uceyliyahh

[uceyliyahh]

Triple H is such a dumb mf dawg

Gunther beats Jey 3 times.

Jey beats Gunther 1 time

Gunther beats Jey again

Goldburg comes out of fuck all no where to challenge Gunther.

Gunther loses the title….

Seth mostly like cash’s in, that way it doesn’t hurt Gunther.

Gunther in a way gets over and Seth gets the title back…

Goldburg ends his career on a L?

Who tf is booking this shit 🤣

[uceyliyahh]

What Happens In Vegas 7

Jey Uso x OC Gen

Jimmy Uso x OC Gen

Warnings none

Word count 2,308

Shout out to my sis @mzv11 for being the cowriter on this ❤️

Tagging: @mzv11 @alyyaanna @shanthefemalerapper @trippinsorrows @trippiexlove @yana3sworld @rollinssection @uceyliyahh @crxssjae @empressdede @playgurlxoxo @po3ticb3auty @surdelcielo @theusotwinzcom @wooahmiri @bloodlinedreams @duhitzkay380 @wrestlezaynia @adoreesun @expert-texpert @shes2real @bebesobrielo @bossbitch-25 @jennifuz @skyesthebomb @transparentphantomface @romanreignshairdresser @ourteenagetragedy @htxgabbi1 @keenagurl @jstarr86 @jazzyboo123-blog1 @sheaabuttaababyy

“Jacob’s no fun no more. He ain’t even think about coming out with us.” Zilla grumbled as he started pregaming in the limo. “He’s in his chill phase. He don’t turn up unless it’s with his wife & kids.” Josh laughed. He knew that Jacob was right about needing to change for Gen but changing was hard. Jacob called Jon to check in since he hadn’t seen his cousin all day. “Hey Jacob, what’s good, Uce?” Jon spoke as he answered his phone over the bluetooth. Jon and Gen were almost back in the city. “I need to talk to you about Josh.” Jacob grumbled. “What about Josh?” Gen asked. “Genny? That you?” Jacob laughed, he hadn’t seen her either since she had been in town. “Yeah, Jon was nice enough to come get me so I bro didn’t have to pay that valet again.” she smiled. “It’s nothing too crazy. He just got on my nerves. Typical cousin shit. Speaking of cousins getting on my nerves…add Joe to that list.” he laughed. Him and Joe were fine, they had just had breakfast together that morning. “Mmm hmm.” Gen grumbled suspiciously. “What y’all about to do? Wanna grab dinner? I need to tap in with my girl Genny. It’s been too long.” Jacob said. “I’m down.There’s this chicken sandwich spot that I’ve heard people talking about.” Gen said. “Bad Muthaclucker?! Yes, I’ve heard about it. Give me 20 minutes, I just got to the room. Lemme hop in this shower and put some smell good on.” Jacob laughed before he hung up.

“It was definitely something he wanted to tell you about Josh. You gotta find out and tell me.” Gen laughed. “I got you baby.” Jon smiled as he stole another kiss. “He’s probably got another girl to add to his roster.” Gen groaned. “Why you say that?” Jon asked. Josh had him under the assumption that Gen didn’t know about the other women. And he wondered why Gen hadn’t dropped her life to move to Atlanta with him. “I’m not dumb, Jon. I know he’s got other women. The last time I was at his house, he asked me to grab something from his bag and there was also a woman’s thong in there…and it was about 4 sizes too small.” Gen sighed sadly. Seeing her sad pissed Jon off, if he was going to cheat….let her go be with someone who would appreciate her, like Jon. But Gen was not sidechick material. “That’s fucked up Genevieve. I’ll talk to him.” Jon grumbled. “Don’t bother. If he wanted to change, he would. At least that’s what Vonna always tells me. I used to think she was just bullshitting cuz she’s not the biggest fan of Josh. But she’s right.” Gen shrugged.

Gen saw Jacob standing outside the hotel so she changed from 90s R&B to ‘Blow The Whistle’. Her laughter bursting from the car as he started dancing and shakin’ his dreads. “Y’all a mess!” Jon laughed as Jacob climbed into the backseat. “Whatitdo family?” Jacob laughed as he dapped Jon up. “We just been riding around listening to music.” Gen smiled. “I ain’t know you was in the car Gen. I ain’t want you to hear nothing crazy I was about to say.” Jacob grumbled. “He’s cheating. He thinks I don’t know but I do.” she spoke dryly. The more those words flowed from her mouth, the more numb she became. “Damn, I’m sorry. I keep telling him to leave these streets alone. Find yourself a good lady, like the one he has and just be loyal. Hoe shit is for these youngins. Y’all older than me and I’m glad to be put up. It’s great, ain’t it Uce?” Jacob laughed. Gen muffled a giggle, Jon rolled his eyes. “It’s the greatest when it’s the right person. Enough about this sad shit, what’s good Jacob?” Jon laughed. “You having fun, Gen? I know they have Josh working his ass off. You staying out of trouble?” Jacob asked. “She’s nothing but trouble!” Jon interjected. Gen hit him in the arm before laughing. “I’m finding stuff to do. My bro is here working on stuff for his podcast so I’ve been helping him a lot. I came out here to hang with my man but like you said, the company’s got him busy. So I’m stuck with his lackluster replacement.” Gen teased. Jon pouted and she knew that she’d pay for that comment the next time he had her alone.

“I’m guessing it’s the same with Trin? This storyline with Jade & Bianca is crazy. They need to just let her and Nia start their own Bloodline.” Jacob laughed. “Yeah, her schedule is crazy. I’ve hardly seen her. I’m happy for her though. And proud. She deserves it.” Jon beamed. Their marital problems aside, he was very proud of the work she was doing. He only wanted the best for her career. But he was just tired of the bickering and feeling shut out in their marriage. He doesn't even sleep in the same bed with her and can’t even remember the last time they had sex. The constant arguing was a turn off.. He has felt alone for a while now and mostly unhappy, that was until Gen showed up in Vegas…

As they got to the spot. They found a booth to sit at and Jon made sure he sat next to Gen. Gen looked at Jon and smiled. The waitress came and took their order. She started them off with their drinks. As they waited they just talked about the weather, his match at Wrestlemania. Jacob took one look at the chemistry between Jon & Genevieve and knew something had to be up. He caught on to how they stole glimpses of each other, thinking he wouldn’t notice. The way Gen blushed when Jon would look at her. Jacob remembered how she used to do that when he and Josh first started before all the cheating Josh did. Jacob hadn’t seen Jon that way in a while either. Jacob stood up, grabbing his cup, he motioned to Jon, “Hey Uce, let’s get some refills on our sodas. You want a refill Genny?” Gen said, “sure, you already know a lot of ice” Jacob laughed, “gotchu’ we will be right back”. Jon stood up, grabbed his glass, looked over at Gen, winked at her, “be right back” Gen blushed, “hurry back”

As they got to the soda machine Jacob turned to Jon, “aight uce, spill it.” Jon laughed as he filled his cup with ice, not looking at his cousin the whole time. “What you talkin’ bout uce?” Jacob said, “y'all got somethin’ goin on?” Jon looked Jacob in the eye, “it’s not what you think it is. But to be honest, I have been enjoyin’ this time with her. Trin and I haven’t been in a good place lately. Gen has been makin me feel happy, I find myself laughing again.” Jacob put his cup down on the counter, “why didn't you say anything to me? We are family, we tell each other everything.” Jon shrugged his shoulders, “I just been in my own world. Josh didn’t know until this week.” Jacob nodded, he knew out of the twins, Jon kept personal issues to himself. “So you have a thing for Gen?” Jon grabbed Gen’s cup from Jacob, filling it up with ice just the way she liked it. He nodded, “Yeah, I do. I can’t lie.” Jacob rubbed his face, all he could do was look at his big cousin. He had no words. He also knew that Josh didn’t deserve her by the way he had been acting lately. They finished filling up the cups and headed back to the table.

