crack first.
a servant waltzed over to refill your cups before sensing the tension and hurrying their task, wishing to be far away from the dam that was cracking.
"i know you hate me and you have every right to." he started, his deep voice making the hair on your arms stand up. you hated that he was able to coax this reaction from you.
you only hummed in response so zuko swallowed his pride and continued. "I have not given you much reason to like me, i suppose. disappearing after our wedding, avoiding you, living in the past. it was selfish and i deeply apologize for it."
you didn't know what to say, anger withering a bit as you sat stunned and frozen to your seat. you hadn't expected him to be so straight-forward, it was far from his personality.
"you don't have to respond. i just- wished you to know that and hope that maybe we can start over. can we be friends?"
you quirk a brow. "i did try that, if you don't remember. you rejected me over and over then went and got yourself banished. i suffered years of abuse for that little stunt by the way."
you knew you shouldn't have been blaming him for that. from what you were told, he did the right thing by standing up for his people even if he suffered the ultimate consequence.
he grimaced before offering a small smile as a peace offering. "believe in second chances?"
lucky for him, you did. zuko spent the following weeks learning about you as if he had never met you before. every night, no matter how hard the day was, you'd find yourselves on either his bed or yours, asking the most mundane questions to deep, personal ones.
"how'd you get the scar?" you asked, legs crossed on zuko's bed. he sat in front of you in nothing but his pants, opting out of wearing a shirt. he claimed it was too hot, though his window had been left open, cooling the room with the outside breeze.
you didn't mention it, instead focusing on the scar on his chest.
"hmm, a gift from my lovely sister." his hand ran over the red mark.
he explained to you how azula had tried to kill his friend katara and he jumped in the way of the lightning. your heart clenched. this zuko was a different person from the selfish, angry boy you once knew. it made you wonder what he might do to protect you.
"what's your type?" you quickly ask in an attempt to smother those very much unwanted thoughts.
"isn't it my turn?" he chuckles, raising his brow at you. he leaned back on his arms, his hair framing his face as it fell down his back. your eyes betray you as they travel from his muscular arms and chest, down to his happy trail. you didn't mean to, really, but you bit your lip when you noticed his cock was straining against the confines of his trousers.
"my wife."
you head snaps up, face flashing when you realize you've been caught by the shit eating grin on his face. "hmm?"
"my answer is my wife. next question."
the shameless flirting continued after that. you had shown clear interest and zuko wouldn't let the opportunity pass. he was doing much better than he was during the first week of his marriage. the more he spent time around you, the less he thought of mai. in fact, zuko couldn't remember the last time he did think of her in the past two weeks.
it had taken him an embarrassing amount of time to notice just how truly attractive you were in looks and personality. his cock ached every time you were near and lately, his right hand has become his best friend. some days you would notice the effect you had on him and purposely entice him. like the other night during your twenty one questions session, you had worn a tank top with silk shorts that fit your hips just right and didn't leave much to the imagination.
zuko became possessive after that. any man who looked or talked to you became a potential threat. at galas he'd scare off any onlookers, standing right behind you with a death glare that reminded people that he was in fact, ozai's son.
you never noticed of course. your friendship was still blooming and he didn't want to mess up that progress because he decided to finally notice you and hated that others did too.
that would end the following week, when zuko's advisors requested an audience. all seven of them. and they requested for you to be present.
you sat at opposite ends of the long table, each side hosting all of the men that called this emergency meeting.
"pray tell what you've summoned my wife and i for?"
the men seemed almost embarrassed to speak up, grumbling their gratitude for their firelord accepting this meeting. just when zuko thought no one would talk, his grand chamberlain cleared his throat. you fiddled with your hands under the table.
"I beg your pardon for broaching a matter of a more personal and delicate nature, but may I ask about the well-being of your majesty’s union, and whether there has been any progress toward securing an heir to the throne?
your heart dropped but zuko only looked annoyed. in the weeks of getting to know each other, you had forgotten what you were sent here to do in the first place. secure an heir. show that the elements can mix and bring peace to both nations.
you made a mental note to throw out your herbs, guilt eating at you as you now considered zuko to be a decent person. you had expected him to still be that arrogant boy he once was and having no idea what kind of marriage you were walking into, had a servant secure you the preventatives.
it wasn't malicious but merely a way to protect yourself.
when you both retire to your chambers that night, zuko lingers in your room, towering over you as he holds your hands, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles in a way that makes you ache.
"i hope you understand that I would never force that on you. this is our marriage and we decide what happens in it and when, not creepy old men who no longer represent what this nation needs."
you weren't sure you loved him yet but you didn't need to love him in order to uphold your duties and create an heir for the nation. a symbol of peace for the rest of the world. you had never had more than oral sex from a few more than willing guards but your body craved zuko's touch and his cock as if it had experienced the feeling of being stuffed before.
"and what would you do if I said I wanted that? to give you an heir? this is our duty after all, our marriage is an experiment and maybe.. it's time we actually put it to the test."
zuko looked pained, as if every word you spoke brought him closer to death. you sank into his touch, head tilting as his hand moved up and cupped your chin. his thumb slowly rubs against your bottom lip
"if your words were truthful, I would take you to bed right now. show you how sorry I am for waiting to do this and then i'd fill you until you were full with my child."
you gasped, your stomach doing flips as he used his other hand to pull you impossibly closer, your breasts flush against his lower sternum. the man was a giant and you had to lift your head to look at him while this close.
"then do it, my lord, because i can assure you that my word is always truthful."
zuko smiled, a true one that showed his very small dimples before he slowly leaned his head down. when his lips finally met yours, fireworks exploded in your body. his lips were soft, movements gentle as he held your face in his hands.
you moaned against his mouth when his tongue dragged across your lips, testing your boundaries. you gladly opened your mouth, trading saliva with your husband as your tongues fought for dominance.
zuko fought the urge to bend you over the bed and take you deep and fast. he was well experienced in matters of the bedroom but you had him leaking precum and feeling like he could burst right there like a fucking virgin, his cock twitching in his trousers, begging to be inside of you.
he moved his hands from your face and slowly slid the robes down your shoulders until they fell to the floor. he pulled back from you for only a few seconds.
"you are truly ravishing wife." and before you could respond, his lips were back on yours. large, calloused hands dragged your dress up your hips before one spread your legs, fingers teasing your clit in slow circular motions.
you were soaked, your liquid coating the inside of your thighs as you whined against zuko's mouth. you returned the favor and pushed his robe off, fingers moving to undo the bun atop his head, throwing his crown to the floor.
"fuck." zuko grumbled before quickly discarding your dress and pushing you backwards toward the bed, his hands exploring your naked body as his mouth attacked yours.
when he finally had you laid out on the bed, he stood back and watched you. his wife. you were beautiful, dressed in nothing but your skin, hair fanning out across the sheets, body drawing him in like a moth to a flame.
"tell me what you want." he teased. zuko tossed his shirt then lowered his pants only half way, his hands freeing and gripping his thick cock.
your mouth watered at the size of him as your own hand made its way down to your dripping cunt, mouth dropped open in a moan as your fingers made contact.
"fuck me husband. do your duty to our nations and bed your wife."
zuko was whipped, quickly discarding the rest of his clothing and framing his long body between your legs. his cock rubbed against your pussy, your juices mixing together as zuko gripped the sheets above your head in an attempt to calm himself.
he lowered his head, trailing his nose against the skin of your neck, inhaling deeply before placing a kiss against your pulse. he began to grind his hips against yours, moving his hand to grab onto your breast, lowering his head to take a nipple into his mouth.
"zuko." you huffed, bucking your hips up for more friction, his tongue playing with your nipple sending chills through your body. "enough. i need you inside of me." you tug his hair lightly.
he complies almost immediately, a sly smirk on his face before he smashes his lips onto yours. zuko pulled his hips back only slightly, reaching his hand down to line his cock with your entrance. his rubbed the tip up and down your pussy a few times, covering himself with your juices before he slowly pushed forward.
you were unbelievably tight, your walls gripping and contracting around his cock. the fit wasn't perfect, zuko had to put extra force behind his thrust until he sat snug inside you.
a virgin. zuko fought the urge to cum then and there, the thought of being the first person to be inside of you doing awful things to his mind. pride and possessiveness swelling in his heart and making his head big.
you were in another world. the stretch of your husband finally stuffing you had you making sounds you didn't think possible. and when he finally moved, your hands clawed at his back as your eyes squeezed shut.
this was better than your time with your guards. the mixture of pain and pleasure setting your body ablaze as zuko thrust his fat cock deep inside of you.
"nngghh, that feels-oh! so good zuko." you moaned, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. when you finally opened your eyes, he looked down at you in awe.
his mind spun with feelings he wasn't ready to admit yet. the way you looked at him, eyes glassy as he was deep inside of you. something about the moment was too intimate, too close to a feeling he refused to acknowledge.
so when you cried out for him to go harder, he obliged. he hooked one of your legs over his arm and went deeper, his balls smacking into your ass as he pounded his way to ecstasy.
all too fast, a knot was forming in your stomach. "ooh fuck, m'gonna cum!" you cried, wrapping your other leg around his waist.
"that's it, love. let go for me." he grunted into your ear, nibbling at the lobe and you were gone. head thrown back in pleasure, your orgasm crashed into you like a wave. red pulsing pleasure pulling you under as tears streamed down your face.
zuko fucked you through it, his strokes faltering as he neared his own orgasm. he buried his head in your neck as he fucked you harder, one hand moving to grab your ass as he pounded you ruthlessly.
he grunted as he shot ropes of cum deep inside of you, painting your walls white as the wind was knocked out of him. he didn't stop, he kept his pace as he dropped buckets into you, his hand squeezing your ass tight enough to leave a bruise.
his mouth dropped open only an inch as steam rose from his body.
ঌ
the next day you were an entirely different person. you let your ladies bathe you, dress you and fix your hair without any complaints. you didn't mind your guards following you as you made your way to where you were told you could find your husband.
there was a confidence in your step. you felt and walked like a woman now. gone was the young sheltered princess and in her place was a firelady who was possibly carrying the future of this nation.
"oh!" you gasped as you passed the gardens and thought of the new plants you were experimenting with. a mixture of fire and day lilies to represent yours and zuko's union. you smiled to yourself as you thought of your plan to bring him here later and show him what you had been working on.
you weren't an expert in gardening but as a locked away princess, a lot of your time was spent in the garden when you weren't taking lessons in etiquette, politics or earth bending. the palace gardener took pity on you, a young girl mopping about the lawn, and began to teach you when you were eight.
"one quick detour gentlemen, and then we'll go to my husband."
when you found your special plot which was tucked away near the fountain, you stopped dead in your tracks as your heart thumped violently in your chest, smile vanishing in an instant.
stood with his lips locked against a woman you did not recognize, was your husband. his eyes were wide before he pulled back and stepped away, running his hand through his head. the woman was beautiful, with hair darker than zuko's and features so sharp they could cut.
"zuko." you whispered, but it was loud enough for him to hear you as he whipped his head towards you, eyes wide as time seemed to slow. why couldn't he speak? sweat beaded at his neck as his hands shook.
"what is the meaning of this?" you asked as tears formed in your eyes. how could he? after everything. after the weeks you spent together, after last night. did it mean anything to him or was he simply playing his role and carrying out his duties as firelord?
"love, it's not-"
"I was just leaving." the woman cut in but you bolted before she had the chance. tears streamed down your heated cheeks as you hiked your dress in your hands and ran past your guards, the men following in confusion.
your marriage was a faux and the reality of that left you glued to your bed for the rest of the day. tears streaming down your face as you wished you never threw away those herbs.
part two
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀ঌ⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
note: as per the results of the poll, here's part one of the zuko arranged marriage fic! it's based on the show queen charlotte so expect some more angst in future parts but i promise it's worth it!
｡°⚠︎°｡ : when y/n realises she’ll never be able to compare with the woman that has always been in her husband’s life.
｡°⚠︎°｡ : angst, mention of diana ross, !popstar reader.
｡°⚠︎°｡ : wc is 7.2k!
this is what happens when i listen to “all night” by beyoncé on repeat. 💔
────୨ৎ────
you and michael dominated the music industry together, you were a beautiful force that commanded every chart and every awards stage. being married only increased the madness; the press loved it, turning your relationship into a public fairy tale, an empire built on music and true love where the world watched your every move with admiration.
you laid with your head resting against his shoulder, his shirt brushing against your skin as your fingers traced lazy patterns over his chest. he kept one arm looped around your waist, pulling you into his side so you could keep warm.
“we should take a break from touring.” michael hummed as his fingers tangled gently in your hair with a slow tenderness. “start a family, start really building our future.”
you smiled against his skin, turning your face upward to meet his deeply expressive eyes in the lamp light. “that's all i ever wanted, michael.”
“i love you.” he whispered, a soft smile tracing his lips as he leaned down to press a warm kiss to your forehead, his arm tightening around your waist as if he was holding you into the beautiful future you were sketching out in the dark.
the telephone on the nightstand ruined the quiet, cutting through the warmth of the room as you felt his muscles lock beneath you, the relaxation disappearing from his posture before he reached across the mattress, lifting the heavy receiver to his ear with a sleepy grunt.
you couldn't hear the voice on the other end, the muffled static offering nothing but a faint hum, but you watched his face closely in the light. within seconds, the heavy exhaustion melted from his features as a gentle smile perked up the corners of his lips. a cold weight dropped into the pit of your stomach, your heart sinking with the certainty that you already knew exactly who was calling.
“hey.” michael said into the receiver, his tone softening into that careful cadence he always reserved for one person. “no, no, you didn't wake me. what's wrong, diana?”
the name slipped from his lips effortlessly, sending a shiver down your spine as he slowly began to ease his body out from under the covers. the absence of his warmth left you freezing as he swung his legs over the bed, never breaking the conversation as he stood up and reached for his discarded button down on the nearby chair.
he leaned back over the mattress, pressing a distracted peck to your cheek while his mind drifted miles away from the room, his eyes fixed on the floor as he listened intently to the voice in his ear.
you sat up against the pillows, pulling the sheets tight against your chest to keep yourself warm, your eyebrows furrowing in a mix of hurt and frustration as you watched him button his shirt with ease. you caught his eye through the shadows, refusing to let him just walk out without looking at you, and mouthed the words “where are you going?”
michael paused, pulling the phone away from his ear and muffling the receiver against his chest to cut off the sound from the other end. he offered you an apologetic look that didn't reach his eyes, his voice dropping to a soothing whisper. “something came up with diana, i'll be home later on, my love.”
you bit the inside of your cheek as you forced down the bitter words threatening to spill over. you nodded slowly, offering no verbal reply because you knew it would only start an argument if you tried spoke up. turning your back on him, you pulled the blanket up to your shoulders and stared blankly at the wall, listening to the soft rustle of his clothes as he moved toward the door.
it wasn't unusual for him to pull something like this, but every single time he did, it ate away at your sanity. it killed you knowing how much power one woman held over his mind, how easily one phone call from her could break the perfect moment. you laid there in the quiet, the public image of your flawless musical empire feeling like a cruel joke compared to the reality of lying in an empty bed, wondering if you he would ever choose you over her.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀
a few weeks had passed in stretch of time, and you found yourself buried in the studio again, melting into your music. it was the one place you loved unconditionally, the only place you knew you could always run to when the world became too much to handle.
you stood in the booth, listening to the instrumental track with quincy, your mind drifting through the heavy heartbeat of the bass line. you nodded your head slowly to the music as quincy adjusted the faders, his experienced eyes watching you with a knowing concern from across the mixing board.
closing your eyes against the glare of the booth lights, you let out a quiet breath, your voice a whisper as you began humming along to the rise of the keys. the unreleased words slipped out of you in a low mumble, a private confession meant only for the space of the booth. “trade your broken wings for mine...” you sang, exposing your genuine love to sacrifice yourself to anything he would go through. you swallowed back a rush of emotion, whispering the bitter truth of a love that made you question your own place in his life. “i've seen your scars and kissed your crimes...”
“so many people that i know, they just tryna touch ya.” you sang into the microphone, your voice a raspy register laced with the exhaustion of diana. you paused as the bitter image of his easy departure that one night flashed behind your eyes, a spike of resentment hitting your throat before you leaned back slightly and kissed your teeth with a quiet hiss. “kiss up, and rub up.. kiss up, and rub up and feel up on ya.”
you were only thinking of michael, the memory of how easily he had let diana rub up against his life, leaving you to bleed your heartbreak into a microphone while he remained busy with his own life.
the instrumental swelled through your headphones, filling your head until the dark studio walls dissolved around you. your voice shifting from that bitter bite into something sweet that poured directly into the microphone.
“sweet love, all night long..” you cooed softly, the melody stretching out with a overwhelming wave of nostalgia that hit you in the chest as you watched quincy nod in slow approval from behind the control room console.
as the notes vibrated in your throat, your mind betrayed you, dragging you into the golden memories of the good parts of your marriage, the version of michael that belonged entirely to you. you were suddenly reminiscing about the early days, before diana became too comfortable and her late night phone calls cracked your foundation. you remembered the quiet mornings in the kitchen when he would spin you around, his laughter bright enough to make your whole day. you remembered the protective way he used to hold you backstage after a show, burying his face in your neck as if you were the only person who mattered.
“all i wanna, ain't no other..” you sang, your eyes closing tighter as the truth of the lyric tore through you, your voice carrying beautifully over the track. there really was no one else who could compare to the depth of him, no one else who truly understood the craziness of your shared fame.
you let your fingers trace your arm reassuringly, the rhythm carrying you deeper into the past, into the certainty of what you had built together before the shadow of diana became stronger. “we together, i remember... sweet love all night long.”
every word was a reminder of his perfection, of the beautiful reality that made his current absence hurt even more. you stood there singing to the ghost of the man who had promised you a quiet future, desperately trying to reconcile the loving husband who used to hold you all night long with the man who only became more comfortable catering to diana's needs.
quincy paused, his hands freezing over the mixing board as the final echo of the instrumental faded into the monitors, leaving a heavy silence in the room. he looked up his sharp eyes catching the subtle tremor in your shoulders before you could pull yourself together. hitting the talkback button, his voice cut through your headphones, sounding genuinely concerned against the static. “you okay in there?”
you quickly swept the back of your hand across your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that had fell during the chorus, and immediately put on a face. drawing a deep breath to steady your posture, you locked eyes with him through the glass and flashed a practiced smile that you had perfected for the cameras. “yes.. always.” you said back into the microphone, your voice coming through the room speakers clear and stable, masking the ache in your heart.
quincy stared at you for a long moment, seeing right through the fragile mask but choosing to respect your boundaries as an artist. he shook his head in awe, a wide smile finally spreading across his face as he leaned back in his chair. “always is right. m’ telling you, this track is.. is somethin’ else. we're looking at a historic number one record, straight to the top of the charts!”