“It took you long enough”. Gen joked as she grabbed her cup from Jon, “thank you” Gen smiled as she took a sip of her Pepsi. Everyone sat there in an awkward silence. The music playing seemed to be even louder. Gen looked at Jon and Jacob suspiciously. “Okay you 2 what’s going on? Y’all went to get soda now y'all quiet. Spill it.”

Jacob sighed, he didn’t want to say anything about what Jon said to him. “It’s nothin’ everything is cool” Gen refused to accept that answer. “Nah, spill it.” Gen looked at Jon, who stared in her eyes. He couldn’t lie to her. He didn’t want to do that to her. He didn’t want to be like his twin. “I was telling Jacob about Trin and I and how we aren’t together.” Gen said, “yeah, Jon just told me yesterday about it. I was shocked to hear the news.” Jacob nodded, “yeah, I was shocked as well.” Just as Jacob was about to say something, the waitress approached the table with their appetizers. Jacob forgot everything once the food hit the table.

Josh and Zilla pulled up to Sapphire Gentlemen's Club. Josh smiled, “now this is what I’m talkin’ about!” as they exited the limo. The bouncer let them in and as soon as they entered they were met by a barely dressed hostess. “Oh my God, it’s Jey Uso! Welcome to Sapphire’s. Would you like to be in our owner's sky suite with some of our girls.?” Zilla screamed “Hell yeah!” Josh laughed, “yes that would be fine.” The hostess escorted them to the upstairs private suite. “Thank you” Josh smiled at the woman as he entered the room and took a seat on the black leather sofa. “What would you like to drink?” the hostess asked as she grabbed her tablet to take Josh’s order. “Hennessy will be fine.” the hostess smiled as she entered Josh’s order. “The ladies will be joining you shortly.” she said before exiting the room.

Zilla grabbed his phone and started to record himself in the room. “Man I can’t believe Jacob and Jon are missing this!” Josh shrugged his shoulders, growled, “yeah, they lame for that!” Just then, 3 women entered the room. Josh smiled, “damn, now that’s what I’m talkin’ bout.” One woman walked over to Josh, she had on a blue bralette and panty set on, her hair long and black just like Gen’s. The thought of Gen did cross his mind for a second until Tank’s “When We” started blaring over the speakers in the room. Josh sat back comfortably as he watched the woman dance, she slowly danced her way towards him. Zilla decided to go live on Instagram.

Gen was laughing with Jacob and Jon when she heard Jacob’s phone notification. Jacob grabbed his phone, groaned, “zilla is live on instagram, let’s see what he’s up to.” Gen shrugged her shoulders, as she grabbed a fry off her plate. She heard Zilla’s voice and the Tank song playing in the background. She figured they were maybe in the car or something. She grabbed her phone to scroll through TikTok. Jacob shook his head. Jon looked at Jacob, mouthed to him, “where’s he at?” Jacob shrugged his shoulders and motioned for Jon to look at his phone so Gen wouldn’t notice.

Jon grabbed his phone to look at the live stream. As he did, Zilla turned the camera to Josh who by now had the woman grinding on his lap as Josh’s hands moved up and down her body. Jon couldn’t believe his eyes. He and Jacob looked at each other and both shook their heads in disbelief. “They must be in the car cruisin around. Zilla is always trying to make a video out of anything for his so called fans” Jacob growled before exiting the app and placing his phone down. Jon turned the volume down on his phone and watched for a few more minutes. Jacob lightly kicked Jon under the table to get Jon’s attention. When Jon looked at Jacob he motioned for Jon to put the phone down. Jon hesitantly got off Instagram and put the phone down.

The waitress brought their food over to the table. Jacob smiled, “finally” as he admired his sandwich. Gen laughed at Jacob's reaction. She said, “wait, let’s take a pic. It’s been a while since we took one.” Jacob nodded, “give me the phone, I’ll take the selfie.” Gen handed Jacob the phone and Jon leaned in closer to Gen as Jacob took a few pictures of them. When he was done he looked at the photos and smiled with approval of how they looked. “Yo you gotta post those and the videos of us jammin’ on the way here.” Gen smiled, “bout to do that right now.” Jon nudged Gen, “wait let me airdrop the other pics to you” Jon grabbed his phone and airdropped the photos from the desert and their private video they made earlier.

Gen blushed as she remembered how they went at it in the car earlier. She quickly put the video in her hidden folder. She went to instagram, made a photo dump with the caption “MY FAVORITE FATU’S” and uploaded the photos and videos including the photos Jon took of her at the desert. She tagged Jon and Jacob in the post which Jon immediately hit the like button and put a smiley face emoji and heart emoji. Jacob commented how Gen is always a vibe and she is a Fatu.

At the strip club, Zilla was scrolling on instagram and came across Gen’s post. He looked through all the pics and videos and noticed the comments from Jacob then Jon. “Hey uce, didn’t you say your girl was with her brother today?” Josh looked at Zilla, “yeah, he told me he was with her” Zilla handed him his phone, “so what was she doin’ at the desert Uce”. Josh looked at the caption and noticed the little comment from his twin brother…”what the fuck”…..

[uceyliyahh]

Story Masterlist

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Ch.13

Previous Part

The yellow lights of the conference room seemed to hum with the weight of the moment, a stark contrast to the buzzing anxiety in Evren's chest. She sat upright, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, as Mrs. McMahon, flanked by Mr. Levesque and a few other stern-faced board members, concluded her statement. Dr. Rhodes sat across the table, his face a mask of simmering indignation, occasionally shooting venomous glances at Evren. 

"Based on the overwhelming evidence presented, including security footage, witness testimonies, and most critically, Ms. Smith's consistent account," Mrs. McMahon's voice was firm, resonating with authority, "the board has deliberated extensively. We find you, Dr. Rhodes' actions to be a violation of hospital policy, patient trust, and professional conduct." She paused, her gaze sweeping across the room, landing squarely on Rhodes. "Effective immediately, Dr. Rhodes', your employment with this hospital is terminated, pending further legal action. Your privileges have been revoked, and your access to the premises will be permanently rescinded." 

A quiet gasp escaped Dr. Rhodes' lips, his face contorting in a mixture of disbelief and raw fury. He lunged slightly, restrained only by the presence of a security guard positioned discreetly behind him. "This is an outrage!" he spat, his voice hoarse with rage. "You're ruining my career for a baseless accusation from her!" His gaze, cold and venomous, snapped to Evren, "You will not see the last of me, I guaranteed that." lingering with a promise of retribution that sent an icy shiver tracing its way down her spine despite the immense wave of relief washing over her. She watched him, his posture stiff with indignant rage, as two security guards firmly escorted him from the room, his angry protests fading down the hall. 

"Evren, thank you," Mrs. McMahon said, her voice softening as she approached, a look of profound respect in her eyes. "You've shown incredible courage today. You've done a great service to our patients and staff, we can ensure this kind of egregious behavior will not be tolerated here again." 

"Thank you, Mrs. McMahon, Mr. Levesque," Evren replied, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "It means a lot to me that you believed me and took action." 

Later that evening, a lightness Evren hadn't felt in weeks buoyed her spirits as she clocked in for her shift. The stale hospital air seemed less oppressive, the hum of equipment almost musical. As she approached the nurses' station, a vibrant splash of color caught her eye. A large bouquet of her favorite flowers sat proudly on the counter, accompanied by a takeout bag from The Oasis, her cherished Mediterranean spot. 

"Surprise!" Zahria, Bianca, and Jade popped up from behind the counter, grins plastered across their faces. 

"We heard the good news!" Bianca cheered. 

Evren laughed, a genuine, joyful sound. "You guys! Y'all are so sweet!" She hugged each of them. 

"Only the best for our girl," Jade said, nudging the food towards her. "You deserve this win, Ren. Seriously, we got to celebrate." Evren nodded as she placed the flowers and food in her work area. Clocking in for the day. 

Miles away, the mood was anything but celebratory at The Crimson, the Bloodline's other, more discreet club. The bass thrummed, and a smoky haze hung in the air, but the usual carefree atmosphere was laced with an underlying tension. Jimmy, Solo, Tama, and a few other Bloodline members were spread throughout the main room, their eyes scanning, ever vigilant. 

"See those three by the bar?" Solo murmured, nodding subtly towards a trio of guys nursing drinks, their eyes darting around with an unnatural intensity, too stiff for casual patrons. 

Jimmy followed his gaze. "Yeah. They been here too long, bought too little. They're watching." 

A silent signal passed between them. They moved, a predatory grace to their steps, converging on the suspicious figures. 

"Gotta problem, Uce?" Jimmy asked, his voice low, a clear warning in its tone, his hand subtly resting on the back of his belt. 

One of the men, lean and jumpy, scoffed, trying to affect an air of nonchalance that didn't quite fit. He took a long, slow sip of his drink. "Nah we ain't got a problem, just enjoying a drink. You own this place, or somethin'?" 

"We got a say in it," Solo interjected, his voice a low growl, stepping closer, his imposing frame casting a heavy shadow over the group. "And we don't like strangers casing our joint." 

"Casing? We just having a good time," another of the suspicious men with a thick Irish accent sneered, puffing out his chest. "Maybe you should mind your own business, yeah?" 

"This is our business," Tama added, his voice flat, stepping in line with Solo. The circle around the three intruders tightened. 

The jumpy one finally dropped his act, his eyes narrowing. "You got a problem with us being here?" 

"We gon' need yo' ass get the fuck up out here," Jimmy said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Now, y'all can leave on your own or we can do this shit f'you. It's yo' choice." 

The guy suddenly smirked, a chilling, almost eager glint in his eyes. "Well I guess you gonna have to do it. I ain't leaving shit." 

Jimmy chuckled lowly, turning to Solo, Tama and Jacob. When he turned to look back the guy took a swing at Jimmy, missing. 

Chaos erupted immediately, as the group began a brawl. Punches being thrown everywhere. Then with a deafening crack that cut through the music, the first gunshot rang out. Patrons screamed, scattering like frightened birds, tripping over chairs and each other. More shots followed, a rapid succession of pops and bangs, as the Bloodline members returned fire, diving for cover. 

Amidst the pandemonium, Jacob, turned, his heart seizing in his chest. Jimmy was on the ground, a dark, red stain blossoming on his crisp white shirt, rapidly spreading. 

"Yo, Jimmy!" Jacob roared, running towards him. Solo and Tama were already there, their faces grim, their movements precise. They moved with practiced efficiency, lifting Jimmy, his weight heavy and unresponsive, and half-carrying, half-dragging him towards the exit, the remaining Bloodline members providing cover as they quickly got in the car. Heading towards the nearest hospital.

Back at the hospital, Evren was enjoying a surprisingly smooth shift. She'd just finished assisting in a lengthy, complex surgery and was debriefing the night with Zahria at the nurses' station, a rare moment of calm before the storm. 

Suddenly, the emergency room doors burst open with a violent swing. A man's deep voice sliced through the usual hospital din, yelling, "Aye! We need help in here!" 

Evren and Zahria, along with other nurses, rushed towards the commotion. The sight that greeted Evren stole her breath. Jimmy. Jacob and Solo, two imposing figures she vaguely recognized but had never met, were half-carrying Jimmy, who was utterly soaked in blood, and limped. Tama walked closely behind them. Evren's heart plummeted, a cold dread washing over her. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her mind instantly going to Josh.

Zahria, ever the professional, immediately sprang into action. "Gurney! Get a gurney! And page Dr. Vaquer, now!" 

Evren froze for a split second, the shock rendering her momentarily immobile. But then, Dr. Vaquer's crisp voice cut through her paralysis. "Smith! Lets Go! Get an IV started! Get two large bore lines, and prep for massive transfusion protocol! We need to get him hooked up to a monitor!" 

Snapping back to reality, Evren's training kicked in. She moved swiftly, efficiently, her hands already reaching for supplies. As she worked, she looked up at Solo, Jacob, and Tama, her voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in her hands. "We've got him. I'll make sure he'll be okay. We'll do everything we can." She didn't wait for a response, already pushing the gurney with Zahria and Dr. Vaquer, rushing Jimmy into the chaos of the trauma room. 

Inside, the assessment was grim. "Five gunshot wounds... significant blood loss... get him to the OR, now!" Dr. Vaquer barked, her eyes locked on Jimmy's fading vital signs. 

In the O.R., Evren moved with a blur of precise motions, preparing instruments, assisting the surgical team, her personal feelings pushed deep down, replaced by the detached focus of a skilled nurse. 

Hours later, the surgery was over. Evren stepped out of the Operating Room, the sterile air feeling suddenly heavy around her. She leaned against the cool wall, bending at the waist, and let the dam break. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, streamed down her face, the emotional toll of the night finally catching up. 

Dr. Vaquer emerged moments later, her mask pulled down, a look of tired satisfaction on her face. She placed a comforting hand on Evren's shoulder. "He's stable, Evren. You did good. We all did." Evren nodded, blowing out on a breathe of air. "I'm about to go tell his family" 

Wiping her eyes, Evren straightened up. "No, I... I can go tell his family." 

Dr. Vaquer nodded. "Take your time. They're in the main waiting area." 

Taking a deep, bracing breath, Evren walked towards the waiting room. As she pushed through the double doors, she was met with a sea of faces, all distinctly Samoan, filling almost every available chair. The sheer number, their shared intensity, was intimidating. She glanced nervously at Zahria, Bianca, and Jade, who were huddled together near the entrance. They gave her subtle, encouraging nods. 

Taking another breath, Evren walked into the center of the room. Every eye in the room turned to her, a collective, scrutinizing gaze. Then, a figure rose. Tall, broad, radiating an almost palpable aura of power, he was the scariest one in the room. He stepped forward, his face a hard scowl, his arms crossed over his chest. 

"I'm Roman," he stated, his voice a deep rumble that commanded immediate attention, leaving no room for questioning. "How's Jimmy?" 

Evren looked him directly in the eye, trying to steady her voice. "The surgery was successful," she announced, her voice clear despite her nervousness. "He's stable. He's going to be okay. He'll need time to recover, but the prognosis is good." 

Roman's scowl softened, replaced by a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. His gaze flickered down, briefly resting on her hospital badge, then back up to her eyes, a calculating glint within them. A faint, almost predatory smirk touched his lips. "Thank you," he said, a pause hanging in the air, allowing his words to sink in before he added, "Evren." The way he pronounced her name made it sound like he knew her already. 

She gave him a quick, professional nod, a silent acknowledgment of the unstated power dynamic, before quickly excusing herself and retreating back to her friends. 

"How was it?" Bianca whispered, her eyes wide with curiosity and a touch of awe. 