✮⋆˙
a week later, the grand auditorium hosting the soul train awards required both yours and michael's presence as you sat at a premier vip table right near the edge of the stage. michael sat right beside you, his hand was resting protectively over yours on the white tablecloth, his thumb rubbing your knuckles as he leaned in close to your ear.
“you look so beautiful, y/n.” he whispered, a genuine smile illuminating his features as he squeezed your fingers. “m' so lucky to have such a pretty wife..”
you turned your head slightly, meeting his brown eyes and feeling a swell of comfort from his touch. “thank you, baby.. feels like forever since we could just sit down.. and watch instead of performing.”
“i know...” he frowned, his expression softening with a hint of quiet regret as he tilted his head closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “things have been so much lately, too much...”
he cut himself off as the main lights suddenly slammed down into a dramatic darkness, the shift causing the entire crowd to erupt into eager cheers. michael gave your hand one affectionate squeeze before turning his attention toward the main stage.
under the flash of the stage lights, diana glided out onto the center stage in a glittering silver gown, holding the microphone elegantly to her lips. seeing her step into the spotlight, you quietly let out a tired sigh, shifting in your seat as you braced yourself for a performance you didn't want to watch.
diana flashed a dazzling smile to the crowd, bringing the microphone closer as the audience fell into anticipation. “tonight, i want to give you all a little surprise..” she exclaimed, her voice laced with mischief. “m' going to be performing a song i haven't released yet!”
the synthesizers instantly wailed over an upbeat pop track, and the crowd immediately began to roar, clapping along to the high energy groove that vibrated right through the room. up on stage, diana commanded the spotlight with practiced glamour, her silver gown shining as she strutted down the runway.
at first, she mindlessly sang, her vocals gliding through an unfamiliar intro, making you barely pay any attention to the performance. you simply stared blankly ahead, the words washing over you as background noise while you tried to emotionally check out, until the rhythm shifted, forcing you to actually listen to what she was singing.
you suddenly froze as your heart dropped to your stomach as you realized she was singing your private lyrics.
“so many people that i know, they just tryna touch ya!” she belted out, tossing her hair back with a smile that had the entire front row cheering.
at the vip table, your breath caught completely in your throat. your jaw dropped, shock paralyzing your entire face as the private words you had sang to quincy just days ago echoed back at you through the room. you sat still, staring at the stage in disbelief, your mind spinning as you tried to process how your private heartbreak had been turned into diana's song and a pop song.
diana leaned into the microphone to deliver the soaring chorus directly down toward your section of the audience. “sweet love, all night long!” she sang out, and the words felt like it had hit you physically, fuelling the rage building inside you.
you slowly turned your head to look at michael, hoping to find some shred of shared confusion or defense but your heart shattered at the sight. he was leaning forward slightly, his eyes locked onto the stage while his face was lit up with a genuine smile of admiration. he was nodding along to the stolen beat, captivated by her performance, his expression filled with the kind of awe he reserved only for the greatest artists.
he had no idea the song belonged to you, and seeing him smile with such pride at diana while she sang the soundtrack of your crumbling marriage left you frozen before your breath hitched in frustration.
the hot rage pushed you out of your seat before you could even think about the cameras, the public eye, or the rows of hollywood elite surrounding your table. you got up abruptly, the sharp sound of your chair against the floor cutting straight through the music and drawing michael's attention away from the stage instantly.
“baby?” michael called out, his voice laced with confusion as his hand caught empty air where yours had just been a second before. he looked up at your tight posture, catching the frustrated on your face, and immediately stood up, his own chair shifting as he quickly followed after you into the crowded aisle.
you pressed forward into the dark, your steps heavy as you fled down the backstage hallways, blindly pushing past security guards and stagehands while diana's voice melted through the walls from the main auditorium.
you moved with a fierce purpose, the fabric of your gown rustling while your heels clicked against the cold floor before you stopped right by the dark wings of the stage, tucked away in the shadows where the spotlights couldn't reach you.
you leaned your back against a cold storage crate, crossing your arms tightly over your chest as you tried you regulate what you were feeling. from this angle, you could see diana clearly, moving effortlessly while singing your deepest heartbreak to the crowd.
the final applause erupted through the thick walls as the curtains closed, cutting off the blinding shine of the lights. diana turned around, letting out in a breathless laugh as she glided into the backstage wings yet the moment her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she spotted you and michael standing there.
without a trace of shame or hesitation, a wide smile spread across her face despite the reality of what she had just stolen from you. “michael!” she exclaimed, her voice smooth and dripping with sweetness as she stepped closer, completely bypassing you. “oh, i am so glad you were out there to see that. it was magical, wasn't it?”
the audacity of her smile made the blood boil in your veins, the rage finally snapping your emotions as you took a step forward. “what the fuck, diana? those were my lyrics, my song. why would you do this?”
diana stopped in her tracks, her hands coming up to her chest as her face shifted into a flawless display of innocence. she blinked rapidly, her head tilting in confusion as she looked at you, acting clueless. “y/n, what are you talking about? your lyrics? my label brought this track to me days ago, fully written. there's truly no need to make a scene over this, honey.”
hearing her lie so effortlessly to your face made you laugh in disbelief, turning your head to look at your husband, expecting him to defend you.
but michael stood paralyzed between the two of you, his chest heaving as a deep conflict tore him apart from the inside out. he looked over at diana, the woman he had been profoundly infatuated with since forever, the idol who still held an untouchable grip over his mind; seeing her look so innocent made it impossible for him to believe she could do something so evil.
yet, his breath hitched as his gaze dropped down to his own hand, his brown eyes locking onto the polished gold of his wedding ring. that ring belonged to you, his wife, the woman who he wanted to build a future with, and he could see the genuine anger burning in your eyes.
he looked back up at diana, then back down at the ring, trapped in the middle of his lifelong idol and his real life marriage, unable to speak a single word.
diana noticed the suffocating silence stretching between the three of you, her eyes darting from your furious glare down to where michael stared helplessly at his wedding ring.
a subtle gleam flashed in her eyes before she instantly softened her expression, taking a step closer to michael and reaching out to brush her fingers gently against his arm. “michael, please tell her.” diana pouted, her voice dropping into a comforting tone she knew always worked on him, her eyes wide. “you know me. you've known me your whole life. you know i would never, ever steal a song from anyone, let alone your.. wife.”
the touch seemed to snap michael out of his trance, his shoulders tensing as he looked from her hand on his arm straight into her eyes, the familiarity of his infatuation pulling hard at his chest. but the moment he looked over at you and saw the betrayal and hot tears glossing over your eyes, he flinched, pulling his arm back just enough to break her grip.
“i... i don't know what to say.” michael choked out, his voice cracking slightly as his fingers nervously traced the edge of his wedding ring again. he looked back and forth between the two of you, his breath hitching under the pressure of the backstage corridor. “y/n, baby, the lyrics... diana... diana, the label gave it to you? there has to be a mistake somewhere. we should.. we should talk to the label about this.” he said, his voice pleading as he looked at you, desperately trying to offer a reassuring glance but it only felt like a betrayal.
even though he was trying to play the peacemaker, the shift in his posture and the defensive tilt of his head toward diana made it obvious where his deeper loyalties were pulling him; he was trying to remain neutral, but the lifelong worship of his idol was winning, filtering his words with a gentle bias that shielded her from blame.
“there's no talking that needs to be done, michael.” you spat out, the words freezing the air between you as your voice rang with a dangerous finality. your breath hitched as you took a step closer to the woman who had stolen your work. “diana stole that song. she knew.”
you slowly squinted your eyes at diana, your gaze narrowing into a sharp dagger of accusation that pierced right through her mask of innocence. “you knew.”
diana caught the moment michael's defenses began to waver towards her name, and she didn’t waste a second. she tilted her head back, her eyes wide and welling with a perfect gloss as she looked up helplessly at him, creating the image that she was fragile and wrongly accused.
michael looked down into her face, his expression melting from panic into a look of affection which immediately took over his features, his eyes locking onto hers with a captivated devotion that erased the rest of the backstage wing.
watching the two of them look at each other like that, clarity washed over you, cutting through the fury in your veins until you were left numb. the realization hit you, settling deep into your chest as you realised you were never going to compete. it didn't matter that you were his wife, or that you had built an empire together; the painful truth was that your husband would always melt under diana's words, powerless against her presence and the hold she had on his heart.
it broke your heart into pieces, an ache blooming where your love used to be as you realized you were just a second option to his grand obsession. you were over it, the title of the public fairy tale crumbling to dust in an instant.
“fuck the both of you.” you snapped, your voice dropping into a deadly hiss that cut straight through the suffocating tension between them. without a second of hesitation, you tore the polished gold wedding ring off your finger and threw it onto the floor, the heavy ring clinking sharply before rolling to a stop at michael's shoes.
you turned your back on both of them, your gown rustling furiously in the dark as you walked off down the hallway, leaving them behind in the shadows without looking back once.
𓏲⋆ ִֶָ 𓂃 ⋆
you sat huddled on the edge of the sofa in the living room, a half empty glass of red liquid resting between your hands, a bottle sitting on the coffee table. you had intended to pack your bags, to march upstairs, drag the heavy suitcases out of the closet, and erase yourself from this house entirely.
but as the drink settled into your veins, it brought a fragile hope with it. the sizzle of the wine made you believe, or at least pray, that your husband would walk through that door, drop to his knees, and tell you that he had finally cut her off for good.
you sat there drinking as the night only grew longer, the clock ticking away the hours, the hope slowly disappearing until the front door clicked open at midnight.
michael stepped into the living room, looking entirely drained as the edges of his suit jacket hung loosely from his slumped shoulders while he exhaled a long breath.
“where have you been, michael?” you asked, your voice audible against the silence, your eyes tired with smudged mascara from the hours of weeping and waiting in the dark.
you paused, a heavy wave of the suspicion suffocating the air in the room as you swallowed down the lump in your throat. you stared at the guilt written all over his face before you whispered. “you were with diana, weren't you?”
michael froze, his brown eyes landing on you with a mixture of anxiety and guilt as he took a slow step forward. “y/n, baby, please... she was upset after you left-“
“m’ your wife, michael.” you interrupted, standing up from the sofa as the raw reality of the night broke through the numbness of the alcohol. you took a step towards him, your voice trembling with heartbreak you gestured between the two of you. “your wife. what is diana?”
“she's... family.” he whispered softly, trying to play the peacemaker while defending her from your wrath. “she would never do anything intentional to hurt you, i know her, please believe me, baby.”
the soft tone of his voice only fueled the fire building in your chest, the absurdity of his excuses snapping at your sanity. your vision blurred as a wave of hot tears spilled over your lashes, tracking through the dried mascara staining your cheeks.
“why the fuck do you always defend her?!” you snapped, your voice cracking with a painful sob that tore straight from your chest. you took another step forward, your hands trembling at your sides as you glared at him through your waterfall of tears. “she stole from me, michael. you don't understand, i poured my soul into that song, my life.. it meant.. that song meant everything.”
michael flinched slightly, his expression twisting into a look of hurt as he stepped closer, his hands rising in that desperate gesture to try and soothe you, his voice remaining quiet but stubborn. “y/n, please.. diana.. she doesn't need to steal melodies. the industry is messy, and things get copied by accident all the time. you're just hurt right now, baby, and you're letting your anger blind you to how the business works-“
your chest heaved, a broken whimper escaping your lips as you looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the painful truth. he was never going to see her flaws and he was never going to protect you. you felt entirely small, exhausted, and defeated by the realization that your husband would always choose to defend her over saving you.
the tears kept falling until a cold certainty suddenly washed over you, freezing the sorrow into resolution. you closed your eyes for a brief second, drawing in a shaky breath as you wiped your tears. “m’ done, michael. i can't keep doing this.” you shook your head, forcing your eyes open as you prepared to give him the ultimatum.
“you can't keep choosing the both of us anymore.. it's either.. me or diana.”
michael froze as his eyes widened with panic, overtaking his features as he stared at your tear stained face and the trace of your ruined mascara. his gaze flicked down to the bare skin of your left hand, then to his own hand where his wedding ring hugged his finger perfectly, before snapping back up to lock onto your eyes.
he opened his mouth to speak, his lips parting as if to instantly shout your name but no sound came out. he choked on the air, his throat tightening, paralyzed by the choice you had laid in front of him.
“y-y/n...” he stammered, taking an unstable step toward you, his hands rising into the space between you, his fingers twitching helplessly as if he could physically grasp the dissolving pieces of your marriage before they disappeared. “baby, please... don't do this. don't-don't make me choose like this.”
he was pleading with teary eyes but the words themselves said enough, he hadn't chosen you, he hadn't spoken your name without a second thought. in the one moment of resolvement, when your broken heart laid, he had hesitated. he balanced your soul against the lifelong hold diana possessed over him, and it was obvious he couldn't let her go.
the last spark of hope inside you died a quiet death, leaving behind nothing but hollow numbness as the tears stopped falling. you turned away from him with a slow grace, walking straight toward the front door as michael's footsteps followed closely behind you, his breath hitching once you reached the door and gripped the handle.
you pulled it open, letting the chill of the night air rush into the warm house before turning your head slightly to look back at him over your shoulder one last time.
“when i walk out of this door michael, i.. i won’t come back.” you said, your voice dropping into a quiet whisper as your eyes, locked onto his face.
michael stood paralyzed, the harsh light catching the tears spilling down his cheeks as he bit his lip, his entire body shook yet he remained trapped in the deafening silence of his own hesitation.
seeing everything you ever needed to see in his panic, you stepped out onto the porch, leaving him behind. you pulled the door shut, the thud echoing through the quiet house as you shut him out and walked into the dark.
ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃
the months that followed were a long blur of crowds, stage lights, and silence the moment the curtains fell. you knew you couldn't suffer alone with the company of alcohol so you threw yourself into the madness of your own solo tour, traveling from city to city across the country.
you lived out of hotel rooms and tour buses, melting into your work because it was the only way to keep from losing your mind. you wrote music constantly, filling notebooks with raw lyrics about betrayal and the shadow of another woman.
on stage, you were a beautiful figure, singing your heart out to thousands of screaming fans every single night. but beneath the title of a successful tour, you were still heartbroken, the applause of the crowd did nothing to fill the void he left. every single night, after the lights went out and the arenas emptied, you would return to a lonely hotel room and stare at the telephone on the nightstand, quietly hoping it would ring. but it never did. despite everything you still missed him, and you hated yourself for it.
it didn’t help you couldn't escape the ghost of him. even while touring the country, the media shoved him back into your face at every airport newsstand and hotel lobby. the tabloids were merciless, their covers splashed with photographs of him attending industry galas. and right beside him, always stood diana.
the columns fed on the mystery of your separate lives, paparazzi shots of you leaving hotels alone were always compared with recent pictures of him and diana at other shows.
MR. AND MRS. JACKSON SEPARATION?
the articles screamed in heavy black ink, printing beautiful photos of your joint empire right alongside your solo tour dates.
THE KING AND QUEEN OF POP NO LONGER TOGETHER?
the tabloids openly speculated that your marriage was decaying while others cruelly hinted that diana had finally taken her place as his true partner, leaving you to bleed your heartbreak into a microphone every night.
but you were tired of bleeding in secret, you were tired of letting diana wear your crown, parading around in the spotlight and embracing the spot you left as if it was some kind of celebration. so, against the panicked warnings of your management team and the heavy restrictions of the label, you made a choice, caring less whether it brought issues or not.
you finalized ‘all night’, you no longer cared that she had performed it first, you were going to take back what was yours, and you were going to do it on the most visible stage the industry had to offer.
𓇢𓆸
the opportunity arrived a month later at the grammys, an auditorium crawling with hollywood celebrities. backstage, the atmosphere was suffocating with a performative tension that made it hard to draw air. with the seating arrangements, you knew the organizers had created the perfect trap, intentionally seating michael and diana together in the center of the front row, directly in the line of the main stage.
standing in the shadows of the wings, your dress felt heavy, dragging against the floor as the overwhelming rush of the past threatened to ruin the composure you had spent months piecing together.
your mind dragged you into the memories of michael, the early days when you were enveloped in his arms, your head resting against the rise of his chest while the noise outside faded into nothing. you remembered the warmth of his sheets, the lazy patterns his fingers traced over your skin, and the tender tone of his voice planning out your shared future of a family.
desperate to stop the painful memories, you reached out with a shaking hand and grabbed a glass of amber liquid from the catering cart nearby. you threw your head back and took a burning shot, closing your eyes as the raw spike of it tore down your throat to scorch away the weakness, numbing the ache in your chest just enough to give you the confidence you needed.
the curtains parted to reveal your silhouette standing alone beneath a white spotlight that cut through the darkness, capturing the mournful sweep of your black dress. your fingers gripped the cold metal of the microphone stand with a desperate hold, your eyes scanning the room until they locked directly onto the beloved face of your husband.
the original instrumental swelled through the stadium monitors, causing a stunned gasp to ripple through the rows. michael’s eyes widened as his breath hitched, realizing just how much he had missed you. beside him, diana’s practiced smile dropped as she realized the stolen soundtrack of your marriage was about to be reclaimed by its true creator.
you closed your eyes for a second, letting the dark memories of the studio and the isolation you had felt for months lift your voice into a raw tone that was laced with heartbreak, holding thousands of people captive with your singing.
but as the instrumental built, swelling toward the emotional transition of the song, the rage and sorrow you had hidden from the public for months tore through the surface.
hot tears spilled over your lashes, tracking through your makeup and catching the glare of the spotlight as they stained your skin. your breath hitched, a quiet sob threatening to break your pitch but you fought through the tightness in your throat, opening your eyes to lock a devastating gaze onto michael, singing directly to his soul as if the rest of the crowd did not exsit.