"He pulled through," Evren confirmed, a mix of relief and lingering tension in her voice. "But my god, telling his family was nerve-wracking. Especially that Roman guy. He's intense." 

At the end of her shift, Evren felt utterly drained. She got home and quickly unwound, shedding the scrubs that felt imbued with last night's intensity. As she lay in bed, finally finding a moment of quiet, her phone buzzed. Damien was calling. Reluctantly, she answered. 

"Hey," she said, her voice tired and flat. 

"Rough day, mami?" Damien's voice was light, almost annoyingly cheerful, a stark contrast to her heavy mood. "You sound exhausted." 

"Yeah, kind of," Evren sighed, trying to keep it brief. "We had a really difficult case tonight. A patient I knew came in, and it was pretty traumatic. So, yeah, it took a lot out of me." 

Damien clicked his tongue. "Hmm. Well, that's a shame. Because I was calling to see if you wanted to grab breakfast this morning. I know a great breakfast spot, and then maybe you can come relax with me afterwards at my place." There was an expectation in his voice, not an invitation. 

Evren frowned. "Damien, I would love to but I just got home from a twelve-hour shift. I'm exhausted. I can barely keep my eyes open, maybe we can go another time." 

His tone hardened instantly, a flash of irritation in his voice. "Seriously? You can't even make an effort? We haven't talked since our date last time. I don't appreciate being strung along." His voice dropped, a subtle threat underlying the smooth words. "When I say I want to see you, I mean it. My time is valuable." 

Evren stiffened, her tiredness quickly replaced by a surge of anger. "And my time is not?" The possessiveness, the thinly veiled demand on her time and energy, felt suffocating. "You know what? I'm tired, and don't got time for this," she said, a sharp bite in her voice. "If you can't understand that I can't just get up and see you any time you want, then you can go find somebody else." Without waiting for a response, she hung up, tossing her phone onto the nightstand with more force than necessary. The brief, unpleasant exchange with Damien soured the relief of the night, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth and a clear understanding that he was not who she thought he was.

Meanwhile, Kayla, had received an urgent, phone call from Solo. Solo contacting her so she could go tell Josh the news of his twin brother. She quickly made her way to the prison, her expression grave as she met Josh in the visitation room. 

"Josh, I have some difficult news," Kayla began, her voice low and serious. "It's Jimmy. He was shot tonight, he's critical, but stable now, the surgery was successful." 

Josh's eyes widened, his jaw clenching. He slammed his fist hard on the table, a raw sound of frustration escaping him. "Who the fuck did it?!" The anger and worry were palpable, a fierce, protective instinct flaring. 

"He's stable," Kayla reiterated, trying to calm him. "But listen to me, Josh. I know this is upsetting, but you need to keep a level head. Your preliminary hearing for the appeal is in a week. Any outburst, if there's another incident, you jeopardize everything we've worked for. Your freedom is the priority right now. You can't help him from in here if you mess this up." She left him sitting with the heavy news, the weight of his family's dangerous life pressing down on him, conflicting sharply with the desperate hope of his upcoming hearing.

Evren returned back to the hospital for her next shift, clocking in with a renewed sense of purpose. Her first stop, even before receiving her assignments, was Jimmy's recovery room. He looked pale but was conscious, a network of tubes and wires connecting him to various machines. 

"Hey, stranger," Evren said softly, a genuine smile on her face. 

Jimmy managed a weak grin. "What's up sis. Thought my ass was a goner last night." 

Evren chuckled, pulling a chair closer. "You know I wasn't going to let that happen. How you feeling?" 

"Like my ass got hit by a bus," he admitted, wincing slightly. "But, I appreciate it, Evren. F'real. You saved my ass." 

"Of course," she replied, her voice gentle. "That's what we do." There was a comfortable silence, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines. 

"So," Jimmy began, his eyes thoughtful, "I don't know much bout what's going on between you and Jey, but I know he cares bout'chu. A lot. Maybe you should go see him." 

Evren hesitated, picking at a loose thread on her scrubs. "I don't know bout that, Jimmy. I don't know if he even wants to see me. Things are complicated right now." 

"Complicated is an understatement for our family," he said with a wry smile. "But trust me on this. He needs you. He'll want to see you." 

After a long moment, a conflicted sigh escaped her. "I - okay. Maybe. I'll think about it." The hesitant agreement was a big step. 

She promised to check up on him later, then went on with the rest of her shift, the emotional weight of the night still lingering, but now mixed with a new resolve. Jimmy's words had resonated, pushing her past her own hesitations. 

A few days later, Evren found herself standing outside the visitor intake area of the Georgia Department of Correction. The sterile, unforgiving environment was a stark contrast to the familiar bustle of the hospital, and a knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she checked in and was eventually led to the large visitation room. 

Josh was already there, seated at the worn table, staring straight ahead. His head snapped up as she entered, and for a fleeting, almost imperceptible moment, his eyes, usually so guarded, widened a bit with genuine shock and a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like happiness. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of cold indifference. 

"Hey," Evren said softly, stepping fully into the room, her heart thumping. 

Josh simply nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible dip of his chin. His gaze remained unreadable, distant. 

"I came to see how you were doing," she continued, taking the seat opposite him. "Just wanted to check in." 

"I'm good," Josh replied, his voice flat, emotionless. He didn't elaborate, didn't ask her why she bothered to come. 

Evren frowned, taken aback by his abruptness. "Good? Really? After everything that happened with Jimmy?" 

"It is what it is," Josh stated, his eyes still avoiding hers, staring at a spot just over her shoulder. His voice was utterly devoid of concern, as if discussing the weather. 

The indifference in his voice, the complete lack of engagement, stung. Evren felt a slow burn of anger beginning to simmer. She had made the effort to come all this way, despite her own exhaustion and emotional toll, and this was how he reacted? 

"You can't be serious right now?" she snapped, her voice rising. "I came all the way here to you see, and that's all you have to say?" 

Josh finally met her gaze, but it was devoid of warmth, almost vacant. "I ain't ask f'you to come all the way out here to see me." 

That was it. The casual dismissal, so similar to Damien's, broke through her composure. Evren pushed back her chair, the screech of metal on linoleum piercing the silence. She stood, glaring down at him, her hands clenched into fists. 

"You know what, Josh? Fuck this," she seethed, her voice trembling with a mixture of hurt and fury. "I come and check up on you after your brother could've lost his life, and this is how you treat me? Fuck out of here." 

She turned, ready to storm out, the indignation fueling her steps. She had almost reached the door when his voice, low and dangerous, cut through the quiet room, stopping her dead in her tracks. 

"Sit yo' ass down, Ren." 

Evren hesitated for a breath, the raw authority in his voice cutting through her anger. The pulse in her lower region, unwelcome and undeniable, urged compliance. Slowly, reluctantly, she dragged her chair back to the table and sank into it, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the scarred metal surface. 

A heavy silence descended, filled only by the distant sounds of the visits from the other prisoners around her. Josh leaned forward slightly, his eyes, dark and intense, sweeping over her. He took in her flushed cheeks, the slight tremor in her hands, the way her hair framed her face. It felt less like a stare and more like an absorption, as if he were trying to memorize every detail. Evren felt a flush creep up her neck, suddenly acutely aware of his penetrating gaze, and she refused to meet his eyes, instead focusing on a chip in the paint on the table. 

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice still low, but now laced with a different kind of intensity. "You goin’ out on dates now?" 

Evren's head snapped up, anger flaring anew. "Who told you that? And what business is it of yours anyway, Josh?" 