“they say true love’s the greatest weapon..” you sang out, your voice cracking with power that echoed beautifully through the room, carrying the weight of every lonely night you had survived. “to win the war caused by pain…”
“but every diamond has imperfections..” you cooed as you found your lyrics somewhat defending him, your heart aching at the thought of you being back in his arms. “but my loves too pure to watch it chip away…”
beside him, diana shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her gaze dropping to the floor as the rows began to whisper in a frenzy, realizing the correlation echoing from the stage. but you didn't look at her once, you kept your heavy eyes fixed on your michael, forcing him to witness the depth his hesitation had caused.
“boy, nothing real can be threatened.” you belted out, the melody stretching with a wave of vulnerability, exposing the truth right in front of him, nothing and no one could break real love between two individuals. “true love breathes salvation back into me..”
with the final notes approaching, a shaky breath escaped your lips as your tears blurred your vision into a haze of white. you gathered every piece of dignity you possessed, singing the final line like a prayer of release.
“with every tear came redemption... and my torturer became my remedy…”
the moment those lyrics slipped from your lips, the devastating paradox of him being labeled both the “torturer” and the “remedy” for your suffering, his heart swelled with an aggressive warmth that threatened to suffocate him.
he heard the bleeding testament of a love so deep that it had survived the worst of his actions, a love that was still calling out to him through the ruin of his silence. he felt it within his soul as he realised he would dismantle his reputation, his career, and his very name if it meant he still had a chance at being the medicine to heal the woman he had broken.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
the next evening, the quiet inside your hotel room was filled with the exhausting aftermath of your grammy performance. your relief, a bottle of red liquid, sat on the nightstand and the scattering of morning papers laid across the covers of your bed.
your drink left dark smudges on the cheap newsprint as you mindlessly flipped through the pages, your body aching from the physical and emotional toll of the night before, your eyes still raw from the tears you had cried beneath the spotlights.
you expected the usual media circus, the speculation about the tears flowing through your makeup and the visible, suffocating distance between the king and queen of pop yet instead, a massive headline in the entertainment section caught your eye, the dark ink stark against the page.
MICHAEL JACKSON PROFESSIONALLY CUTS ALL TIES WITH DIANA ROSS.
your fingers froze against the paper, your breath catching in your chest as your eyes scanned the print beneath the title. the columnists detailed a corporate warfare that had taken place in the early morning hours, detailing a ruthless dismantling of management teams and the binding extraction of his name from every project associated with her.
before your mind could even process the words on the page, the small television set on the dresser across the room flickered, drawing your attention away from the paper.
an entertainment news anchor appeared on the screen, their voice laced with urgency that broke the silence of the room. “we interrupt our scheduled broadcast to bring you the first footage from a live press conference held earlier today, where michael jackson expresses the truth following last night's historic grammy performance.”
the screen cut sharply to a chaotic room packed with reporters, the constant flash of cameras overwhelming the tv as michael stepped into the frame, the sight of him making your heart tighten with a familiar ache.
his slender frame appeared fragile beneath his black button down long sleeve, his curls falling around a face that carried the heavy exhaustion of a man who had finally came to the right realisation.
when he spoke, the raw tone of his voice vibrated through the television speaker, filling your quiet hotel room with an honesty that made you bite your lip in.. hope.
“m’ not here to talk about records, or tours, or business.” michael began, his voice cracking before he drew a deep breath, his eyes rising to look into the camera lens, looking straight through the screen. “last night, i sat in the front row of the grammy awards and i watched my wife weep on stage. i listened to her sing the words that were born from her own heartbreak.. words that were stolen from her soul by someone i trusted blindly.”
a collective silence seemed to fall over the crowded press room on the screen, the reporters freezing as the king of pop stripped his private life bare before the world.
“diana ross did not release that track by accident.” michael continued, the quiet anger and regret in his chest pushing through his voice. “she took what belonged to my wife, and instead of protecting the woman i swore my life to, i hesitated. i let my admiration for an idol cloud my judgment, and i allowed my own cowardice to leave my wife alone while i defended a lie.”
he paused, his fingers nervously tracing the gold wedding ring that still clung tightly to his finger before taking a deep breath.
“as of this morning, i have legally severed every professional and personal connection to diana ross. i have terminated the contracts of the executives who allowed this theft to happen..”
the broadcast cut back to the stunned news anchors, but you couldn't hear their voices over the rush of your own blood. your hands flew to your face, the glass of wine slipping from your fingers and spilling across the sheets as a choked sob tore straight from your chest, the raw magnitude of his public appearance and words melting you completely.
the echoes of his televised confession still replayed through your head when a sudden knock resounded against the wooden frame of your hotel door.
your breath hitched, your heart jumping as you stumbled up from the bed, struggling to walk straight as you threw the door open, the latch clicking loudly in the quiet corridor.
michael stood in the lighting of the hallway, his white shirt rumpled and damp from the rain outside, as his shoulders shook under the weight of his own breath. he looked vulnerable, his face plastered with fresh tears as he stared at you through the open doorway.
the overwhelming sight of him caused a sharp wave of adrenaline to slam into your chest, the months of suffocating isolation and the bitter memories of his betrayal rushing to the surface all at once.
“why are you here, michael?” you choked out, your voice a trembling whisper but before he could even part his lips to answer, the weight of your heartbreak spilled over into action.
you stepped towards him, your fingers curling into tight fists as you brought them down against his chest. you hit his shirt once, a push meant to punish him for the silence, for the empty hotel rooms, and for the agony of choosing diana over you.
he stood there, his chest heaving under your touch, his dark brown eyes wide and overflowing with remorse that watched you with devotion.
seeing the absence of defense in his posture only made your anger increase as you hit him again, yet the momentum was slowly dying, your fists turning into weak thuds against him as the rage quickly turned into a deep sorrow.
“how could you leave me alone like that?” you sobbed openly, your knuckles resting helplessly against the heartbeat behind his shirt as the strength drained from your arms. “why did you take so long to choose me?”
your knees buckled beneath the realization that he was finally here, the anger burning out and leaving behind nothing but a desperate exhaustion.
he lunged forward, closing the remaining distance in a blur to catch your waist before you could hit the floor. he gathered your shaking frame against his chest with strength that lifted you right off your feet, his long arms wrapping around you so tightly it felt as if he were trying to fuse your broken souls back together.
“m’ sorry, m’ so sorry, baby.” michael wept into your hair as he buried his face deep into the warm crook of your neck, his voice a fragile tone. “m’ here, right here.. never gonna leave you alone again, i promise you...”
you buried your face deep into his shirt, your fingers tangling in the soft curls at the nape of his neck as the coldness of the last months melted into the healing warmth of his embrace.
he rocked you gently in the space behind the closed door, his hands rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back as he planted tender kisses over your forehead, neck, and the wet skin of your cheeks, reassuring you over and over until the trembling in your body finally began to ease.
you pulled back an inch, your hands rising to cup the angles of his jaw, your thumbs gently sweeping away the dampness tracking down his cheeks.
michael leaned into your touch immediately, his long fingers wrapping over your wrists to hold your hands against his skin, terrified that if he let go, you would disappear.
he looked down into your eyes, his gaze shining with a vulnerability so raw it left only the truth of how much he still belonged to you. he leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against yours, his breath shaky and warm against your lips as he whispered.
summary: zuko's straight-forwardness in appreciating the attractive qualities of the lone stranger saved by aang has you curious on whether you could get him to spill on what he thinks of you. (no major movie spoilers)
"He's very attractive." Zuko admits, eyes unblinking as he stares at the unconscious stranger.
The entire team whips their heads to stare at Zuko in unconcealed shock.
"What?" Zuko mutters, gaze lingering on the surprised expressions casted onto him, before eventually landing on yours. "He is. It's all in the bone structure."
You blink, unable to process his straight-forward words that landed on you like a gut punch. You've never considered it, the fact that Zuko also found others attractive.
It seems like a completely, silly notion now that the thought has verbalised itself in your mind. Of course Zuko would notice if others were considered attractive. Maybe it just never occurred to you in all your years of knowing him—of also finding him—
You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look away from his prying gaze, confusion alight in his eyes from your taken-aback expression.
If he's unconsciously considered the attractiveness of this stranger... has he ever—no, this should not be your priority. It doesn't matter what he thinks of you, it's not like it would change a thing. He's practically admitted it non-verbally through that monotonous admission of his, that a person's looks is assessed by him in a completely, impersonal standpoint.
Bone structure? You shouldn't be curious. Knowing Zuko, he might accidentally insult your structure if you asked.
The curiosity does not disappear. In fact, it digs deeper and deeper into the crevices of your mind—subconsciously affecting your attitude around Zuko.
It doesn't help that it's painfully obvious that he's noticed your strange behaviour ever since his comment. Once, when his hand had come up to your shoulder to alert you that everyone was boarding the ship—and your entire body jumped in response. Again, when you completely blanked out when he asked if you would like some firecracker buns.
It's not like you wanted to hyper-focus on his observation on purpose. It's just that after years of knowing him and pushing down that sub-concious attraction—of not allowing yourself to even see him as anything more than the Zuko you know, the rebound impact of all your resurfacing emotions combined with his lingering presence is far too much.
Zuko isn't the type to beat around the bush either, one of the rare habits his uncle hasn't passed onto him. In a moment of needed reprieve, your attempt at regaining your composure fails spectacularly when you find yourself in a stand-still, cornered in the back of the ship—one firecracker bun in his hand as an offering.
"Have I said something to make you uncomfortable?"
Zuko's gaze is akin to a puppy's, wide-eyed and brows furrowed. Afraid that he's done something wrong, overlooked the choice of his words once again and destroyed the atmosphere without realising.
Straight to the point as ever, you'd appreciate it more if he had given you a few more minutes to come up with a reasonable excuse. Something more plausible than 'Do you find me attractive?', a lingering question that should've remained buried in the soil that you departed from nearly an hour ago.
"Not exactly." Taking the firecracker bun from his hand, the crumbs coat your fingers. You needed something to muffle your words, anything to distract you. It's easier to focus on the lingering spice that melts into your tongue, rather than his unblinking stare.
"So—I did say something." His mouth parts, a slight tilt downward in the corner of his lip. "Or I've made you uncomfortable."
There was no winning with him. Swallowing your last bite, you brush the crumbs against your sleeve, the slouch of your posture a key sign of surrender, your invisible white flag waving at the sight of his increasingly dubious expression.
"The first one." You admit with a sigh. "Earlier—"
He leans in subtly, a habit he does when he's listening attentively, and the luscious wave of his bangs brushes against your knuckles. His amber eyes pierce through you, and the words practically die off your tongue.
Why is he looking at you like that?
It isn't fair that he has such an effect on you. You still remember the old days, when he had a worser temper instead of the softened expression that lingers warmly on you. Plus, that horrible haircut, a singular ponytail with the rest of his hair shaved off forever engrained in your mind. Even recalling the image doesn't help calm your thundering heartbeat when the Zuko in front of you is so—overwhelming.
"You were saying?" He prods gently.
You swallow, averting your gaze. "When you mentioned... about attractiveness. Was that like—a spur of the moment kind of thing, or do you have a first impression for everyone you meet?"
His brows furrow for a moment, before recognition lights his golden gaze. "Ah—that."
"Right, that." You feel the seat warming beneath you in your embarrassment, a hallucination of senses in your sudden need to escape his assessing gaze. He barely even remembers his comment, and here you are, still obsessively prying over it.
"I was only answering Toph's question." He states. "No one was stating the obvious."
"The obvious." You muse. "Do you assess the attractiveness of everyone you meet?"
"I suppose it depends." He mutters, hand rubbing over his chin in consideration. "If it was during a battle, I wouldn't be prioritising on considering the opponent's appearance. As compared to someone knocked out on the ground, it gives me plenty of time."
You barely resist a snort. Only he could treat a topic like a person's attractiveness like one of his battle strategies. "I suppose you didn't have time during our first meeting then."
As soon as the words leave your mouth, both you and Zuko freeze. Your lips clamp shut, an immediate wince shuddering through your frame. Cat's out of the bag, you suppose.
"Never mind." You wave it off, your own laugh echoing much too loudly through your ears. "It wasn't like I was wondering—well, maybe I was. You just sprung it out of nowhere earlier, and I got... curious. You don't have to answer—"
"I did." He cuts you off unceremoniously.
You blink, his vague words echoing in the thin distance between the two of you. "What?"
He swallows, and for once, he's the one flustered in this conversation. "I did notice, during our first meeting."
No way. Your first meeting with Zuko was anything but pretty. You remember being covered in sweat, grime, and ashes coating your clothes as he shot flames at you from his palms. The twisted grimace on his face when you had him writhing under your grip, as he loudly declared his revenge on you, rupturing your eardrums with all his yelling.
"You mean—" You barely resist a grin stretching on your lips. "—when I pinned you down on your airship, and you were spitting death threats into my ear."
"Yes, that." His long locks cover his ears now, but you can bet the rims are reddened from the reminder. "You were formidable."
Formidable. No, that wasn't enough. His sudden focus on the floorboards of his ship made it obvious that he was simplifying his observation.
"I was gaining the winning hand." You state out-right, disbelief coating your tone. "And you had time to notice?"
A restrained sigh escapes Zuko's gritted teeth, already regretting his slip of tongue.
"What of the angle? Does the Fire Lord recall my bone structure during our first battle too, when I pinned you to the floor?" You tease.
He scoffs in a light-hearted manner, shoulder lightly bumping into yours. "It was the first time anyone had pinned me down. I wasn't exactly given another view to look at."
"Was the view bad then?" You prod.
"Not at all." He answers absentmindedly—quickly without hesitation.
Your lips part, speechless. Zuko immediately separates his shoulder from yours, a bashful expression overtaking his features.
"Objectively." He states hurriedly, waving his arms. "I was expecting to find the Avatar at the time, not... you."
The way he says it, the almost breathless note that leaves his lips. You devour it hungrily, now being the one to lean in, prying.
"And how did you find me, Zuko?" You ask earnestly.
He huffs in defeat. His softened gaze finally meets yours again, his eyes roaming over your features, ones that he's familiarised with for years, and yet... it still takes the breath out of him. "...You were the most beautiful person I've ever sparred with."
Oh... wow. You didn't expect that.
"You were threatening to kill me." You recall in disbelief.
"I was multi-tasking." He mutters, ashamed.
Your intended snort escalates into a cackle, unable to contain yourself. "I would have never guessed that from the way you glared at me. So full of shame—and destroyed pride."
"What about you?" He asks in a hurry, though his tone drops towards the end in hesitation—hinting his regret in the wrong change in topic. He grimaces, gaze dropping to his tightened fists over his lap. "...Did you find my scar hideous?"
Surprise colours your features.
Immediately shaking your head, you're at a loss for words on how to convey just how off-course he was on his guess. How could you ever find Zuko hideous? Your heart barely survived your visits to the Fire Nation, not when their own Fire Lord always insisted on attending to your presence personally, even when it arose suspicion of your shared bond with him, to have him so easily distracted when you arrived on his lands.
Even now, he's overwhelming your vision. Healthy muscles that are barely hidden under his clothes, or the hair he's refused to cut ever since his youth that now flows lusciously down his broad back. His amber eyes that glint golden when the sun reflects his irises, and even the conjured image of the way his arms move when he's fire-bending.
He's— "Beautiful."
By the time you realise your second slip of the tongue, Zuko has already blinked once, caught off-guard.
You purse your lips, finding this conversation to be as riveting as it is a weaponised self-attack. "Objectively speaking. You're attractive, Zuko."
"Objectively." He repeats slowly, amused that you're using his own deflecting choice of words.
"Fine, like really attractive." You deadpan. "It's annoying, because I'm supposed to be focused on the mission, and you're just... standing there."
It was the truth. You couldn't be the only one who noticed it. His subtle change in demeanour over the years, how he carried himself into a room now instead of randomly announcing his arrival at the worst timings. Even Sokka noticed.
He snorts, and the sound deflates the tension in your chest. "Funny, I should be saying that about you."
You gasp, expression aghast. "You're joking."
"It is not honourable to lie." He shrugs. "You've always been the most magnetic in my eyes. I can never find myself looking away from you."
You grow quiet, the genuine sincerity in his words leaving you defenseless. Have you been blind all along? Is that why he always sent letters—asking you to visit his nation for purposes other than meetings? Or why he sought for your company constantly during this entire trip, despite it being the first time the entire set of Team Avatar being together in months?
You had been too focused on what was comfortable and familiar, to teasing and prodding, that you never considered this.
"For the record." You whisper, leaning in to truly look at him. "I never found your scar hideous. You were always beautiful to me, Zuko."
He swallows, something intense flickering in his gaze—but too fleeting for you to catch onto it. Maybe it had always been there, when his eyes linger on your form when he accompanied you in his palace gardens, or even back then, when he was a banished prince who sought for you, even with a grimace on his face.
"That haircut when we first met, though?" Your smile breaks out into a toothy grin. "Absolutely hideous."
The softness in his gaze falters, before a groan rumbles past his throat. "Will you ever let that one go?"
"Never."
He lets out a low breath, drained of his energy. "I admitted to finding you attractive, and this is my repayment?"
"Who's finding who attractive?"
Sokka's voice strikes a jump in your shoulders, and Zuko's in an impressive halt, frozen completely after being caught red-handed.
"Ah, between the two of you—" Sokka whistles. "I was wondering who was going to break first. Congrats, love-birds!"
"We're not—" Your voice clashes with Zuko's. "This isn't—"
You sneak a glance to Zuko, and his hand is already covering half of his face, his embarrassment shielded by the shadow of his large palm.
Sokka's confused gaze switches between the two of you, blinking slowly.
"Ah, couple years too early?" Sokka shrugs, before clicking his tongue. "That's rough. I'll check back in with you guys in another time." Making his way back towards the front, he shouts once more to prove his point. "Just don't let me catch you guys making out or anything, I'll need to poke out my eyes for that one!"
"...We better restrain him before he starts blasting it as news to everyone." You groan.
"Agreed." He mutters.
Right as you made your move to leave, Zuko's hand grips yours—stopping you.
You lift your head, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"
His Adam's apple bobs up and down, consideration clear in his expression before he decisively leans in. His voice is a warm hush, soft and intimate when he whispers. "For the record." Your own words echo back to your ears in the low hush of his voice. "I wasn't only referring to our first meeting when I said that you're beautiful."