"Don't matter who told me," he retorted, his voice rising slightly. "What matters is what you doin'. Knowin' how I feel bout'chu." 

"Do I, Josh?" Evren shot back, leaning forward, her own voice sharp. "Because all I know is while you've been locked up, getting into fights, jeopardizing your appeal. What am I supposed to do, just put my life on hold for someone who's constantly on edge, lashing out, and can't seem to stay out of trouble, even in here?" The words tumbled out, fueled by weeks of unspoken frustration. "Your temper, the way you just expect me to understand everything, it's beginning to be too much sometimes." 

Her voice cracked on the last words, and suddenly, the anger drained away, replaced by a raw vulnerability. Her eyes welled up, and she pressed her lips together, fighting back tears. "And then you actin' like you don't care that I'm here. I came because a part of me still fuckin’ cares bout you, Josh. More than I want to admit." A single tear escaped, tracing a hot path down her cheek. "I really do." 

Josh was stunned a bit. The anger in his eyes softened, replaced by a flicker of something similar to regret. He watched the tear fall, his expression shifting, the hardness melting away. He reached across the cold metal table, his large hand gently but firmly covering hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hands. 

"I care bout'chu too, Ren," he murmured, his voice now soft, a stark contrast to his earlier command. "More than I let on. And I'm sorry. For how I been actin', for all of it. F'real ma." He squeezed her hand, his gaze unwavering. 

Evren nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat, as another tear slipped down her face. Josh's thumb moved from her hand to gently wipe the tear away from her cheek, his touch surprisingly tender. 

"Stop cryin'," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips, "You too pretty for that." 

A small laugh escaped Evren, and she sniffled, a genuine smile finally touching her lips despite the lingering tears. 

Josh's gaze turned serious again, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on her hand. "Look, we both know what this is. I ain't checkin' for nobody else. You the only one who got my attention." He squeezed her hand lightly. "So let's just get it understood. You're mine, and I'm yours. We ain't gotta put a label on it right now, but we both know where we stand. Good with that, mama?" 

Evren's smile widened a bit, letting out a little laugh. The explicit confirmation felt like a promise. "I'm good with that," she shook her head, her heart feeling lighter than it had in months. 

He nodded, squeezed her hand again, his eyes serious. "The first court hearing for the appeal is in a few days. I want'chu there, Ren." 

Evren looked into his eyes, seeing the earnestness there. The complex emotions that swirled around him, around them, were still daunting, but in this moment, his sincerity was undeniable. "Okay," she said lowly, her voice still a little thick. "I'll be there." 

Just then, a guard's voice cut through the air."Time's up!" all the other inmates started saying their goodbyes to their families. 

Josh pushed his chair back, rising up. As Evren stood, he pulled her into a tight, swift hug, one arm wrapping around her waist, drawing her flush against him. The guard's warning came again, sharper this time. "Fatu, watch them hands!" 

But Josh paid no mind, his hands drifting lower, pulling her closer, pressing her body tightly against his. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a low, deep growl that sent shivers through her. "When I call you t'night, you better answer, ma." 

Evren nodded, her breath caught in her throat, the heat of him being close and the possessive whisper a powerful mix. Then, too soon, he released her, stepping back as the guard approached. Evren, still reeling, quickly exited the visitation room, leaving Josh behind, his presence lingering in her mind."

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[uceyliyahh]

RIGHHHT LIKE OMFGGG

THAT BOY LOOK DAMN GOOD TONIGHT. FAWK 😩🥵🥵

This all I got for this … cause whew…

[uceyliyahh]

clarity jey uso

— where jey isn’t the best at commitment, and it might cost him the best thing that’s happened to him in a while.

pairing jey uso x fem reader wc 3.7k+ warnings fluff angst not proofread explicit language reader slaps and punches someone lol

the world saw you as the woman who always had it together. calm, cool, and collected. a low voice at all times - smooth like jazz, cold like an untouched drink. famous, but not in your face about it. mysterious to an extent. a critically acclaimed photographer with works being featured in international and elite magazines, was now dabbling in the world of wwe.

a woman who had previously claimed that she’d rather be superkicked in the face a million times before dating a man.

little did the public know that behind closed doors, were late night drives, shared playlists, custom matching jewelry sets, and silk sheets tangled between two people who didn’t dare to call it love.

jey uso. main event. the fire to your ice. loud. passionate. wild. yet when he was with you, he was calm. he listened. and you were the exact same. to the public you’re reserved. spoke only when spoken to. but around jey? you become rowdy. always yapping about something new.

your moments together are full of shared glances, lingering touches, laughter, and the unshakable feeling that the two of you are something more than what you’re portraying it to be.

you nor jey defined it, you were both scared. but jimmy and naomi did. they had been calling it since they introduced you two. there’s been multiple instances where they’d walked in on breakfast being made by you (in his shirt) while jey’s squeezing fresh oranges shirtless or when jey was (unusually) running a bit behind and he’d shoot a text saying “she’s fixing her hair then we’re otw”. they knew. they never judged.

the rest of the world didn’t know. and that’s how jey liked it - private. uncomplicated. you, on the other hand, were starting to lose it.

the past six months with jey have been nothing but amazing. you felt safe with him. but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t starting to become worried and cautious about where your relationship was heading with him. so unfortunately, your line of patience regarding anything jey right now, was very thin.

the backstage hall at smackdown was buzzing, loud with crew and talent all around you, the air still electric from earlier matches. and that’s when you saw her - ariana.

ariana was a new and fresh interviewer, yet she already left a bad impression on most of the womens division, and some of the males division. always walking around with too much lip liner and too much mouth, she’d degrade any female wrestler she’d come across then go kiss up and flirt to any male wrestler. a real bitch, if anyone asked you.

she was practically perched on jey’s shoulder, like a bird desperate to a nest. and jey, oblivious as ever, just nodded, patted her on the shoulder, and walked off to return to his locker room.

then ariana (unfortunately) spotted you as you were walking away yourself, and quickly called out for you.

“didn’t think i’d catch you here,” ariana said.

you immediately rolled your eyes. this wasn’t the first time you’ve had an… altercation with her.

continuing on your way, you replied, “i’m working.”

“right,” ariana said with a giggle. “and here i thought you’d be off playing house with jey.”

you stopped dead in your tracks, turning to look at her fully. “excuse me?”

“oh, you know! i heard a rumor that someone from production saw you leaving his place… multiple times! or is that just a rumor?” ariana continued with a shit-eating smirk on her face.

you kept your composure, “you should watch your mouth if you want to keep this job you just got.”

arianas smirk only grew after your reply, “you know he tells everyone he’s not tied down… me personally, i wouldn’t continue to sleep in some dudes bed if he was still saying he’s single”

you stayed silent. but ariana wanted a reaction. so she stepped closer, too close.

“i asked him what he sees in you, ya’know. and he said he sees nothing. that you’re just someone to keep his bed warm when he’s here. he doesn’t love you girl. he loves the idea of you. he loves that you don’t ask for more than he give.”

at this point, a few people had quietly gathered around you, not that you noticed anyway.

she leaned back, her smirk getting on your nerves by the millisecond. she then shrugged, “guess that’s why he keeps you around. you’re easy.”

oh this bitch.

ariana opened her mouth again and your open palm loudly smacked across her cheek - echoing through the hallway. and just before ariana could spew another word, your right fist quickly connected to her jaw.

ariana fell back onto the wall, her mouth agape and bleeding, mixed with the shocked and stunned look in her eyes.

“run your mouth like that to me again, and you’ll need more than just security to keep you upright,” you said, voice dripping with venom.

trinity, who was already in the small crowd, immediately reached out to grab your arm to try and get you away from the situation. “girl! c’mon!”