His smile quirks up into something tender, a secret expression reserved only for you. ...At this rate, your curiousity was really going to be the death of you.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
a/n: i need to write more firelord zuko stat. he looks so good and still so awkward my childhood crush has been reignited.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: pre-otw!michael jackson x blackfem!reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: stifled by the suffocating pressures of fame, you offer an escape for michael, an after-hours date at the local roller rink. amidst the flashing neon lights, smooth hardwood floors, and the heavy funk groove of chaka khan, their playfulness shifts into something far deeper.
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: friends turned to secret romance?, fluff, smut, mutual loss of virginity, consent is key, michael being sweet, but ends up being a freak, cunnilingus (f.receiving), unprotected p in v (practice safe sex please!), don't worry he pulls out in time, reader is thicc.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6k
𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was supposed to be a double post but i finished late asf. i like to try out different aspects of black women in my writing so having a plus sized woman as the reader was a no brainer. don't worry, mikey knows how to handle it all. also, i know that i've put '70s michael out back to back, but if you can't tell; its one of my favorite eras of his. and obviously i know he definitely did not lose his virginity during this time period, but there’s something about two twenty year olds being so in love and lost within one another that they explore sexuality. i'm also gonna drop the song that's used in the story if you wanna hear it. rufus and chaka khan have a special place in my heart. as usual, if you have requests, hit me up! :)
June 16, 1979
The engine of the rented, unpretentious Chevy Nova purred softly against the curb of Hayvenhurst, its dark green paint bleeding into the shadows of the overhanging oak trees. It was just past eleven o’clock on a warm june night. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the faint, sweet tang of exhaust.
Inside the car, you gripped the steering wheel, your heart doing a rhythmic tap-dance against your ribs. You adjusted the rearview mirror, checking your reflection under the dim dome light. Your afro was picked out perfectly, a soft, rounded halo that framed your face. You wore a pair of high-waisted, fitted denim shorts that hugged your curves, paired with vibrant orange and yellow striped halter top that tied securely behind your neck. You looked good–curvy, soft, and distinctly, undeniably ‘70s.
A shadow darted from the side gate of the Jackson family home. The figure was slender, wearing an oversized, floppy newsboy cap pulled low, a corduroy jacket despite the warmth, and thick-rimmed glasses that obscured half of his face. He moved with a dancer’s innate grace, even while trying to appear small.
The passenger door opened, and Michael slipped inside, closing it with a muted thud. For a second, he sat rigid, peering through the windshield to ensure no cameras or overzealous fans had materialized from the bushes. When the street remained quiet, he let out a long, shuddered breath, his shoulders dropped a full two inches.
He turned to you, and the most radiant, brilliant smile broke across his face, instantly melting the tension in the car.
“Hey,” he whispered, his voice soft, high-pitched, and laced with that distinct, gentle sweetness that defined him outside the recording studio. “We made it. I can’t believe I actually sneaked out.”
“I told you I had it covered,” you laughed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. His skin was warm, his fingers long and elegant. “You ready for a real night out, honey? No bodyguards, no press, no autograph books. Just you and me.”
Michael laughed, a high, fluttering sound that made your chest ache with affection. He pulled off the ridiculous glasses and tossed the newsboy cap into the backseat to reveal his beautiful, tight afro and those deep, expressive brown eyes. He was twenty years old, at the absolute peak of his youthful radiant beauty, yet he so rarely got to just live it.
“Man, you don’t even know,” Michael said, turning in the vinyl seat to face you, his eyes scanning your appearance. A soft, distinct blush crept up his high cheekbones, and his gaze lingered on the soft swell of your chest beneath the halter top before dropping to the curve of your thighs. “You look… wow.” You look really beautiful, girl. Serious. That outfit is just… far out.”
“Thank you, Mike,” you said, feeling an intense flush of heat rise up your neck that had absolutely nothing to do with the California summer. “You don’t look too bad yourself, even in that disguise. Now hold onto to your seat. We’re going to the rink.”
As you shifted the Chevy into drive and pulled away from the curb, Michael reached down and turned up the volume on the radio. A heavy bassline filled the cabin, and within seconds, his right foot was tapping a frantic rhythm against the floorboard, his fingers drumming a complex, syncopated beat against his knee. He looked out of the passenger window, watching the neon signs of los angeles bleed together in a blur of gold and electric blue.
“It’s just so nice,” he murmured softly, almost to himself, his eyes reflecting the passing streelights. “To not have to be ‘Michael Jackson’ for a few hours. To just be Mike. People… they don’t see me as a real person sometimes, y’know? They just see the records, or the television shows. But with you… it’s different. Thank you for doing this for me.”
“You deserve to be a normal twenty-year-old, Michael,” you replied gently, taking one hand off the wheel to place it flat against his thigh. The denim of his jeans was rough beneath your palm, but the muscle underneath was solid and warm. “Tonight, you’re not a superstar. You’re just a guy out on a date with a girl who really, really likes him.”
He placed his larger hand directly over yours, intertwining his long fingers with yours, pressing your palm closer against his leg. “I like you too. A whole lot. More than I probably say. It’s just… sometimes I get real nervous around girls. But not with you. Well, maybe just a little bit right now,” he confessed with a shy, breathless laugh.
The venue was called The Cosmic Roller, a local slightly tucked-away spot nestled in a valley strip mall. On a typical Friday night, the place would be packed to the gills with teenagers and young adults sweating under black lights, the air thick with the smell of cheap concessions and teenage hormones. But tonight, the asphalt parking lot was completely empty, illuminated only by a single, buzzing sodium light.
You had pulled some massive favors–and spent a considerable portion of your savings to rent the entire venue out for three hours after closing. The manager, an older gentleman who had been a fan of the Jackson 5 since their early Motown days, had promised absolute discretion, leaving the back employee door unlocked and the main system primed for your arrival.
When you pulled the car around to the rear entrance and killed the engine, Michael peered out the window at the glowing neon sign of a winged roller skate in the window, his eyes wide with pure, childlike wonder.
“We really have the whole place?” he asked, turning back to you with an expression of utter disbelief. “Nobody else is gonna walk in? Not even Marlon or Randy?”
“Nobody but us, Mike. I promise. Come on.”
You grabbed your custom outdoor skates from the trunk–classic white leather with bright pink polyurethane wheels while Michael carried the brown leather rental pair the manager had left on the bench for him. Stepping inside the darkened rink was like entering a temple of pure, unadulterated funk culture.
The floor was a massive, gleaming expanse of polished hardwood, reflecting the overhead neon rings of hot pink, electric blue, and vibrant green that hovered like flying saucers above the track. The air smelled familiarly of floor wax, popcorn, and old vinyl records.
Michael practically bounded over to the carpeted benches near the rental counter, his earlier hesitation completely evaporated. He kicked off his loafers and began lacing up the high-top skates with quick, eager movements, his tongue sticking out slightly between his teeth in concentration.
“I used to skate a lot when we were younger, you know.” he said, looking up at you through his eyelashes, a playful, competitive glint dancing in his dark eyes. “Back in Gary, and when we first moved out here to Encino, Marlon and I used to tear up the rinks. I’ve got some serious moves, girl. Don’t think you’re gonna have to carry me around the floor tonight.”
“Oh, really?” You stood up, testing your balance on your wheels, your hips automatically swaying to the faint, ambient hum of the building’s amplifiers. You looked down at him, letting your eyes track the lean, elegant line of his torso, the way his black silk button-down shirt was tucked neatly into his high-waisted denim. “We’ll see about that, Jackson. Let’s see if you can keep up with a girl with a little more cushion to her pushin’.”
Michael’s jaw dropped slightly, a deep, breathless chuckle escaping him as a dark contrast to his usual high laugh. “Oh, you’re bad. You think you’re real bad, don’t you? Saying stuff like that. Man, you make my head spin.”
“I know I am,” you winked, rolling backward toward the rink entrance with effortless, practiced grace, the wheels humming smoothly against the wood.
Michael stood up, his long, slender legs slightly wobbly at first as his center of gravity adjusted to the slickness of the hardwood. He let out a dramatic, high-pitched yell, his arms flailing for a split second before he caught his balance, locking his core with the instantaneous control of a master dancer. He skated toward the track, his movements a bit stiff initially, but gaining an undeniable rhythm with every passing stride.
You rolled over to the master control booth near the edge of the floor, flipping a heavy toggle switch. Instantly, the house lights dimmed into a deep, atmospheric twilight, leaving only the vibrant, rotating neon wheels to cast long, dramatic shadows across the empty room. You pressed the heavy play button on the reel-to-reel tape deck.
The heavy, unmistakable bassline of Rufus and Chaka Khan’s “Any Love” began to throb through the massive house speakers. Chaka’s rich, velvety, impassioned voice filled the cavernous space, the slow-to-mid tempo funk groove pulsing right through the floorboards and into the soles of your feet.
Michael was already out on the floor, gliding into a wide, sweeping circle. The neon lights washed over him in successive waves–blue, then pink, then gold highlighting the sharp, gorgeous geometry of his cheekbones and the damp, shining curls of his hair. He began to catch the rhythm of the track, his shoulders dipping low, his hips swaying to the heavy plucking of the bass guitar.
“Oh, this is my jam!” He calls out, his voice echoing in the empty rink. He attempted a quick spin, his wheels clicking sharply against the wood, though he stumbled slightly at the tail end, his arms shooting out to stabilize himself against the air.
You skated out to meet him, moving with smooth strides that accentuated the fullness of your frame. Your hips rolled perfectly with the music, the denim shorts showcasing the soft curve of your backside. When you reached him, you didn’t stop; you looped tightly around his body, brushing your shoulder against his chest, leaving the scent of your perfume in his wake.
“You call that a spin?” you teased, looking back over your shoulder with a playful smile. “Come here, let me show you how we do it on the West Coast.”
Michael skated up beside you, his breathing already a little heavy from the excitement and the physical exertion. “Show me then, big shot. Let’s see what you got.”
You reached out, taking both of his hands in yours. His palms were warm, slightly damp, his long fingers wrapping securely around your wrists. “Okay, look at my feet. You gotta keep your center of gravity low, Mike. Don’t stand up so straight. Use those hips. I know you know how to use ‘em.”
Michael laughed, his eyes fixed intently on yours, ignoring his feet entirely. “I know how to use ‘em on stage, but this is friction, girl! The floor is slippery. You trying to make me break my legs?”
“Trust me,” you murmured, stepping closer until the space between your bodies virtually disappeared. You dropped one of his hands, placing your palm flat against the small of his back, right above the waistband of his jeans. You guided him, pulling him directly into your specific rhythm. “Feel the bass. Cross your right foot over your left, then slide. There you go. Just let it flow.”
Michael followed your lead, his movements smoothing out as his natural, unparalleled sense of timing took over. He stopped overthinking the mechanics of the skates. He crossed his foot, slid and suddenly he was gliding perfectly in sync with you, his chest almost pressed flush against yours.
The proximity was dizzying. Every time the overhead neon wheel spun, it illuminated the intense, burning heat gathering in his dark eyes, mixed with raw vulnerability. He wasn’t looking at you like a casual friend anymore; he was looking at you with a deep, concentrated longing, his gaze dropping repeatedly to your lips before sliding down to the exposed skin of your collarbone and the heavy swell of your breasts lifting and falling against the tight halter top.
“You’re real good at this,” Michael whispered. His voice had dropped an octave, becoming that raspy, intimate murmur he used when he was being completely, entirely serious. He moved his hand from your waist, his long fingers sliding up the bare skin of your back, his palm resting right between your shoulder blades where the fabric tied. The heat of his touch sent a violent jolt of electricity straight down your spine.
“I have a good student,” you breathed, your wheels naturally slowing down until you were both just drifting at a snail’s pace near the center of the rink, completely enveloped in the dark, warm atmosphere and Chaka Khan’s soaring vocals.
“No, it’s not just that,” Michael said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. He stopped moving entirely, locking his skates. He pulled you a fraction of an inch closer, his chest pressing against your breasts. “It’s you. The way you move, girl. You got so much rhythm, so much soul. It drives me crazy, y’know? Just watching you walk down the street drives me wild. It makes me feel… real grown up, but real scared too.”
“Michael…” you whispered, your hand resting on his shoulders. The fabric of his shirt was thin, and you could feel the rapid, hard thud of his heart hammering against his ribs. You shared that exact fear, the electric terror of the unknown.
“I mean it,” he said, his voice thick with a sudden, heavy emotion. “I spend all day with people telling me what to do, who to be, how to sing. But when I’m with you… I just feel so free. Like I can breathe. And you look so beautiful tonight. I can’t stop looking at you. I don’t want to look at anything else.”
He leaned down, his face inches from yours. You could smell the sweet, clean scent of his cologne mixed with the faint, musky heat of his skin. His lips, full, soft, and slightly parted, brushed against yours in a teasing light soft ghost of a kiss.
Before you could close the gap to deepen it, Michael attempted to shift his weight to bring both arms completely around your waist. His rear wheel caught a microscopic groove in the hardwood floor.
“Whoa—!”
He lost his footing, his long arms flailing. In a sudden panic, he grabbed onto your waist for dear life. But your center of gravity was already compromised by the sudden shift. With a loud yell and a chaotic, echoing clatter of wheels against the wood, both of you went down.
You hit the floor with a dull, heavy thud, landing squarely on your backside, which fortunately provided plenty of natural padding against the impact. Michael landed right over you, his long legs tangling completely with yours, his hand planting firmly on the hardwood floor on either side of your head to prevent his full weight from crushing you.
For a long second, the massive rink was completely silent save for the echoing music of Rufus and Chaka Khan, the horn section currently blaring a triumphant, funky solo through the overhead speakers.
You looked up at Michael. His hair was slightly mussed, a few tight curls falling over his forehead, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with surprise, and then, the pure absurdity of the moment hit him.
He burst into a loud, uninhibited roar of laughter. It was a deep, infectious belly laugh, the kind he rarely let out when the cameras were rolling. He collapsed forward slightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his chest vibrating intensely against yours as he laughed until his ribs ached.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, his hot breath tickling the sensitive skin of your collarbone. “Oh man! Did you see that? I totally wiped out! The great Michael Jackson, flat on his face in front of a pretty girl!”
You laughed too, your hands automatically coming up to wrap around his back, holding his slender, muscular frame close to you. “I told you to keep your center of gravity low, Jackson! You got cocky because Chaka came on!”
“I did, I did,” he chuckled, lifting his head slowly. But as his eyes traveled down to meet yours, the laughter died instantly in his throat.
The position you were in was intimate. You were flat on your back, your legs spread slightly with his torso positioned right between them. The friction of the fall had caused your halter top to shift slightly sideways, exposing a deep, tantalizing glimpse of your full cleavage. Your hips were pinned flat beneath his, and through the heavy denim of his jeans, you could feel a distinct, rigid hardness pressing right against your pelvic bone.
The mood in the vacant rink shifted instantly, the playful energy evaporating into something thick, heavy, and suffocatingly hot. The rotating neon wheel above turned a deep, seductive crimson, casting a red, primal glow over the sharp lines of Michael’s face.
Michael’s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating until they were almost completely black, swallowing the brown. His breath hitched, his lips parting as he stared down at your mouth. His hands, still planted on the floor, twitched against the wood. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted his weight, pressing his groin down just a fraction of an inch into your softness. A nervous tremor ran through his frame, a silent acknowledgement that neither of you had ever been this close to anyone before.
A soft, involuntary gasp escaped your lips, your hips tilting up slightly in response.
“Mike…” you breathed, your voice trembling with a sudden, overwhelming need, your own heart thudding in time with the anxiety of the unknown.
“You’re so soft,” he whispered, his voice completely stripped of its usual boyishness. It was deep, gravelly, and dripping with a raw, adult desire that made your stomach clench. “Every time I touch you, you’re just so soft and warm. It’s all I think about when I’m in the studio. It’s all I dream about. But… I don’t want to mess up, y’know? I want to make it nice for you.”
“You won’t mess up, Mike,” you whispered back, tracing the line of his jaw. “We can just go slow.”
He lowered his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your earlobe. A violent shiver tore through your entire body. He licked a wet slow path up your jawline, his tongue warm and rough, before his mouth finally crashed against yours.
The kiss wasn’t just passionate; it was an exploration of two people learning the contours of desire together. It was hungry, desperate, filled with the pent-up frustration of months of longing, of secret glances in crowded recording rooms, of quick, stolen touches backstage. Michael’s tongue slid into your mouth, deep and demanding, swirling against yours with a possessive tempo that mimicked the heavy funk beat pulsing through the floorboards.
You groaned into his mouth, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down as hard as you could. Your thighs clamped around his hips, your heavy skates providing a strange, grounding weight that anchored you to him on the hard floor.
Michael groaned—a deep, guttural sound from the back of his throat that made you wet between your legs. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild and unfocused as he looked down at you, the heavy weight of his innocence and yours hovering in the air.
“Not out here,” he panted, his chest heaving against your breasts. “Someone… what if the manager comes back early? What if someone sees us through the glass? I want to be alone with you. Really alone.”
“The manager’s office,” you whispered, your hands reaching up to cup his face, your thumb rubbing over the smooth, warm skin of his cheekbone. “He said it’s unlocked. In the back, past the arcade games.”
Michael didn’t say another word. He scrambled to his feet, his skates clicking loudly and frantically against the hardwood. He reached down, grabbing both of your hands, and hauled you up with a surprising, wiry strength. Without letting go of your hand, he began rolling toward the back of the rink, his movements urgent, completely discarding any pretense of smooth skating.
You followed him, your heart hammering violently against your ribs, the thrill of the illicit encounter making your blood feel like liquid fire.
The manager’s office was small, cluttered, and dimly lit by a single desk lamp casting a warm amber glow over wood-paneled walls, green filing cabinets, and old concert posters from the early ‘70s. A large, worn leather sofa sat against the far wall, looking ancient but deep and comfortable.
The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Michael threw the deadbolt lock. He turned around, and before you could even draw a full breath, he pinned your body against the heavy wooden door.
His mouth crashed onto yours again, harder this time, his hands flying directly to your waist. He gripped your fleshy hips, his fingers digging deep into your skin, molding your curves to his body. He lifted you slightly, and because you were still wearing your roller skates, the heavy pink wheels scraped against the wood of the door, providing a strange, rough friction that forced your pelvis directly against his rigid length.
“Mm, god,” Michael groaned against your lips, his hips rolling forward in a slow grind that made you whimper. He was rock-hard now, the thick, unyielding length of his dick burning through his denim right into your sensitive core. “You feel so good. You don’t even know what you do to me, girl. You drive me crazy. I’m… man, I’m shakin’ inside.”
“Me too, Mike,” you confessed against his mouth, your breath hot. “It’s okay. It’s just us.”
“I want to see you,” he whispered hoarsely, his breath hot against your skin. His long, nimble fingers moved to the back of your neck. With a quick, deft pull, he untied the strings of your halter top. The fabric fell away instantly, exposing your full, heavy breasts to the warm amber light of the office.
Michael let out a low, shaky breath, his eyes wide as he looked at you. “Look at you… you’re so beautiful. s’full. Look at all this woman. You’re perfect. I’ve never… I’ve never seen anyone like you before.”
He reached out, his warm, large palms cupping the undersides of your breasts, lifting them. His thumbs brushed repeatedly over your nipples, which hardened instantly under his touch. You let out a loud cry, your hands flying to his hair, weaving through the tight, soft curls of his afro as he leaned down and took one dark nipple into his mouth.
He sucked heavily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before drawing the entire aureole past his lips. The sensation was so intense, so raw, that your knees buckled. If he hadn’t been holding you tightly against the door, you would have slid right down to the floorboards.
“Mike, oh my god, Mike—”
He switched to the other breast, his teeth grazing the tip, his hand sliding down to the button of your denim shorts. He popped it open with one hand, the zipper rasping loudly in the quiet room. He shoved his hand down into your panties, his palm cupping your warm mound.
You were already soaking wet, the heat and slickness of your pussy coating his fingers the moment he slid them past the cotton barrier. Michael let out a triumphant, ragged gasp into your skin, his fingers twitching slightly with a burst of sweet, nervous energy as he encountered your wetness for the first time.
“Oh, you’re so wet for me, girl.” he purred, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.
His fingers moved tentatively, parting your lips to find your clit hidden underneath. He stroked it once, twice, his long finger applying just the right amount of pressure as he paid close attention to the way your body reacted.
You screamed into the empty room, your body convulsing against him. The heavy wheels of your skates rolled back and forth against the bottom of the door, a frantic, rhythmic clicking sound that filled the small space.
“Come here,” he panted, breaking away from your chest. He took your hand and guided you over the leather sofa.
You collapsed onto the cracked leather, your legs sprawling over the edge, your skates dangling off the side. Michael immediately dropped to his knees on the floor between your thighs. He didn’t care about the dust, he didn’t care about his clothes; his entire focus was fixed on the space between your legs, his expression a mix of absolute devotion and quiet anxiety.
He gripped your thighs, pushing them wide apart. The amber lamp light caught the wet, glistening sheen of your pussy.
“Michael…” you murmured, a sudden wave of self-consciousness hitting you as you looked down at your soft, curvy stomach and the fullness of your thighs. “The light… and I… I haven’t ever done this before, Mike. With anyone.”
He looked up, his expression melting into something incredibly tender and fiercely protective. “Don’t you dare hide from me. You’re perfect. You hear me? Every single inch of you is perfect. And… I haven’t either. You’re my first, too. That’s why I want to see everything. I want to just be you and me, learning each other.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He leaned forward, burying his face in your pussy.
The first touch of his tongue was a broad, wet, slightly hesitant stroke from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit. You shrieked, your hands gripping the leather cushions so hard your nails dug into the seams.
Michael was a performer; he understood rhythm, tempo, and control and even in his inexperience, his natural instinct took over. His tongue became a weapon of pure pleasure, darting in and out of your pussy, tasting your sweetness, before focusing entirely on your swollen clit. He sucked it into his mouth, using a firm suction that had you writhing beneath him.
“Oh god, Michael! Yes, right there, please!”
He moaned against your wet skin, the vibration of his voice sending ripples of pleasure straight to your pussy. While his mouth continued its relentless assault, he slid two long, slender fingers inside you.
You were incredibly tight, a pure testament to your shared innocence, but so slick that his fingers slid in all of the way to the knuckles with ease. He hooked his fingers upward, finding the magical, ribbed spot inside you, and began to pump them in a fast, wicked pace that perfectly matched the frantic pace of your breathing.
The combination was too much. The heavy leather couch, the warm amber light, the distant, muffled sound of Chaka Khan singing about love, and Michael Jackson worshipping your body between your legs.
Your hips began to thrust wildly against his face, your skates kicking out into the empty air of the office.
“I’m gonna cum, Mike! I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” he growled against your flesh, his fingers accelerating, his tongue swirling frantically. “Cum for me, girl. Give it all to me. I got you.”
With a loud, broken cry, your body shattered. Your walls clamped down violently around his fingers, and your core spasmed in a powerful, prolonged orgasm that had you shaking from head to toe. Michael didn’t pull away; he held you tight, drinking in your slick, his tongue catching every drop until your whimpers finally subsided into soft, panting gasps.
Michael stood up slowly, his face flushed; his lips wet and shining in the dim light. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with an unresolved hunger. He stood over you, his hands flying to the buttons of his shirt, ripping them open with an urgency that sent a tiny plastic button flying across the room, clicking against the filing cabinet.
He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, revealing his lean, beautifully sculpted torso. His skin was smooth, his chest glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. He quickly unbuckled his belt and pushed his jeans and briefs down, kicking them away.
When he stood before you fully naked, your breath caught. He was magnificent–lean, muscular, and beautifully, heavily endowed. His dick standing proud and rigid, your eyes taking the time to trace over every vein as it trembled slightly with anticipation and the sheer gravity of what was about to happen.
He climbed onto the sofa, hovering over you. He grabbed your waist, pulling your hips to the very edge of the cushions. He lifted your legs, draping your heavy, skated feet over his shoulders. The cold metal of the skate trucks rested against his bare collarbones, but he didn’t care. The added lift gave him the perfect angle into your soft, welcoming body.
“Look at me,” Michael whispered, his voice trembling as he guided the tip of his dick against your still-throbbing entrance. He rested his forearms on either side of your head, his face inches from yours. A sudden wave of nervousness washed over his features, his chest heaving. “Are you sure? Does it feel okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”
You looked up at him, your vision slightly blurry with tears of pleasure, your own heart racing with the beautiful finality of the moment. “I’m sure, Michael. Please. I want it to be you.”
He pushed forward.
He went slow at first, stretching your tight walls, his eyes closing tightly as a low groan tore from his chest. The barrier of your shared virginity resisted for a brief second before giving way, a sharp intake of breath leaving your lips as he slipped deeper. “Oh, man… you’re s’tight… s’warm… hold on, just hold onto me, girl…”
He paused, burying his face in your neck, letting both of your bodies adjust to the sudden, overwhelming fullness. You wrapped your arms tightly around his back, feeling the tense, solid muscles of his shoulders. After a few long, quiet breaths, the initial sting faded, replaced by a deep, pulsing warmth.
“You okay?” he whispered against your skin, his voice incredibly gentle.
“Yes, Mike. I’m okay. Move… please, move.”
He pushed deeper, his hips sinking down until he was buried completely to the hilt inside of you, his hips crashing against yours. The fullness of the sensation was overwhelming. You let out a long, breathless wail, your hands wrapping around his biceps, feeling the hard, flexed muscle beneath your fingers.
Then, he began to move.
He started with long, slow, agonizingly deep strokes, careful and protective at first. Every time he pulled out almost completely, he would pause before plunging back in, driving himself deep into your pussy. As the rhythm settled, his confidence grew, the soft, fleshy curve of your thighs gripping his hips, creating a tight, suctioned seal that made every stroke sound wet and loud in the quiet office.
“Ah… yes, Mike… just like that,” you chanted, your head tossing from side to side on the leather cushions.
His rhythm began to speed up, shifting from a slow groove to a fast, frantic funk beat as the initial nervousness dissolved into pure passion. He was losing control, his usual precision giving way to pure, unbridled animal instinct. He gripped your hips harder, his fingers leaving marks on your skin as he slammed into you, his breathing turning into a series of sharp, guttural pants.
“You’re mine tonight,” he whispered, his eyes opening, burning into yours with a possessive intensity that made you tremble. “Nobody else… just us. You feel so good… damn, you feel so good.”
The heavy wheels of your skates, still draped over his shoulders, rattled with every heavy thrust of his hips. The strange, industrial sound of the skates mixed with the wet slapping of your bodies and the desperate, breathless noises you were both making created a symphony of pure passion.
You could feel the tension building inside him, the way his muscles locked up, the skin of his back turning hot and damp. Your own orgasm was rushing back, triggered by the relentless, hard pounding against your g-spot.
“Michael, I’m close! I’m–oh my god!”
“Me too,” he gasped, his thrusts becoming short, fast, and incredibly deep. He buried his face in your neck, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he gave three final, devastating thrusts. “I’m gonna… oh god, I’m gonna—!”
He drove himself in as deep as he could go and held himself there. He finally came to his senses as a loud, ragged scream tore from your throat, your muscles clamping down on him that drew another desperate groan from his lips. You were so caught up in your orgasm, you could barely feel him pulling out of you until you felt ropes of his cum against the plush flesh of your thighs and the curve of your stomach, desperate groans leaving his lips.
For a long time, neither of you moved. He remained over you, his entire weight resting heavily on your soft body, his heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs. The office was completely silent now, save for the sound of your combined breathing.
Slowly, Michael eased himself off of you and as he slid down onto the floor beside the couch and pulled his legs up to his chest, utterly spent but wearing a massive smile. You sat up slowly, your body aching in the most delicious way possible. You reached down and began the awkward task of unlacing your skates, tossing the heavy leather boots onto the floor with a loud clunk. Your feet felt light, your toes curling against the cool air.
You slid off the couch and sat on the floor right next to Michael, leaning your head against his bare shoulder.
He immediately wrapped his long arm around you, pulling you against his chest. He reached over and with his free hand, grabbing his discarded shirt, and gently wiped away the stray droplets of sweat and his cum from your thighs and stomach, his movements tender.
He looked down at you, his eyes soft, gentle and filled with profound, peaceful quiet that you had never seen in him before. The frantic energy of the pop star was completely gone, replaced by a young man who felt safe, loved, and entirely whole after crossing the threshold into adulthood with the person he trusted most.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, kissing the top of your afro, his voice full of concern. “Did I… was it okay for your first time?”
“I’m better than okay, Mike,” you smiled, looking up at him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “It was perfect. That was… far out.”
Michael let out a soft, beautiful laugh, his nose crinkles showing a massive wave of relief washed over him. “Yeah. It really was. Out of this world. Man, I was so scared I’d do something wrong, but you just… you made it so easy.”
He looked around the room, at the scattered clothes, the heavy skates on the floor and the dim light. He tightened his grip on you, pulling you so close you could feel the steady, calming sound of his breathing.
“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice dropping into that sweet, sincere tone. “For the date. For everything. I don’t think I’ve ever been happy like this before. Just…being me. Being a man with you.”
“You can always be just you with me, Michael,” you said, turning to kiss his chest right over his heart. “Anytime you need to escape, I’ll have the keys ready.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that, girl,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut as he drifted into a peaceful, contented state of rest, completely wrapped up in the warmth of your embrace while the faint, distant sounds of the ‘70s night hummed outside the office door.
CONCEPT. Expanding on my Fatu Chronicles fics and creating an actual story behind it. Going with the flow on this one so expect quick and easy chapters.
TAGS/WARNINGS. Unedited asf, mature content, 18+, MDNI, public sex, loud sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, slight humiliation if you squint, p in v, exposure, strong language, cussing, filming/capturing sexual interaction, non consensual filming/capturing sexual interaction, etc.
A/N. Wanna check out the original fics? Click here for part one. Click here for part two.
Singing along to BMF by SZA, Deja pulls up to her apartment gate in her navy blue Lexus ES 350. The concierge, an older gentleman named Mr. Stephenson, waves to her with his hat.
“Good evening, Miss Deja,” he cheerfully greets, “back from the vet, I see.”
“Yes sir, she’s all vaccinated and healthy,” Deja giggles, rolling down her back window to reveal a spotted Frenchie puppy with a pink harness on, already barking in excitement. “Uh, now you know you supposed to be laying down and not jumping all on my door.”
“Aw, she’s just excited to be home,” Mr. Stephenson coos, patting his pocket to pull out a few treats. He lets the puppy eat out of one hand and pets her with the other. “You are so brave letting that big, mean old vet give you shots, Francine. Oh yes, you are!” Deja sighs, but couldn’t stop the smile from watching this man, damn near in his 70s, fawn over a tiny French bulldog. Another car pulls up, prompting him to step back reluctantly. “Well, guess I'd better get back to my job. Welcome home, Miss Deja, Miss Francine. And in case I don’t see you until tomorrow, have a great night too!”
Deja waves as Mr. Stephenson allows the gates to open, Francine already whining from the lack of attention. “Night, Mr. Stephenson!”
She keeps driving around the bend until she gets to her parking spot, gathering her purse and keys before opening the backseat. She attaches a leash to Francine’s harness and sets the puppy on the ground, locking her car before walking her inside.
Deja gets on the elevator and rides it to the third floor, guiding the rambunctious Frenchie to her apartment. She unlocks her door and unclips the leash, letting Francine run free inside. Deja follows and locks the door behind her, setting her belongings on the kitchen island.
Desperate to get out of her day clothes, Deja strips and steps into a pair of red shorts and a white fitted crop top. Strolling back into her living room area, she sprawls across the sofa, reaching down to pick up and place Frenchie onto her lap before scrolling her Netflix to find something to watch.
About a month and a half ago, Deja and Francine moved into a new luxury apartment on her 25th birthday. Deja had been eyeing the spot since they started construction, but never made a move because she was already renting a studio apartment downtown, and it was way more convenient to walk everywhere. But due to rising rent prices and an extremely well-timed move-in special, she was able to score a spot. The place was everything she dreamed of, with its modern amenities, stunning views, and a sense of privacy she had never experienced before.
“Fuckkkk, baby right there!”
Deja jumped at the sound before immediately rolling her eyes and groaning.
As amazing as this place was, ever since she moved into the complex, there was one issue that quickly became apparent: her next-door neighbors.
To put it bluntly, they have sex. Very loud, passionate, frequent sex. So frequently that Deja was quickly aware of how thin her walls were during the first hour of move in before her furniture had even made it out the U-haul.
She could hear every moan, every whisper, every smack of bare skin of their activities. No sleep was gotten that first night, and any sleep after that was only achieved after one of them went to work or after an alarming amount of wine was consumed.
A week after moving in, Deja had finally decided to complain to her landlord, who only sighed and rubbed his temples, promising to talk to them, but Deja could tell from his tone that he had done this before and it had never worked.
She talked to other neighbors and members of the community, who all shared the same frustrations, yet no real solutions emerged. She couldn’t be moved since all units were full, and Naomi and Jimmy, whose names she learned from moans and cries alone, seemingly weren’t ever going to be kicked out despite her numerous complaints.
“I’m making that pussy talk, baby?”
“Yes, Daddy, she’s talking!”
“I wish she would shut the fuck up,” Deja scoffs to herself, setting her fur baby aside and getting up to make her way to the pantry to open yet another bottle of wine.
About halfway through her bottle, Deja had tried to distract herself by teaching Francine some tricks and playing tug of war, but that just tired her out, and soon she was out like a light, legs and ears twitching now and then. So instead Deja moves onto something different, whether it be watching a movie, blasting music, playing video games; it was all a great idea for a temporary fix, but nothing would work to distract her mind from her hunching neighbors.
By the time it was 1 AM, Naomi and Jimmy has been going at it for at least three hours now.
No matter what she did, no matter how high the volume, they were louder. It’s like they were competing with her to see who could be the loudest, and they were the reigning champions.
Desperate for some peace and quiet, Deja rips off the covers of her bed and grabs her house keys. She storms her way into the hallway and to the door to her left where the culprits of her horrible temper lived.
Deja's fist connected with the door with a thud, her knuckles aching from the impact. She didn't care, though. She was angry, and she wanted them to know it. "Hello?!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the hallway. "Can you keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep!"
She waited, but the only response was more moaning and grunts. She pounded on the door again, harder this time. "Hello?!" she shouted again. "Can you hear me?!"
Two more minutes of yelling and knocking passed before the door opened to reveal a tall Samoan man, his hair disheveled and his chest bare, showing off his sweat covered tatted skin. He thankfully was wearing a pair of grey sweats and looked surprised to see her, but he didn't seem all that embarrassed.
"Hey, what’s up," he said, his voice casual, like they were old friends. "What can I do for you?"
Deja was taken aback by his casualness. "What can you do for me? What y’all can do is keep it down some, I got work in a few hours and I’m tryna get some sleep,” she said, her voice firm.
Silence rang out in the hallway, the first twinge of silence she got since she came back home, as Jimmy blinks down at her, his face blank.
Deja could feel her blood pressure rising as she smacked her teeth, “Um, hello??”
Jimmy blinks again, “Hm?”
“Hm?” Deja repeated hands on her hips, “Fuck you mean hm? I said can you fucking keep it down some?” He snorts but still didn’t say much, which pissed Deja off even more. She glares at him before realizing he wasn’t even looking at her. “What, did she squirt in your ears or something? And what the fuck is you staring at?”
This seemingly brought Jimmy out of whatever clouds he was in mentally because suddenly his eyes snapped back into hers and he matches her annoyed expression.
“You the one banging on my door early in the morning all barefoot and bra less and you expect me not to stare at you?”
Deja froze and quickly glanced down at herself. She had been so laser focused on confronting the couple that she didn’t even notice her appearance.
Sure enough, when she looked down she didn’t have anything on her feet but an anklet on her right foot.
And while Jimmy couldn’t tell she wasn’t wearing any underwear, he definitely could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra due to her underboob peaking out from her top riding up a bit. Her areoles were also on half display and her nipples were slightly poking out against the cotton fabric.
Blue screened and embarrassed, it takes Deja a moment for her to yank down her crop and fold her arms over her breasts in an attempt to hide them. Heat floods her neck and cheeks as she stammers, trying to retain her firm tone.
“W-well it’s basic human decency!”
“So is not having your titties on full display, not that I’m complaining.”