“nah i’m good, i’m done,” you looked at her, then turned back to face ariana, who was now holding her jaw as medics surrounded her. “but i’m through with your blatant disrespect, not only to me but to the rest of the women here. you’re not gon’ disrespect anyone here again, i’ll make sure of it.”

after that you finally turned around with trin, who was accompanied by other women that happened to be nearby as they all expressed their approval of your words and action - saying things like "she had it coming", "she deserved more than that" and "i didn't know you had that in you girl!"

you chuckled at the last comment before looking up and catching a glance at the man of the hour - jeys head was poking out of his locker room as he gave you a look.

mmm. you could see where this night was gonna go.

-

after an, eventful, friday night, it was finally time for everyone to go home. and this is when you mentally cursed your past self for giving into josh’s request of him driving the both of you this morning - because now you found yourself in a silent car with josh as he drives back to his place.

he had glanced over at you and could see the cogs twisting and turning in your head, and could sense your patience that was teetering over the edge. knowing your hothead self and his own hothead self, he could only pray for both of yalls sanity.

entering his house, you beelined to your shared his room, slamming the bathroom door, needing a fresh shower to calm your mind. josh only sighed as he made his way to the guest bathroom to shower, knowing you were probably gonna be in there for a while.

after a good hour of being hidden away in his room, you eventually made your way downstairs to the kitchen, where jey was waiting - freshly showered in sweatpants and a wife beater. damn him and his fine self, you thought to yourself.

he watched you, knowing you were still upset over what had happened. “baby…” he started, voice careful.

“don’t call me that right now,” you snapped back.

he ran a hand over his face, “you wanna tell me what happened back there?”

while you were away in the room, he called trinity asking for some inside info and she shared the events of what happened and details, ending the call with a “don’t fuck up tonight.”

trinity was your best friend. even before you had met josh and she had met jon. you two met during your nxt days and became closer than ever. so she knew all about your overthinking. and she knew that one way or another, everything would be laid out on the table tonight.

“she ran her mouth.”

“you put her in the hospital.”

“she deserved it.”

he walked over to you, slowly and cautiously, as if you were a volcano that could erupt at any moment. “you should’ve came to me first.”

“would it have changed anything?” you asked, voice strained and tight. “would you have told her to stop lying on both your name and mine? would you have defended me? or would you have ignored it and sweep it under the rug, like you do with everything else that makes this inconvenient?”

josh frowned. “that’s not fair.”

“no, what’s not fair is you acting like we’re not something meanwhile i’m catching strays from jealous girls that want you! i got hit with words that you’ve apparently been letting float around.”

he sighed. “you know i haven’t told anyone about us, good or bad. that’s how private i am, and you know this ma.”

your chest was quickly rising and falling. “private, i’m fine with. but this? this is invisible. you let people believe anything that they can come up with, and then i’m the one who looks stupid.”

he reached for your hands, “baby i’m sorry, but she was lying! and who cares people say?”

you pulled back.

“i do. because i’m sick of this. i’m sick of pretending like what we have… isn’t something at all.” you say, voice cracking.

josh’s face softened, “c’mon mama, you know it’s not like that. you know you’re mine”

at this point your eyes welled with tears, so you forced yourself to look down. “no,” you whispered. “i don’t know that.”

joshs voice dropped low. “baby… look at me.”

she did. and it nearly broke him.

“you think i let you stay over just ‘cause? you think i hold you at night for fun? you think i introduced you to my family just ‘cause we’re “friends”? you think i’ve been letting you take up half of my closet for fun? or half of my bathroom with all those damn products? i don’t let people in like this, mama. i don’t wake up to just anybody either.”

you looked away, pain written all over your face as tears threatened to spill out of your eyes.

“baby,” he said as he stepped closer, “you the only person on this earth that can calm me. you make this house feel like home. i’m just… scared, thas’all”

you let out a bitter laugh. “of what? loving back someone who might actually love you?”

there was a beat of silence.

josh’s head dipped down as he let out a quiet, “yeah, i guess so.”

you bit your lip, tears now coming down your face.

barely audible, you whispered, “then i can’t keep doing this. i can’t keep giving you bits and pieces of my heart if you’re never gonna take the whole thing.”

and with that you turned, grabbed your his hoodie off the counter and your keys.

“baby—“, he called, voice wavering and desperate.

but you were already gone.

-

neither of you got much sleep that night. or the night after. or the night after that.

josh sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. his bed still smelt like you - remnants of vanilla and shea butter remained on his sheets and pillows. your hoodie was still hung on the back of the chair. your facial and hair products still sprawled across the desk, evidence that you two were running late on friday. your clip you used every morning was still on the bedside table.

but you weren’t there.

and his heart was racing like he was standing on the top rope, except he was staring down at a drop that had no end.

his phone dinged. hoping it was a notif from you, his eyes rolled as it was only a text from his twin brother.

he stared at your shared chat - the only person chatting being himself tho.

9:32 pm

baby, i’m sorry.

11:46 pm

mama, please hear me out at least?

1:22 am

call me back

2:31 am

are you up? i know you are. you’d always be watching our favorite anime. i miss you.

3:58 am

i can’t sleep without you.

4:03 am

ma, please. i’m losing it over here.

8:17 am

good morning baby. i hope you’re okay.

he sighed as he shut his phone off. his messages were piling up like the weight that was on his heart and shoulders. he was sure he’d fill your voicemail box at this point - and your voicemail never changed. calm, soft - comforting. the same cool and almost teasing tone you always answered with: “y’know what to do”.

on the other side of the phone, you sat on the couch in silence, you’d muted your phone days ago, yet you’d always read every single text he’d send and listen to every voicemail.

you watched as your phone lit up again for the nth time in the past 10 minutes. you pulled your knees tighter to your chest, burying your face in the neck of one of jey’s old shirts.

you hated that you still missed him. that his clothes still smelt like him. that his presence is everywhere in your apartment. that his voice echoed in your head. that his face was there when you closed your eyes. that you could still feel his arms wrapped around you.

that you could still hear him calling you his, like the word belonged to no one else.

but you stayed quiet. you stayed strong. because for once, you wanted to be chased. not just kept.

-

that afternoon, josh went downstairs to his living room, needing to get out of his bedroom where everything reminded him of you when jon and trin walked in.

their first impression? josh looked like hell. he felt like it too.

his eyes were red, his face unshaven, hood of his hoodie: on, knees up and his phone still in his hands.

“you look like shit, uce.”

josh didn’t bother looking up.

“damn bro, you look fucked up”, trinity said.

his ears immediately perked up at the sound of her voice and turned around. “have you seen her? have you talked to her? is she okay?” he asked trin, face worried, voice shaking.

trinity looked at jon, a sad look on both of their faces.

she made her way next to him, “she’s… managing. i went to check up on her this morning. and she damn near looked like a ghost when she answered the door.”

josh groaned, his head returning to his hands. “i fucked up really bad.” jon chimed in and said, “yeah. big time uce.”

trinity swatted jon’s shoulder and rolled her eyes at him. “look at yourself. you love her, don’t you?”

“i do.”

“then why haven’t you told her?”

josh hesitated. “because… i don’t know how to love her properly. and i don’t know how to be in love with someone like her,” he admitted. “she’s calm, she’s cool. she’s real. she sees straight through my bullshit. and that scares me.”

jon looked at his twin, “look uce, i know you’re afraid of commitment and trust, but that girl? she’s the realest woman you’re gonna get. and she’s always been 10-toes down for you. she’s loyal, she’s true. if you love her as much as you say you do, you gotta let that guard down, cause she’s let her own guard down and now you’re letting her slip away.”

josh looked up at both trinity and jon, “man, how am i supposed to get her back then?”

trinity smirked, “mmm, i have an idea on that.”