“They were not on full display. I would have payed attention to my appearance if I weren’t so focused on trying to get you two to shut the hell up.” She shifts on her feet, suddenly self conscious about her position in the hallway. “And you can’t give me a lecture on human decency when your girlfriend is out here screaming bloody murder.”
“Then it sounds like we’re even on human decency to me,” Jimmy shrugs, looking back into his apartment before chuckling. “Aye mamas–”
“Deja.”
“Deja,” Jimmy corrects, “We’ll keep it down some, okay? Sorry to keep you up.”
Jimmy and Deja stare at each other, one smiling and one glaring, before the latter relents and turns on her heel.
Just then, a pair of arms comes from behind and wraps around Jimmy’s torso. Naomi peeks over his shoulder and watches Deja stomp back to her apartment, the words ‘Hot Girl’ plastered across her mini shorts which was barely containing her bubble butt from bouncing with each step.
Deja unlocks her door before cutting her eyes back towards Jimmy who was also staring at her ass. She quickly flips him off before walking in and slamming the door.
“She seems nice,” Naomi giggles, “If only you weren’t gawking like an idiot.”
Jimmy rolls his eyes. “Baby, if you saw how they were sitting, you’d probably stare too.”
“I tried too, but your big overgrown ass was in the way.”
Jimmy turns around and faces Naomi who stood completely naked, hair a complete mess. “Could have told me to move.”
“Yeah, I probably would have scared her off,” Naomi gestures to her body before wrapping her arms around him, their bare chests pressing up against each other. “We done for tonight or you wanna go again?”
“As much as I’d love to see our hot new neighbor, I don’t think she’ll bless us again.”
“What a shame,” Naomi hums, placing a slow and gentle kiss on Jimmy’s cheek. He quickly turns and catches her lips with his, engaging in a wet kiss that quickly becomes more.
He reaches down and picks her up, her bare pussy pressed against his sweatpants. She locks her legs around him, grinding against his print as he walks back into the house, kicking their door closed.
Deja still heard the rapid tapping of their bed frame against her wall, but aside from that it was she was able to get a quick lick of sleep, so she took that as a win.
The following morning, Deja was getting ready for work when a quick knock was heard from her door. She walked over and opened it, but no one was there. The only remnants of the person who knocked was a small Target bag tied up with a note stapled to it. Confused, Deja bends down and picks it up, reading it aloud.
“Dear Deja, we’re for the noise and for keeping you up. Here’s something that could help, Naomi and Jimmy from 3B. PS, the receipt is under your mat.” She carefully unties the bag and scoffs, “Are we fucking serious?”
There in the bag was an unopened box of noise canceling Bluetooth headphones as well as some doggy earbuds and an ‘I’m Sorry’ card. Deja had half a mind to knock on their door just to throw the bag in the face of whoever answered, but she heard the elevator door close when she stepped out, so she knew they weren’t home.
Instead, she lifts up her mat and snatches up the receipt. She goes back into her apartment and takes pictures of the items before texting them to her best friend, Jade. Aggravated, she hurriedly leashes Francine and goes downstairs to the parking lot.
By the time she dropped her baby off at the doggy daycare and was headed to work, her phone lit up with an incoming call from Jade which she immediately accepts and placed on speaker.
“Bitch, I know you fucking lying to me!”
“Girl I wish I was,” Deja hisses while waiting on a red light, “I asked them to quit fucking all the damn time and they just gonna send me some fucking headphones?!”
“Nasty motherfuckers,” Jade tutted, “sex ain’t even that good for real, they gotta just be bored or something.”
“Well then they need to pick up a hobby or do some puzzles because the fucking audacity.” Pulling up to her job, Deja takes a few sips of her water before pulling down her visor mirror, assessing her face. “I’m getting bags under my eyes now.”
Jade hums and takes a moment to call her daughter down for breakfast. “You know you can always borrow some makeup from me, and if you need some peace and quiet, you can crash at my place.”
“I know, I shouldn’t have to do that though. But I’m gonna go ahead and go in before my supervisor starts blowing up my phone. Tell babygirl I said good morning, love you!” They exchange goodbyes and hang up the phone.
As Deja walks up to her apartment, Francine in her arms, she notices it’s eerily quiet.
No moaning. No grunting. No bumping.
Absolutely no noise.
Normally this would set off alarm bells for her, but Deja had a horrible day at work and wanted nothing more than to lay down and take a long nap.
And so, she did. She made sure Frenchie had fresh water and toys and jumped into bed, work clothes be damned. It was the first true rest she had since she came to the apartment, and she wasn’t going to let it pass.
Deja was able to get almost three hours in before a large bang woke her up. She sat straight up in the dark, her half-awake brain rushing to catch up as more and more bangs and grunts were heard. Twenty seconds later, it finally registered that what she was hearing was the unmistakable sound of her neighbors having sex.
Months and months of sleep deprivation, annoyance, and anger ignited all at once inside of Deja.
She immediately rose off her sofa, tripping in the darkness until she turned on her light. Making her way to her bedroom, she snatched up her duffel bag she typically used for the gym and dumped it all onto her bed. Quickly, she grabbed whatever tops, bottoms, and underwear she can find and threw them in the bag.
“Fucking freaky ass, horny ass motherfuckers,” she cussed out loud, each word increasing in volume, “can’t get no sleep, can’t get no fucking peace and quiet, what the fuck?!”
Zipping the bag shut so hard, she damn near broke it, Deja calls for Francine and picks up the puppy, not even bothering to grab her leash or really anything else aside from her water and food bowl. Hands full, she manages to open her door and slam it behind her, rushing down the stairs and to her car.
She drops her bag on the ground, unlocking her car and placing the frenchie on the front passenger seat. She pauses for a moment to tap at her phone, placing a call to Jade.
“Hey, my girl,” Jade cheerfully answered, “I got Journee in the car with me.”
“Take me off speaker,” Deja demanded.
“Damn… okay,” Jade said, before lowering her voice, “Okay… you off… what happened?”
Deja walks around and opens her trunk, throwing her items in there. “Girl, no! They up here fucking again! I literally cannot take this shit anymore, I’m on the way to your house right fucking now.”
“Are you serious, again?! Girl, how many complains have you put in about these folks? Like at this point you gotta go to the higher ups.”
“Too damn many, and I’ve tried that already and no one has gotten back to me yet! Like I really don’t wanna break my lease but god damn is it fucking hard not to right now.”
“Oh no ma’am, we already losing sleep, we not gonna lose money over them too. Me and babygirl are not even five minutes from the house, just come spend the night or however many you need.”
Slamming her trunk shut, Deja sighs and rubs her temples. “I shouldn’t even have to fucking do this but whatever. I’ll spend the night but I’m gonna be at that office first thing tomorrow. Like as soon as they open, I’m gonna—“
“Oooh, Jimmy right there! Don’t fucking stop, Daddy!”
Right as Deja was about to get into her car, her entire body froze when she heard a familiar voice. Immediately she whipped her head around, following the sound before looking up and gasping loudly.
There, on the terrance belonging to their apartment, was Jimmy and Naomi. Naomi was bent over the railing, her legs spread wide, her head thrown back in pleasure. Jimmy was behind her, his hips moving in a steady rhythm, his hands gripping her thighs. They were both fully naked, their bodies glistening with sweat.
Jimmy reached up and grabbed at Naomi’s throat, forcing her to lean back even more so he could kiss her. Their tongues clashed and rolled against each other, the loud smacking of their lips barely comparing to the wet and harsh sound of their skin connecting as Jimmy drills into her.
Deja was frozen in shock, her heart pounding in her chest. It wasn’t until she heard the faint voice of Jade saying her name when she snapped out of it, placing the phone back to her ear and whispering, "Jade, bitch I can see them! They're... they're having sex on the terrace!”
Jade scoff in disbelief and hisses, “Deja, I know you lying to me. I just know you are.”
Deja shook her head, her eyes glued to the scene before her. "No, I am not. They're... they're really going at it. I can't... I can't believe this."
Jade was silent for a moment, then she spoke, her voice filled with concern. "Deja, you need to get out of there. Just get in your car and come over. We can talk about this and figure out what to do."
“Oh I know what I’m gonna do,” Deja whispers back, pulling up her camera on her phone, “I’m gonna take a picture of they ass as proof.”
“Woah, okay time out! Deja, that’s like the last thing you should do!”
“Jade, I am sick and tired of these nasty ass folks, and can’t nobody play in my face like nothing is wrong if I show them this.”
She held up her phone, zooming in with her finger hovering over the camera button. Jade’s voice floated through the speaker, urging her not to. “Girl I know you sick of it, I’m sick of it too, but let’s just think about this for a second.”
“I’m gonna have all the time to think when they are gone from the complex.” And with that, Deja’s thumb pressed the white circle on her screen and took the picture. As soon as she did, a white light emitted from her phone and illuminated the terrace and any area surrounding it.
Jimmy, Naomi, and Deja all froze. The couple’s heads immediately whipped down to the parking lot, their eyes snapping to Deja. Deja looked down at her phone in shock and fear before looking back up at the pair.
They all stared at each other for a beat longer before Jimmy started thrusting again. Naomi gripped the railing more and slightly leaned forward, eyes fluttering.
They didn't stop fucking. If anything, they seemed to go at it harder, their moans and groans growing louder. Naomi even propped up her leg, causing Deja to get a better view of their act, all while Jimmy simply pulled and prodded at Naomi’s nipples before winking.
All Deja could feel was her heart pounding in her chest and the blood rushing to her face as she saw Jimmy’s dick going in and out of Naomi. She couldn’t see that well due to the darkness and how far away they were, but it was enough to make her quickly look away.
She turned and practically diving into her car, her mind racing with thoughts of what had just happened as she sped off.
At a red light, she noticed her hands were trembling when Francine jumped up over to lick them begging for pets. Deja simply moved her back into her seat, noticing her phone was still on the call with Jade. Deja brought the phone back up to her ear and mumbled Jade’s name.
“Thank fucking God, I have been calling your name for a while now,” Jade shouted, “What the hell happened, Deja? I am literally putting on my shoes right now.”
“I’m on the way to your house,” Deja said, her voice low like it didn’t trust itself. “I’m fine.”
“What? Are you sure? The last thing I heard was you saying you were gonna take a picture and—“
“Yeah I just,” Deja interrupted, eyes closing for a moment, “I threw my phone into my car and couldn’t find it until now. I’m at the light by Wendy’s, so I’ll be there in maybe six minutes.”
“Oh… okay. And you didn’t take that picture right?”
“No. No I didn’t.”
“…Deja.”
“I didn’t, I promise.”
Jade sighs in relief, “Okay, that’s good. I’ll see you when you get here. Drive safe, alright?”
“Yeah, okay,” Deja replied, but her mind was elsewhere, back in that parking lot, back on the terrace. She couldn’t believe what she just saw, it was like something straight out of a porno.
The way Naomi’s back was arched, the way Jimmy’s frame fully engulfed hers, how they kissed, how they moaned, how they looked down at her before they kept going… why the hell did they keep going?
Why didn’t they stop?
Why did they go faster?
Why did Naomi expose herself even more?
Why did Jimmy wink at her?
Why did–
Three short honks broke her train of thought, the red light clearly showing as green now. Deja sped off, waving in apology to the cars behind her. Some overtook her, some flipped her off, some just moved into another lane, but Deja didn’t even react to any of that.
By the time she pulled into Jade's driveway, she was taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She knew that she needed to come clean and talk to Jade, but as she took her key out the ignition and got out of the car, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, a sense that this was just the beginning of something much bigger.
→ please don't use, download, or screenshot my gifs without permission or credit! these are specially made and took time to create, so please ask first!
❝we had our downs but we had way more ups,let's make love❞
pairing — firelord zuko! x fem!earthbender!reader
synopsis — who was surprised when you and zuko were the first in the gaang to get pregnant?
content — fem!reader, mature content (17+), suggestive themes, pregnancy, mention of sex, no actual plot really, indulgent fic, takes place seven years before the legend of aang (which takes placed 12 years after ATLA) so Zuko is 22 and Reader is 21, no use of yn, not proofread
author's note — I didn't watch the leaks yet just clips and if I do I'll still be watching the movie to support the animators
The Princess of the Fire Nation, though she often felt that, as the wife of the Fire Lord, she deserved a far grander title, sat before her vanity, studying her reflection. One by one, she had dismissed her maids, choosing instead to prepare for bed on her own. In truth, the new trending fragrance they all insisted on wearing had begun to make her nauseous.
Though, lately, everything seemed to make her sick.
“Aang sent a letter.”
She hadn’t even heard him enter.
Slowly, she turned to face her husband, a faint crease forming between her brows. “My love, you spend all day in council, and the first thing you do after not seeing me for hours is talk more about the council?” she teased lightly, though there was a hint of tiredness beneath it. She turned back to the mirror, picking up her hairbrush and dragging it gently through her hair.
“Well, love, this isn’t about the council. Technically,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “It’s about Aang. He needs our help.”
“Our help?” She turned again, confusion softening her features as she rose from the vanity. Her green satin nightgown draped elegantly over her figure, the gold stitching catching the candlelight with every movement. The most prominent change, however, was the gentle, undeniable curve of her stomach.
“You knocked me up, dummy,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips as she approached him. Her hands slid to his shoulders, then to the ties of his robes, beginning to loosen them with practiced ease. “Or did you forget already?”
He laughed softly, the sound low and fond, allowing her to help him out of his robes as the fabric slipped from his shoulders.
“How could I forget?” he murmured, turning toward her.
His gaze drifted over her slowly, appreciatively, before settling on the curve of her stomach. His hands followed, almost instinctively, coming to rest there, warm, steady, protective. His thumbs brushed gentle circles over the satin, as if he could feel something deeper beneath it.
“When you carry the future of the Fire Nation inside you?” he said quietly, his voice softening. “A little piece of me…”
His eyes lifted to meet hers, something tender and unguarded flickering there.
“And all of you.”
She hummed softly, rising onto her tiptoes as her arms slipped around his neck, drawing him down to her. Her lips met his in a gentle, fleeting kiss, soft, familiar, almost teasing.
But when she tried to pull away, he didn’t let her.
His hand tightened at her waist, the other still resting protectively against her stomach as he followed her retreat, capturing her lips again before the distance could grow. Even as her heels lowered back to the floor, he bent with her, closing the space she had tried to create.
This time the kiss deepened, slower, warmer, lingering in a way that stole the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t soft either; it carried weight, intention, something unspoken between them.
His thumb brushed lightly against her side as he tilted his head, pressing closer, as if memorizing her. The world beyond them seemed to fade, the council, the letter, everything, leaving only the quiet crackle of candlelight and the steady rhythm of shared breath.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far, just enough for their foreheads to rest together, his lips still ghosting over hers, reluctant to let her go.
“I can’t get you pregnant again, can I? Double pregnant,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.
She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at him. “Oh, you’ve certainly tried,” she replied, her voice laced with amusement. Her hand lingered briefly against his chest before she stepped back, just enough to create space between them. “But don’t try again, I need this thing out of me first.” "I don't know if I love you referring to our child as a thing."
She separated from him fully then, turning slightly as if to busy herself, though she didn’t miss the way his shoulders subtly slumped at the loss of contact. The warmth between them lingered in the space she left behind, unspoken but felt.
Her fingers adjusted the sleeve of her gown absentmindedly, her expression softening for just a moment before she glanced back at him over her shoulder. There was still a hint of her earlier smile there, though now tempered with curiosity.
“Now,” she said, more gently this time, “tell me what Aang wants.”
"That can wait for the morning." He mumbled, his eyes never leaving her lips as he pulled her back into another kiss.
“A village?”
Zuko sighed, steadying Appa’s harness as he helped his wife climb aboard. “Why would he possibly want us to go to a random village?” And why would he say pack a coat? We're going to a mountain aren't we?" she huffed, gripping the edge before finally pulling herself over with a bit more effort than she liked. "I hate mountains."
He lingered below for a moment, looking up at her, concern etched into his features. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go? You can stay—I’ll be back in a couple days.”
She leaned over the edge slightly, brows knitting. “Aang needs the second-best earthbender with him, Zuko. I’m not disabled—”
She winced mid-sentence, her hand instinctively going to her stomach before she turned toward Toph. “Sorry.”
Toph shrugged easily. “Hey, I’m just glad you finally admitted I’m the better earthbender.”
“I give you your flowers when they’re due,” she shot back with a small smile.
Toph grinned, but it slowly faltered, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something no one else could hear. "Your heart must be beating really fast." "Is it?" The princess quirked her head confused. "Why else am I hearing two heartbeats coming from you?”
Katara gasped, her hands flying together in delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re pregnant! I thought your coat was just oddly bulky but you're pregnant! Oh my Gosh!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing forward to wrap the Fire Princess in a tight hug. “I thought they were just rumors, because surely you and Zuko would’ve told us!”
The princess blinked, caught off guard, before her gaze slid over to her husband, who was just now hauling himself rather ungracefully into Appa’s saddle.
“Zuko,” she said slowly, one brow arching, “I thought you told them.”
Zuko froze mid-step, staring back at her blankly. “I thought you did.”
There was a beat.
“Oh my gosh.”
“I mean, it was only a matter of time,” Katara chimed in, smiling knowingly. “You two have never exactly been subtle. And Zuko practically insisted on marrying you the moment he could.”
Toph snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, honestly? I’m surprised it took this long. Thought for sure you’d have a whole lineup of heirs by now if Zuko could keep his hands to himself for more than, what? two minutes?”
Zuko nearly choked, his face flushing a deep, unmistakable red. “That’s— I—” He cleared his throat, straightening awkwardly as he avoided everyone’s eyes. “That’s not— we’re not—”
The princess, however, looked entirely unbothered.
In fact, she looked amused.
“Well,” she said lightly, smoothing a hand over her stomach as she glanced at him, “he does have a bit of a… lack of restraint.”
Zuko snapped his head toward her. “You’re not helping.”
Katara laughed, covering her mouth. “I mean, you can’t blame them. You’ve both been—” she hesitated, searching for a polite word before giving up, “—like that since the beginning.”
Toph grinned wider. “Please. ‘Like that’ is putting it nicely.”
“Toph,” Katara warned, though she was still smiling.
“What?” Toph shrugged. “I’m just saying—half the time, I didn’t even need my feet to know when they were in the same room. The tension alone was loud enough.”
The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re all incredibly annoying.”