-

you looked no better than josh when jon and trin walked in on him.

hair thrown in a messy bun, his hoodie being way too big on you, eye bags darker than ever before. the clock read 6:23 pm when trinity walked into your room, using the spare key you’d given to her - oh shoot. you need to get your other from josh still.

“hey girl… sorry for intruding, how you holding up?” trinity asked gently, sitting right next to you.

you gave her a small smile, “m’fine, just thinking.” “girl you’ve been thinking a bit too much lately. how about this, how about we go out tonight? just you and me.”

you raised a brow at her, “i don’t know girl…” trinity nudged your shoulder, “we don’t have to go out out, i’m thinking a walk on the beach, just to clear your head. we can stop by somewhere to get you nuggets and fries.”

trin saw the smile that you tried to hide, “i’m taking that smile as a yes! c’mon, let’s get you up and ready girl” to which you giggled as she pulled you up and away to the bathroom.

a good forty minutes later and you two finally made it out of your apartment, and true to her word, you did stop by a nearby fast food restaurant to get your signature meal. now, you sat in the passenger seat as trin drives along the coast, windows down and the sun setting.

you were in soft linen pants, paired with a light brown top, and a delicate gold chain. your signature rings in their assigned spots on your fingers, including the ring josh gifted you a couple months back. simple, yet elegant.

trinity eventually pulled into a parking spot, and stepping out of the car, you immediately spotted lights. a bunch of them, actually. trin had already begun walking towards the path of lights, beckoning you to come and follow her.

the two of you walked along the path of candle lights, stopping when you saw it. saw him.

at the end of the path was a multitude of bouquets of your favorite flowers. fairy lights strung along a driftwood arch. rose petals across the sand, spelling out ‘i’m sorry’. a small speaker hidden somewhere playing love by musiq soulchild.

josh stood in the middle of it all, heart pounding out of his chest.

he wore a crisp white tee and gold chains that shimmered when the candle light reflected across it. in his hands were another bouquet of your favorite flowers, somebody went all out, you thought.

you looked back at naomi who was already slipping away, to which she gave a gentle smile back to you. then she looked at josh, “all you now brother,” then she walked away.

now it was just you two.

josh stepped closer first, his voice low but certain.

“baby.”

you were silent.

taking another step, he continued. “you’ve told me that the beach is your safe space. that this spot right here where we’re standing, is the only place that quiets your restless mind. i figured this is the perfect place for me to give you what you’ve always wanted from me.”

“and what’s that?”

“clarity.”

the wind shifted, brushing your curls back, and josh swore that you looked like the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on in that moment.

“i’ve been a lot of things to you. here, then gone. warm, then cold. all in, then halfway out. and you’ve always took it. every version of me. on my good days and bad days. you showed up. you laid next to me every night, as if i were easy to love.”

his voice cracked.

“i didn’t know how to be enough for someone like you. i didn’t know how if i could be stable enough for you. i grew up in a house where my parents were constantly fighting. my pops was always on the road, while my mom worked day and night for me and my siblings. i grew up thinking that being in this business, meant long term relationships aren’t possible. i was worried - that i’d end up turning into my dad. and that i’d treat you the way he treated my mom. i was scared that i couldn’t be enough for you. that you’d end up leaving anyways, because i wasn’t secure enough for you.”

a tear fell down his cheek.

“joshua…” you started. “no, let me finish baby.”

“you’re everything i didn’t know i needed. the way the ocean is to you, is you to me. my mind is constantly racing, constantly thinking. but when i’m with you, it stops. you make me feel whole, you make me feel capable of doing anything i put my mind to. you know exactly what to say or what to do, when i don’t.”

now there were tears in your eyes. he stepped closer, now being face to face with you.

“i let my fears speak louder than the truth. but i’m done with that shit now. i want to be yours. loudly. fully. publicly. entirely. i wanna wake up to you being mad that i stole the blanket. i wanna fall asleep with your leg tossed over mine and your head on my chest. i wanna take naps in your arms ‘cause you say real men will be little spoons too. i wanna argue, then laugh, then make up, and do it all over again. i want your whole heart, not just bits and pieces.”

you looked deep into his eyes, seeing nothing but warmth and honesty. “you sure?”

he nodded, placing the bouquet next to his feet before grabbing your wrists, “i’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. you were never just a girl that fills the empty space in my bed. you’re it, mama. you’re my peace. my person. my forever, that is, if you’ll still have me.”

she closed her eyes, tears threatening to spill. bringing her forehead close to his, she whispered, “i hate how much i love you.”

he smiled, “i love how much you hate it.”

you both shared a giggle, before he picked you up bridal style and kissing you on your forehead, your cheek and then your lips.

“you still mad?” he asked you against your mouth.

“mmm, a little.

he grinned, “i can work with that.”

and of course, coming from behind the rocks are jon and trin who are hooterin’ and hollering with cheers and fist bumping the air. you laugh out, “yall are stupid.”

you look at josh, still carrying you, who’s already looking at you.

“i love you baby, this lifetime and the next.”

you smile, kissing his cheek, “i love you forever my handsome.”

[uceyliyahh]

Jey did it again with his tongue like sir we know you is a eater dawg relax 😭😭😭

[uceyliyahh]

Literally don’t see a difference 😭😭

[uceyliyahh]

Paring⤷ Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader x Jey Uso Plot⤷ It’s raw, it’s honest, and it leaves you questioning everything you thought you wanted. Word Count⤷ 5k Tags⤷ 18+, Minors DNI, mentions of Cheating , cervix kissing, language, heavy smut, toxicity, ex's brother, betrayal, body fluids, p in v, fingering Luna's Note⤷Hey babies, just finished this from my drafts to keep y’all busy while I finish up chapter 2 of Bite! Hope you enjoy it <3.

What was worse than destroying designer shoes, you may ask? Cheating, of course. 

"Y/N! I KNOW that ain’t— I KNOW THAT AIN’T MY SHIT!" he roared from the bottom of his lungs, voice cracking like a whip. You stood there in the middle of the driveway, arms folded tight against your chest, towering over the pile of Nikes, Jordans, and every other overpriced pair of kicks he’d ever flexed in your face. Watching it all go up in flames felt like poetic justice.

The heat from the fire was nothing compared to how your heart felt last night—burning alive, charred to the bone, when you walked in on him in the back of that club, his dick down some random’s throat.

And now? He was gonna feel that same fire, too.

"FUCK YOU," you spat, every syllable dripping with venom, before you turned on your heel and stormed off into the house. The door slammed shut so hard it rattled the frame, and you didn’t hesitate to lock it behind you.

You stomped up the stairs two at a time, your heart pounding like a drumline. Once in your bedroom, you wasted no time—no second thoughts, no hesitation. You yanked open the closet and started pulling out every last one of his belongings: shirts, jeans, hoodies—hell, even those stupid socks he loved so much.

With the window wide open, you hurled them out one by one, watching them flutter down like filthy confetti.

"C'MON MA! I— I WAS DRUNK, I AIN’T KNOW—" he stammered, voice cracking under the weight of his own excuses.

But you’d had enough. Enough of the lies, the cheating, the whispers and rumors that never seemed to stop.

"IM TIRED OF YO SHIT, JEY! GO BE WITH THAT BITCH THAT WAS ALL OVER YO SMALL ASS DICK!" you screamed, voice cutting through the air as you threw the last of his clothes out the window like a final, punctuated period to the mess he’d made.