Zuko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we please focus on the actual reason we’re here?”
“Oh, no, no,” Toph continued, clearly enjoying herself. “You deserve this. All those nights you two kept everyone awake—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” the princess cut in quickly, though a smile tugged at her lips. She glanced at Zuko, amused. “He can’t get any redder. He’s about to turn into a tomato.”
Zuko let out a quiet, embarrassed huff, but didn’t argue, instead shifting closer and settling against her side, seeking some sense of refuge.
She softened slightly at that, her expression gentler as she let him.
“Let’s just go get Sokka,” he muttered, still avoiding everyone’s gaze.
The princess had shrugged off her coat minutes into the trip. They weren’t even close to Aang yet, and the extra weight had her uncomfortably warm, a light sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The shifting air currents around Appa did little to help.
Katara, however, had not left her alone once.
The questions came one after another, gentle but relentless, curiosity shining in her eyes.
“How far along are you?”
“Five months,” she answered, offering a tired but polite smile.
“What’s the gender?”
“No clue.”
“Any baby names lined up?”
“We’re trying for something that blends earth and fire,” she said, glancing briefly at Zuko, “but nothing’s stuck yet.”
Katara brightened. “That’s so sweet—”
“Are you going to have more?”
The princess didn’t even hesitate. “Have you met my husband?”
Katara blinked, then laughed, covering her mouth.
Zuko, meanwhile, coughed into his fist, his ears burning all over again.
Through it all, his hand never left her, resting protectively over her stomach, thumb brushing slow, absent circles as if grounding himself in her presence. Every so often, his grip would tighten slightly whenever Appa shifted, like he could somehow steady both her and the child at once.
“Careful,” he murmured under his breath at one point, guiding her subtly as the saddle dipped.
“I’m fine,” she replied, though she didn’t pull away from him.
By the time the icy waters and familiar structures of the Southern Water Tribe came into view, the air had grown colder, sharper against their skin. Snow dusted the ground below, and the distant figures of Water Tribe members began to gather, pointing up at Appa’s descending form.
They didn’t have to search long.
Sokka was already striding across the snow toward them, boots crunching loudly with each step, his grin widening the second he took them in.
“Well, well,” he called, arms spreading like he was welcoming honored guests. “Look who finally decided to show up. Took you two long enough.”
His gaze flicked between them, lingering, calculating, before it dropped.
Then paused.
“…Whoa.”
Zuko stiffened immediately. “Don’t.”
But Sokka was already circling them, slow and deliberate, like he was inspecting something fascinating. “No way. No way. You’re serious?”
The princess raised a brow, unimpressed. “Very.”
Sokka let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face before pointing straight at Zuko. “I mean, I knew you two had issues with personal space, but I didn’t think you’d go and make it this… I don't even know the word for it. You two are freaks."
Zuko groaned, already regretting coming. “Sokka.”
“What?” Sokka shrugged, smirk growing. “You expect me to ignore this? This isn't even groundbreaking it's just expected from you both knowing you. This is, this is what happens when you two get even five minutes alone, isn’t it?”
Toph let out a quiet snort.
Sokka leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it worse. “Actually, scratch that. Five minutes is probably generous.”
Zuko made a strangled noise. “Okay.”
Katara slapped a hand over her face. “Sokka—”
“No, no, I’m just connecting the dots,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “All those times you disappeared during meetings, all those ‘private discussions’ yeah, makes a lot more sense now.”
The princess tilted her head, completely unbothered. “You’re being very bold for someone standing this close to me.”
Sokka grinned. “I’m just impressed, honestly. You two had so much tension it was practically a natural disaster, and now—” he gestured vaguely toward her stomach, “—this is the aftermath. Surprised it took you this long."
Toph laughed outright at that.
Zuko looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
Sokka wasn’t done.
“I mean seriously,” he added, folding his arms, “if this is what happens when the Fire Lord gets a little too… distracted, I’m shocked there’s not a second one already on the way.”
Zuko choked. “That’s enough.”
“Hey, I’m congratulating you!” Sokka shot back. “Just saying, next time, maybe let people know before you two go off and—”
“Sokka.”
“—expand the royal family.”
Katara shoved him lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”
“But not wrong,” he corrected smoothly.
The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, he’s not entirely wrong.”
Zuko turned to her, betrayed. “You’re encouraging him.”
“We've been married for eleven months and I've been pregnant for five of them, you lack restraint Zuko” she stated bluntly, though her smile gave her away. He shook his head leaning close so only he could hear her. "Who suggested riding me in the throne ro-" "Okay hush now."
Sokka clapped his hands together once, satisfied. “Great. Now that we’ve established the Fire Lord has absolutely no self-control—”
“Sokka.”
“—can someone please tell me why Aang is dragging us to some random village?"
The teasing was warranted, deserved, even.
The Fire Nation had taken your father, your brother. Zuko’s redemption didn’t erase that. Not to you. He had hunted you, cornered you, forced you into survival more times than you could count. While the others learned to trust him, to laugh with him, to move on… you hadn’t. Not so easily.
So yeah, there had been tension.
A lot of it.
It just… hadn’t been resolved in a way anyone else approved of.
His lips brushed slowly along the inside of her thigh, unhurried, deliberate, testing, teasing. The touch alone was enough to pull a quiet, unwilling sound from her, her breath catching despite herself.
“Just do it already,” she muttered, more breath than voice, her fingers tightening against the sheets.
Zuko clicked his tongue softly, unfazed. Another kiss followed, closer this time, but still not quite where she wanted, where she needed.
“Not until you say please.”
Her head tipped back in frustration. “Why would I have to say please?” she shot back weakly. “You said you were atoning for everything your nation did. Consider this part of your apology.”
A quiet huff of amusement left him, warm against her skin. “I’ve been atoning for two months now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful.
Another slow press of his lips, lingering.
“And yet,” he added, “every morning I wake up and you’ve already taken my portion of breakfast because, apparently, ‘murderers don’t deserve to eat.’”
She exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and something softer. “Well, when the Fire Nation killed my family, I couldn’t afford breakfast—”
“I know.” His tone shifted immediately, the teasing giving way to something heavier, sincere. His hand stilled, grounding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
There was a pause, the air between them tightening, thick with everything unsaid.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it,” he continued quietly. “For what I did… for what I stood for.”
His placed a long kiss to her core, a soft moan (against her will) escaped her lips.
“Let me try,” he said, voice gentler now. “Even if it’s not enough.”
“I’m glad you all could make it, this village needs our help with—” Aang began, pulling back from Katara mid-sentence.
His eyes flicked across the group.
Paused.
Then widened.
“…Are—did—?”
He leaned toward Katara, lowering his voice into what he clearly thought was a whisper. “Am I allowed to ask people if they’ve gained weight?”
Katara’s eyes widened. “No, Aang. We’ve been over this.”
Aang nodded quickly. “Right, right. No asking.”
“…They’re pregnant,” she added quietly.
Aang blinked.
Then looked back at them.
Then back at Katara.
“…Zuko’s pregnant too?”
Toph snorted.
Sokka immediately burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah, Fire Lord had a lot to do with it actually.”
Zuko’s face flushed instantly. “That’s not—”
“I’m pregnant, Aang,” the princess cut in, voice flat.
“Oh!” Aang straightened immediately, relief flooding his face. “Oh, that makes way more sense.”
There was a beat.
“…Congratulations!” he added, a little too late but entirely sincere.
Then his expression shifted, concern creeping in.
“Wait, are you sure you should be here?” he asked, glancing between her and Zuko. “I mean, with everything going on… I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Zuko immediately nodded. “Exactly.”
She sighed.
“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said, crossing her arms lightly. “I can still help.”
Toph smirked. “Told you.”
Katara smiled gently. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Just in case.”
Sokka grinned. “Yeah, someone has to make sure Zuko doesn’t give himself an aneurysm trying to watch after the princess.”
Zuko shot him a glare.
Aang hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I trust you. Just… be careful, alright?”
She gave a small, confident nod.
“Always.”
Aang clapped his hands together once, refocusing. “Right, so. The village has been dealing with a spirit. It’s been acting aggressively, and I think it’s tied to something in the mountain.”
The princess exhaled slowly. “…So you did drag us out here for a mountain.”
Aang winced. “Technically… yes.”
Zuko sighed. “Of course.”
Toph cracked her knuckles. “Good. I was getting bored.”
Sokka looked between them, grin already returning. “Alright, angry spirit, pregnant Fire-Earth Princess, and Zuko on edge. This should go great.”
She leaned slightly into Zuko’s side, her hand brushing his.
“Next time,” she murmured, “we ignore the letter and go to Ember Island."
He huffed softly. “…Agreed.”
love speaks! rushed and indulgent sorry i wish this was better but if i draft it it'll never get done. divider by @/cafekitsune
synopsis: michael has always believed intimacy belongs in marriage. but as temptation becomes harder to resist, he starts convincing himself that maaaybe some things just don’t count
cw: smut, established relationship, mutual pining, religious/moral conflict, manipulation if u squint ?, poor decision making n even worse excuses, pathetic!michael lowk, v nasty... like actually nasty as hell, loud whiny michael, thriller!michael
michael’s mother had drummed very specific principles into him since he was young, and they always stayed in the back of his mind. he’d grown up believing that a woman was someone you treated with total reverence — someone you protected and cherished. to him, saving the ultimate intimacy for a marriage wasn't just a rule. it was a way to keep something holy.
when you two started dating five months ago, he wanted that structure. he wanted to show you that he loved your mind and your spirit, that he could be the perfect gentleman who honoured the promises you both made to wait.
and for a while, it was easy. you slipped into a comfortable rhythm where everything else seemed to fade into the background. he loved the ordinary days most — the afternoons spent lying in your bed and talking about nothing in particular for hours, sharing snacks, or teasing each other until his stomach ached from laughing.
michael was the kind of boyfriend who couldn't keep his hands off you in the gentlest ways. he’d always reach out to loop his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his side, or he’d absentmindedly drum out little beats against your knee with his fingers while you talked. it was the little things.
but lately, something had started to change.
every time he kissed you, the boundaries he'd worked so hard to maintain seemed to blur a little more. the sweet, chaste kisses had slowly shifted over the last few weeks, turning into something… hungrier.
you'd spend hours tangled together in the dark, your mouths moving lazily against each other's as your tongues brushed and tangled until both your heads were spinning. by the time he finally forced himself to pull away, his heart would be battering against his ribs, his jeans painfully tight. he'd lower his face into the crook of your neck, pretending he simply wanted to hold you a little longer when really he was trying to hide how badly he ached for you.
eventually, the heat didn't even need a kiss to spark anymore.
just being around you distracted him, clouding his mind with thoughts that left his skin burning with shame.
he'd started doing things he never would've dared during those first few months of dating. his hands, once so careful, had begun wandering without him even realizing it. he'd find excuses to press the growing hardness in his jeans against your hip during a simple hug, letting out a shaky breath as he subtly nudged himself closer just to feel the warmth of your body.
if you were standing in the kitchen, he’d hover behind you, his front flushing right against your ass while he pretended to reach for something, letting his long fingers drag along the curve of your waist a second longer than they needed to. he was becoming a fiend for your body, his lidded eyes constantly tracking the way your clothes clung to you or staring at your ass when you walked past him.
just the other day, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor by his stereo, letting his pet snake, muscles, coil lazily around your arms while your fingers brushed lightly over his scales. you were wearing his button-down shirt that slipped slightly off one side, exposing the smooth curve of your collarbone and the top of your shoulder. michael had been standing near the window, but his eyes were glued onto you.
he watched the slow glide of your fingertips along the scales, and a completely different — dirty image flashed in his mind. It was so filthy that it made his stomach drop.
he imagined walking over right in front of you, unbuckling his belt and letting his hard, aching dick spring free at your eye level. he pictured catching your wrist, gently lifting your hand away and guiding your palm straight onto his skin. he wanted to teach you exactly how to hold him, wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft and moving your hand in that same stroke you were using right now.
he could practically feel the warmth of your hand squeezing him, sliding all the way down to his base and back up to the wet tip. he’d bite his lip as he looked down at you, a groan slipping from his chest as you coated your palm in his precum.
a hot blush rushed straight to his cheeks the second he snapped back to reality. his heart was hammering, and he could feel the thick length of his dick swelling and pressing uncomfortably against the denim of his jeans.
michael quickly licked his lips, pressing them together in that nervous habit of his, pretending to fuss with the cuffs of his shirt as he tried to steady his breathing. he was terrified that if you looked up right now, you'd somehow see every sinful thought written across his face.
the guilt from those daydreams always ate at him later. it settled deep in his chest, making him feel sick for even letting his mind wander that far. he'd whisper quiet apologies to god on the drive back home and promise that it wouldn't happen again.
but then he'd see you the next day, and the cycle would repeat.
the very first time the boundaries cracked was a couple of weeks ago.
the house was full from a family gathering, and the distant chatter of his siblings echoed from down the hall. you were curled up against his side, one of your legs draped comfortably over his thighs while your fingers idly toyed with the buttons of his shirt. michael’s arm was stretched out along the back of the couch, holding you close while the pad of his middle finger slowly stroked back and forth against your leg.
"i was thinking we try that little milkshake place tomorrow," you murmured, looking up at him with a smile. "the one down the street with the neon sign. you keep saying you wanna go."
michael nodded, but his mind was already completely somewhere else. his gaze had dropped, his half-lidded eyes slowly roaming over your face before sliding down to the bare skin of your collarbone. "mhm... yeah. okay," he murmured, his voice low.
you couldn't help the warm blush that rushed to your cheeks at the look he was giving you. "is something distracting you?" you teased.
his mouth curved into a small crooked smile, one that shows that he knew he was caught. "'m not distracted."
"no?" you smiled as he shook his head. you leaned up to press a soft kiss against his lips.
before you could even think about pulling back, michael’s hand came alive. his fingers slid up to cup your jaw, his long fingers dragging your face right back into his to completely cut off your retreat. though, the sweetness of the kiss was no longer there.
his mouth opened wide over yours, his tongue pushing past your teeth to slide deep into your mouth, tangling with yours deeply, stealing your breath. you let out a soft whine, your hands gripping his shoulders as his mouth grew hungrier, his lips sliding over yours in a way that made your ears ring.
his hands moved down to your waist, gripping you tight as he shifted his weight, pushing you backward until your back hit the plush couch cushions. he crowded right over you, his frame trapping you against the cushions as your legs opened and welcomed him in. the blunt pressure of his hard dick pressed perfectly against your core through his trousers. a low groan rattled in his chest as his hands slid down to cup your ass through your clothes as he dragged his length firmly up against you.
you let out a sharp gasp at the slide of it, your body trembling. hearing that little noise only seemed to drive him crazier. he loved it and wanted to hear more, so he gripped your hips and dragged you over him again, his own waist giving a nudge into you.
"michael, w-we shouldn't be doing this,” you managed to breathe out, breaking the kiss for a second, your chest heaving as you looked at him with wide eyes.
but he didn't let the words fully leave your mouth before he was leaning back in, capturing your lips again to swallow the rest of your protest. his mouth was so warm and wet, parting yours with a soft, demanding pressure that made your thoughts immediately start to scatter. you tried to hold onto the hesitation, but as his tongue slid back inside to tangle with yours, the worry melted out of your head, drowned out by the thick heat pooling in your belly.
his waist gave another firm nudge upward, his thick length grinding right against your soaking core. you let out a weak whine into his mouth, your fingers digging hard into his shoulders. michael groaned, breaking the kiss only to drag his lips down the line of your jaw, his breath puffing against your skin before he buried his mouth in the soft crook of your neck. he sucked gently at the sensitive skin there.
michael knew you both shouldn't be doing this. there was a small, nagging flicker of guilt at the back of his mind — the quiet voice of everything he'd been raised to believe about keeping things pure. every line drawn only existed until the moment he couldn't stand the ache anymore. but he was certain he was going to marry you one day, so did the rules even matter? it just felt too good.
so he continued to work you back and forth over his dick, his pelvis tilting upward to grind against you.
it wasn't like he was fucking you — but shit, now michael has a mental image of him fucking you, and it was not helping.
you felt exactly how hard he was beneath his pants, and the pressure of him against you only made you wetter. with each rut of his hips, your panties pressed deeper into your folds, soaking through the fabric and sending waves of pleasure through you.
you let out a whine that was a little too loud, the sound cutting through the room. michael’s eyes widened slightly in panic, his hand slid up to cover your mouth
"shh, y'gotta stay quiet f'me, honey," he whispered.
you nodded helplessly against his hand, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as he started to grind against you again. you let out a quiet gasp when your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him down to press him even harder against you. the hard edge of his zipper caught on your clit with one upward push, sending a shock of pleasure through your body. and you were cumming before you could even think, his name slipping out of your mouth in a muffled cry as you squirmed against him.
michael looked down at you, his brows furrowing slightly as he breathed out. “christ, did y’just…”
but the way your hips were jerking against his was the only answer he needed. and with a low whimper, he was cumming too, his hips rutting into your lap as he spent himself, his cum soaking through his pants until a wet patch bloomed across the denim. his head dropped onto your shoulder, his whiny moans vibrating against your ear as his whole body went slack and melted against you.
the murmur of his family down the hall had felt miles away, drowned out by the sound of your ragged breathing. as the daze slowly cleared from his head, michael pulled back, his eyes still hooded and dark as he looked down between your laps at the ruined denim. a wave of guilt settled over the space.
you swallowed hard, looking up at him with nervous eyes. "michael... i can't believe we just did that."
he bit his lip, brushing his hand over his mouth. his fingers tapped lightly against his lips as his gaze roamed over your flushed face, grounding himself. his hand slid down to cup your jaw, his touch incredibly gentle as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead murmuring that it was okay, it didn't count because it wasn't actually sex.
since then, his mind was constantly working to find loopholes, finding ways to bend the rules to chase that feeling once more without feeling like he was betraying everything he stood for.
and it didn't take long for him to find his next excuse. a few nights later, tucked away in your bedroom, he talked you right out of your shorts, leaving you in nothing but thin cotton panties. you were already leaking through the material, the fabric turning damp from where your slick was pooling.
he knelt between your thighs. he could see the plump shape of your pussy from how they clung to you, almost see-through from how much your pussy wept for him.
he parted his lips and leaned in, burying his face into your clothed cunt. the heat of his mouth hit you right through the cloth, and a half-sobbed cry tore out of your throat, your hands flying down to clutch at his hair.
"o-oh, michael, fuck," you whispered, breathless, and he moaned in response — a sound so deep and guttural it vibrated straight to your core. it was filthy and hungry, like the sound of someone finally getting the thing they've been starving for.
his fingers hooked into the elastic of your panties, tugging the waistband up tight so the wet cotton wedged deep between your puffy folds. he began sucking your arousal off your underwear, pulling the cloth taut with his lips as his tongue flattened out to lap greedily over your clit. he was on high off the taste of you, letting out these high, whiny moans that vibrated directly into your clit.
"michael, t-this is so dirty," you whispered, your voice trembling as your hips twitched against his lips.
he paused, lifting his face just an inch. he looked so incredibly pretty from that angle, his dark eyes hooded and his full lips glistening with your moisture. "s'not dirty, baby," he rasped, his soft voice slurring slightly from need. "you're too sweet for it t'be dirty. y'taste heavenly..." his gaze flickered down between your thighs for a second. "...and your panties're still on, so 'm only kissin' you... right?" he looked up at you through his eyelashes, waiting.
hearing his soft words phrased like that made you squirm against the sheets, your hands flying to cover your eyes. you couldn't even form a proper answer, just letting out a tiny whine behind your palm that served as agreement.
his mind was already a mess of filthy thoughts. he was imagining what it would feel like to tear the fabric away with his teeth and drown his tongue inside your wetness, picturing how loud you'd scream if he was sliding his dick into this soaking heat instead of just his mouth.
driven by his own thoughts, he pushed the solid tip of his tongue hard against your entrance through the barrier of your panties. you could feel the blunt shape of it trying to poke inside your hole, stretching the cotton taut against your opening.
you let out a loud whine, quickly clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise as your body bucked right off the mattress. your thighs started to tremble around his head, helpless as he ate you through the ruined cloth.
his tongue dragged up the damp fabric, slow and greedy, before his mouth sealed over your clit. he sucked hard through the wet cotton, making your thighs jerk around his head. michael was losing his mind, completely obsessed with the sweet taste of you soaking right through the cloth.
he groaned again, grinding his mouth deeper against you, smothering himself in your heat and slick as if he'd completely forgotten the cloth was even there. when your body tried to buck, his grip shifted, his large hands clamping onto your hips to pin you down.
he held you perfectly still.
he was fucking feasting, and your body knew it — your body was responding — every muscle tense, your thighs beginning to tremble.
your hands clutched at his hair, desperate, and you felt your own wetness smear hotter through the cotton as he shifted slightly, tongue tracing the edge of your panties now, like he was teasing himself just as much as he was teasing you.
he slowed down for a second, tormenting you by just pressing a soft, feather-light kiss right against your swollen clit — a touch so bare it made you cry out from the lack of pressure. his fingers hooked into the sides of your panties, tugging the fabric up tight so the wet cotton wedged deep between your folds.
with your underwear pulled taut, he used the flat of his hand to rub the soaked material back and forth against your peak, using the damp cloth to grind directly into your slick center until you were sobbing.
he dropped his mouth back down over your drenched center, his lips sealing over your swollen peak. you let out a broken scream, silently thanking god that no one was home as his tongue plunged back into the wet cotton, flattening out to lick you with broad strokes that had your hips bucking off the bed.
the relentless lap of his tongue was pushing you right over the edge, your chest heaved, your fingers knotting into his dark curls as you felt the coil tighten in your tummy.
"y'close, baby?" he asked, his voice so soft. he felt the tremors running through your body. he paused his licking for a second, keeping his lips pressed to your swollen nub.
"let go, sweetheart," he mumbled as he looked up at you. "c'mon. lemme feel you. i got you."
his voice was your final breaking point. he lapped at you again, his tongue moving in fast strokes, flattening out to press the drenched fabric deep into your aching folds.
"thaat's it... god, you're so wet," he groaned against your skin, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you still. "give it t'me, baby. let it out."
and then you were crashing over the edge. your back arched off the mattress, a loud, broken sob tearing from your throat as your orgasm hit you in violent waves. your hips jerked uncontrollably against his face. michael stayed buried right against you, lapping over your clit as he worked you through your cries, greedily drinking down every single drop of your release through your panties until your trembling thighs went slack.
the room fell silent again, save for the sound of your ragged breathing.
it wasn't like you didn't know any better. you knew that you weren't supposed to be doing this. but you just couldn't say no to him when he made you feel like this.
and his sweet words were like nectar in your ears, making it far too easy for him to turn wrong into right. if he wanted to push his excuses further, you were going to let him.
besides, you were already so wet, your slick coating your pussy, and he was still throbbing, rock hard and desperate against your hip. there wouldn't be any harm in helping him out too... right?
so when he crawled back up your body, peppering tender kisses over your cheeks, your nose, and your glossy lips, making you melt right into the mattress. he kissed you like you were something precious, his hands trembling as he shifted himself between your thighs.
"baby," he whispered against your mouth, his voice raspy with need as his fingers worked at his unbuckled belt, pulling his length free. "'m achin' so bad f'you. will y'let me jus..."
you were nodding even though he didn't even finish his sentence. he guided the broad head of his dick straight against your soaked panties. he dragged his length up and down the damp seam, pressing the wet cotton deeper into your puffy slit. you whimpered his name, your thighs trembling from how sensitive you still were from your orgasm.
michael moaned in response, his hips giving a gentle thrust into you. his dick ground right against your core, making you squirm under him. he continued his movement once more, dragging himself over your slick before his fingers reached down, hooking the damp elastic.
he pushed it to the side, exposing your bare cunt to the cool air. a quiet groan escaped him at the sight, his long fingers guiding his dick straight to your pussy. his thumbs pulled your folds apart, a string of slick catching and stretching between them before snapping, glistening under your bedroom light.
he bit his lip in concentration as he glided through your slick, letting out a shaky breath as his hot tip smeared up and down your aching folds.
you squirmed under his dark stare, feeling so exposed with the way he was looking down at you. "michael…" you whimpered, your thighs trying to press shut to hide yourself from him.
"no, no, baby, please don't hide." his hands flew straight to your thighs, pinning them open wide. his voice sounded pathetic as he looked down at you.
he guided his dick right back to your center, rubbing his shaft up and down into your folds. the hot tip caught right over your swollen clit, making your hips jerk into him. he bit his lip, his brows knit in concentration as he stared down at the filthy sight.
you lifted your head to look, letting out a soft mewl at the sight alone. his dick was so thick against you that your folds were barely visible underneath him, completely buried beneath his girth, which was probably why he had to pull you so far apart. both of you were so wet — a messy mix of your slick and his pre-cum coating his length and your skin until it looked like he’d already spent himself all over you.
he was hypnotized by it, and so were you.
his thumbs moved to press his dick firmly against your cunt, dragging it back and forth over your opening, and you gasped at the pressure. he was moaning so much you'd think he was actually inside you, his chest heaving as he worked himself against your wetness. he bit his bottom lip — feeling the overwhelming need to bite onto something, anything — as he gently guided the head of his dick through your silken, dripping folds, and oh—
his tip caught right on your drooling entrance, popping against your tight hole and making you buck up hard into him.
"o-oh god— baby," he breathed out, his whole body shaking.
he froze right there, dropping his forehead against your collarbone as he let out a long, ragged exhale. his hands squeezed your thighs, trying to ground himself and pull his head together.
"okay..." he muttered more to himself than to you, lifting his head to look down where he was pressed against you.
he started sliding his length up and down through your wet slit again, taking slow, careful strokes. he tried to keep it gentle, dragging his shaft over your folds, but you were driving him insane — your moans and how soaked you were. and with every slide down, the head of his dick kept nudging itself right into your wet opening.
the restraint barely lasted. his breathing went shallow, his chest heaving as the feeling of your slick on his dick wiped his mind clean. those slow glides turned into desperate, messy ruts before he even realized what he was doing.
his pace was speeding up. the head of his dickkept catching on your drooling entrance with every push, popping against the tight ring and threatening to slip in. your entrance was constricting around his sensitive tip as you bit down hard on your hand to muffle your loud mewls, but it was practically useless against the noises tearing from your throat.
"b-baby..." he choked out, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he whimpered, his breath coming in hot, shallow hitches against your skin. "i-i can't... i can't—"
he squeezed your thighs tighter, his whole body shaking as he tried and failed to pull his hips back. he sounded out of breath, every word breaking apart in his throat as he dragged his wet head right over your swollen nub before pressing it right back against your tight opening.
"please, sweet girl... please jus'— jus' the tip?" his voice cracked, desperate against your skin as he practically sobbed the words out. "please let me jus' put the tip in."
you were already so dazed, your whole body aching for him. you brought your hands up to cup the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into his damp curls. you pulled him down closer, pressing your forehead against his as you let out a shaky sigh right against his mouth.
"o-okay, yeah, put it in," you whispered, your voice shaking as you spread your thighs just a little wider for him.
so he pulled his hips back slightly, the head of his dick barely hanging in before he pushed right back inside with a mewl. his hips slowly started moving back and forth, relishing the tight squeeze of your pussy gripping him every time he threatened to slip out.
but then he pushed forward just a bit more. you gasped at the new sensation rippling through you, a soft, wet squelch echoing between your thighs as he worked his tip in and out.
and of course, the fucking promise to wait flashed through your mind now of all times, but you couldn't help how good it felt to have his head stretching your walls. you couldn't help how your pussy was greedily sucking him in, only begging for more of him. you couldn't help the way your hips rolled up to swallow him deeper, or how your drooling center was coating his dick in your own slick.
michael was still trying so hard to fight his urges — desperate to keep his word and not push in more than the tip. but then your legs came up, wrapping around his waist and pulling him in deeper, shoving him further into your heat until both of you were gasping for air.
"s-shit, baby," he breathed straight against your lips, his whole body shuddering. your mind didn't even process the curse leaving his mouth — too overwhelmed by the fullness of him.
michael pulled back just enough to look at you, letting out a huff that was full of genuine disbelief. his cheeks were flushed dark, his eyes wide as he hovered over your face.
"did y'mean to do that?" he whispered as he looked down at where your ankles were locked around his waist.
heat rushed to your face. you bit your lip, unable to meet his gaze for a second before nodding softly. "i... i really want you, michael... so bad," you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.
the soft tone of your voice made his dick twitch against your walls. you bit back a tiny smile at the feeling, but he caught it anyway. he let out a quiet breath, a pretty, crooked smile spreading across his face. he bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes melting as they locked on yours.
"yeah?" he breathed. you nodded in response.
"can y'take the rest, baby?" he asked gently.
your brows furrowed in confusion. "the rest?"
you lifted your head, your eyes dropping down between your legs to see what he meant, and your jaw practically dropped. you froze as you realized he wasn't even halfway inside you. the girth of him had filled your entrance completely, so you'd assumed he was all the way in.
michael caught the exact moment it clicked in your head, letting out a soft chuckle. "oh, baby..." he cooed softly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone to soothe your wide-eyed shock.
"'s okay, sweet girl. 'm gonna go slow f'you, i promise. just tell me if it's too much."
you swallowed hard, your mind racing as you looked back up into his soft, reassuring eyes. you nodded, your fingers tightening around his shoulders. "okay... yeah."
he nodded back, taking in a steadying breath. holding your gaze, he tilted his pelvis forward and pushed deeper, burying another inch of his thick length inside you.
a gasp tore from your throat as your walls stretched wide around him, your hips twitching on instinct.
"still okay?" michael whispered, his voice straining as he held himself still.
"y-yeah... keep going," you whimpered out.
you couldn't bring yourself to look away. your eyes dropped back down, mesmerized as you watched the length of his dick slowly disappear bit by bit into your wet opening. the sight of it made your cunt flutter around him.
michael let out a whimper at the tight squeeze, his hips accidentally bucking forward harder than he intended. he sank another two inches deep into your core, and a broken whine slipped out of your lips at the fullness stretching you open.
his thumb reached down, finding your swollen clit and rubbing the sensitive nub to help ease the stretch. the sharp sting melted into liquid heat.
"better?" he rasped, his thumb working you in tight circles.
"y-yeah... god, yeah," you moaned out, your head rolling back against the pillow as the pleasure washed over you.
michael watched your face intently, tracking every small twitch, every sharp inhale, and the way your features contorted in pure bliss. holding your gaze, he slowly tilted his pelvis forward, pushing deeper into your cunt. inch by inch, his shaft buried itself past your walls, stretching you open until he finally bottomed out, his pelvis grinding flush against yours.
you let out a broken gasp, feeling him so deep inside you it felt like he was reaching all the way up into your chest.
his dick gave a twitch deep in your gut, and a shaky "g-god..." scraped out of his throat.
you looked up at him, expecting him to be looking at your face or down where your bodies connected, but his hooded eyes were glued to your lower stomach.
you followed his gaze and caught your breath. there was an unmistakable, raised bulge sitting against the skin of your lower belly — the prominent shape of his dick pressing outward from inside your body. you could literally see the outline of his head tenting your skin from within, proving just how ridiculously deep he was buried inside you.
michael traced his thumb lightly over the rounded rise on your tummy, his mouth hanging open in awe as his whole body shuddered on top of you.
"look at you…" he rasped. a breathless groan spilled past his lips as he nudged forward just a hair more, watching the bulge shift under your skin. "takin' every inch… gosh, such a good girl."
the stretch was overwhelming, an aching fullness that made your toes curl into the sheets. you reached down, covering his hand where it rested on your tummy, feeling the heat of his palm pressed right over the spot where he was plugged into you.
"michael, please..." you panted, your hips twitching helplessly under him. "move... please."
and who was he to deny you? he lifted his head, his eyes locking onto yours as he pulled back, slowly dragging his length almost all the way out until just his tip was resting against your entrance before he plunged right back in, burying himself all the way to his hilt with a wet slap.
a loud cry tore out of your chest as he bottomed out again, your walls clamping down tight around him.
his pace picked up as he started working his hips in long, deep rolls, every thrust grinding his pelvis against your clit while his dick stretched your tight cunt. the squelching sound of your slick filled the room, loud and messy — a rhythmic plap plap plap echoing off the walls every time his hips slammed flush against yours.
"so wet for me," he whimpered against your jaw, his lips dragging down your neck to leave messy kisses while his hips pounded steady into your lap. "y'take it so good, sweet girl... look how deep 'm in you..."
he pressed down firm on the bulge on your belly right as he thrust deep, pushing his palm right into the swell of skin. the extra pressure was too much, making your hips jerk clean off the mattress as you writhed under him. you reached down, your fingers trying to push his hand away from your tummy.
"d-don't run, baby," he rasped, catching your wrist and guiding your hand up to grip the pillow, making sure you had something to clutch as you tried to find leverage. "y'asked f'this, didn't you?"
he leaned down and pressed his mouth over yours, capturing your lips while his hips kept grinding deep, burying himself flush against your pussy. you let out a whimper against his tongue, helpless as he worked you back and forth.
you were so close to the edge, your walls began to flutter around him. he felt the squeeze of your pussy gripping his dick and let out a broken gasp into your mouth.
"oh-oh... y'close?" he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes wide and hooded. "y'gonna cum f'me again, baby?"
you nodded frantically.
"yeah? c'mon baby... please cum on my— oh," he begged, his voice breaking into a whimpering mess as he slammed his hips forward again. "yes, yes, please... 'need to feel it,"
the snap inside you had you feeling like you were on cloud nine, fireworks bursting behind your eyelids. your chest heaved, your voice so hoarse from screaming his name that your moans completely cut off into dry hitches. you couldn't even form a real sound as a wave tore through your core, your cunt violently gushing and squirting all over his dick, soaking his thighs and drenching the sheets beneath you.
michael felt the warm spray coat his dick, his dark eyes widening before he thrust even harder into your gushing warmth.
"o-oh... y-you're..." his breath hitched, his brain completely short-circuiting at the sight and feeling of you squirting all over him. his head dropped as he gripped your hips tighter. "oh god—"
"that's it, give it all to me," he rasped, his voice a broken mess in your ear.
your walls kept pulsing around him, milking every inch of his dick while you spurted everywhere. he tried to hold out, but the coil in his belly was too much to fight. his hips stuttered, a wrecked groan tearing from his chest as he shoved himself all the way in, burying his face in your neck as his body finally gave out.
with a stretched out whine, he came deep inside you. thick streams of his release flooded into your core, filling you to the brim until his dick was covered at the base.
he kept moving, taking slow, languid thrusts as he rode out his own high. his dick pushed his milky white seed in and out of your walls. with every slide, the mixture overflowed from your entrance, pooling between your thighs and dripping onto the sheets below.
his head was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged hitches against your skin while you both lay there catching your breath.
your hand moved up lazily, your fingers playing loosely with his curls as you stroked the back of his neck. the room was silent except for your panting, until a soft sniffle broke through the quiet.
your brows pulled together, your hand pausing in his hair. you gently pushed his shoulder back to see his face. "michael?" you whispered.
a single tear streak was glistening down his flushed cheek.
"were you crying?"
"no," he immediately mumbled, turning his head away and trying to hide his face in your neck while his hand came up to clumsily wipe at his eye. "n-no i wasn't."
a soft laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you tried to tilt his chin back up so you could actually look at him. he was so cute. "michael, look at me."
he let out a soft huff, his cheeks flushing. "i-i don't know," he confessed quietly. "it just... it felt really good."
you couldn't hide the smile spilling across your face if you tried, your heart melting at him.
"don't make fun of me," he whined softly, hiding his face behind his hands.
"'m not, i promise," you murmured gently. you reached up, gently pulling his hands away, and caught both sides of his face, your hands holding his cheeks as you pulled him back down to kiss him tenderly.
when you pulled back, his eyes fluttered open, looking up at you through his long lashes with so much affection that it made your head spin.
his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him, holding you so close that there wasn't an inch of space left between your bodies.
tomorrow, the reality of what you'd just done would catch up to him. tomorrow, the guilt would return, and he'd have to face the stained sheets and the fact that every lie he'd told himself to justify this was gone.
he knew it counted — it always counted, you both knew it.
but for now, the unsaid truth hung quietly in the air, pushed aside just for tonight while all that mattered was the warmth of your skin against his, and the sound of your soft breathing as he held you tight.
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