His jaw was clenched tight, fists balled up at his sides as he stared at the pile of his shit scattered across the concrete like a goddamn yard sale. "Y/N, baby, it wasn’t like that—"

But you cut him off with a bitter laugh that echoed through the quiet of the night.

"LIKE WHAT HUH? LIKE YOU AIN’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU WAS DOIN’ WHEN SHE PUT HER MOUTH ON YOU!?"

He shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting from your face to the pile of clothes, looking like he wanted to scoop it all up and pretend none of it happened.

But you were done pretending.

You leaned out the window a little further, hands gripping the frame, your voice steady and ice cold.

"I hope she was worth it, Jey. I hope she made you feel as good as you made me feel like shit."

And with that, you slammed the window shut and drew the curtains, cutting him off just like he’d cut you off—only difference was, you weren’t coming back to fix it.

Not this time.

An hour later, you were still pacing around your house, your mind running wild as you gathered up the rest of his shit. You moved from room to room like you were on autopilot, your fingers curling around anything that smelled like him, felt like him—jackets hanging by the door, sneakers by the bed, cologne bottles in the bathroom. One by one, you tossed it all into a pile in the middle of the living room, the mountain of his things growing higher and higher, a testament to every moment he’d taken from you.

Three years.

Three years of the same bullshit—hearing the whispers, the rumors about the groupies he’d take to cheap hotel rooms after matches, the way he’d always have some excuse ready, like you were supposed to believe he just “crashed at a friend’s place” for nine hours straight.

You’d tried to bury it deep, pretend it was just talk, but your gut always knew.

And that wasn’t even the half of it.

He had a way of making you feel like you weren’t enough. Like the soft curve of your hips and the natural shape of your thighs needed to be “fixed,” like you had to do more squats to keep up with the girls he watched on Instagram.

You remembered the way he used to scroll through those girls’ pages in front of you, letting his eyes linger on their perfect asses, their tiny waists—never even bothering to hide it. When you’d catch him, he’d just wave it off, say, “I know them,” like that was supposed to make it okay. Like that was supposed to make your heart stop aching.

And God, you’d tried.

You’d stand in front of the mirror, turning side to side, checking yourself like you were some project that needed to be rebuilt. You’d eat more than you wanted to, stuffing yourself full just to see if your jeans would fit a little tighter. But no matter what you did, it was never enough.

You’d lost yourself somewhere along the way. Lost yourself in the lies, the excuses, the endless cycle of making up and breaking up. You’d lost yourself in a man your mother had always warned you about—“Men like that will break you, baby. They’ll make you think you’re nothing without them,” she used to say, her voice heavy with the weight of her own heartbreaks.

But you hadn’t listened.

You’d let your heart lead the way instead of your head. And now?

Now, all you could do was stand there in the middle of your living room, staring at the pile of his shit and wondering why it took you so long to see that you deserved better.

You should have listened to your brain instead of that big, beautiful heart of yours.

And you swore to yourself, right then and there, you wouldn’t make that mistake again.

A knock at the door pulled you out of your head. You looked up from the pile of Jey’s shit in the living room, jaw tight and chest heavy. You stalked over to the door and yanked it open, bracing for whatever the hell was next.

It was Jimmy.

Jey’s twin, standing there like he was the calm after the storm, wearing that same tired look you’d seen too many times before.

You rolled your eyes and let out a low groan, dragging your palm down your face. “What now, huh? You comin’ to cuss me out too, Jimmy? ‘Cause I’m real tired of everybody actin’ like this is my fault.”

Jimmy just stared at you for a moment, his big brown eyes soft and steady, a flash of gold in his mouth as he spoke. “Nah,” he said finally, voice low and even. “Just here to get the rest of Jey’s shit. He told me what happened, so I figured I’d come instead. Didn’t want him showin’ up and makin’ it worse.”

You held his gaze for a second longer, your eyes trailing from the neat cornrows on his head to the clean white Air Forces on his feet. He looked put together in a way Jey never did anymore—steady, calm, like he was actually listening instead of just waiting for his turn to talk.

You didn’t bother saying anything back. You just turned around and walked straight into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind you.

Jimmy took that as an invitation, stepping inside with careful steps, glancing around at the mess of clothes and memories piled up in the living room.

He shrugged off his black hoodie, revealing a white tank top underneath, and tossed it onto the back of the couch before getting to work.

For the next thirty minutes, he moved quietly through the living room, stacking up Jey’s shit like it was just another job he had to finish. Shirts, shoes, random little things Jey had left lying around—Jimmy scooped them all up without saying a word.

Meanwhile, you were in the kitchen, pouring yourself shot after shot of Jack Daniels. You didn’t want Hennessy tonight—no, that was for when you were feeling soft and sad. Tonight was about fire, about burning away every last piece of him that still clung to you.

You slammed each shot back like it was a promise to yourself—no more excuses, no more second chances.

Jimmy’s quiet footsteps moved behind you as he worked, and you just kept going, letting the burn of the whiskey in your throat remind you that you were still here, still standing.

It wasn’t the night you wanted.

But it was the night you needed.

When Jimmy came back into your house, he reached for his black hoodie resting on your couch, his broad shoulders stretching under the thin white tank.

“Want a drink?” you asked him softly, your voice a little hoarse from yelling earlier.

He nodded, a small, understanding look in his eyes, and made his way into the kitchen as you pulled out another shot glass. You filled it with that same Jack Daniels you’d been nursing, and he threw it back like it was water, the sharp burn not even making him flinch.

Despite him being Jey’s twin, he carried himself in a way that was all his own. Where Jey was loud and always looking for a fight, Jimmy had this calm about him—solid, like nothing could shake him.

You’d never heard rumors about him creeping around with other women, never seen him in the club doing too much. You’d never even seen him give another woman the time of day unless it was just a polite smile and a nod.

Now that you thought about it, your chest tightened a little, and the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Thank you.”

He paused mid-motion, the empty shot glass still in his hand. “For what?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he looked at you.

You refused to meet his eyes, choosing instead to stare at the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter. “For not picking sides. For not cussin’ me the fuck out,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jimmy didn’t say anything for a second. He just set the shot glass back down and held it there, his fingers drumming against the countertop. You poured him another shot without asking, and he took it, tossing it back like it was nothing.

“Whatever you and my brother got goin’ on,” he said slowly, his deep voice filling the space between you, “ain’t got nothin’ to do wit’ me.”

You didn’t know how to respond.

You just stood there, silent, staring at the streaks of whiskey that glistened on the counter. The weight of everything you’d been carrying for so long settled heavy in your chest.

You turned away, wiping at the countertop, trying to keep your hands busy so you didn’t have to face him.

Jimmy must have seen it—the way you shut down, the way your shoulders tensed up—because he moved closer, closing that small distance between you. He reached out and gently grabbed your arm, his hand warm and steady.

“Hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your skin. “I ain’t mean it like that. It’s just… ion care if y’all ain’t together no more. I ain’t finna pick sides and treat you wrong. That’s what pussys do. You don’t deserve that shit.”

You finally looked up at him, your lips parting like you wanted to say something, but the words got stuck somewhere deep in your chest. All you could do was nod, the relief in your eyes saying what your mouth couldn’t.

And in that moment, with Jimmy standing there and the kitchen light catching the glint of gold in his mouth, you realized you didn’t have to carry this alone anymore.

“I know you wanna cry, mama, and it’s ight to cry,” he began, his voice low and gentle as he pulled you in closer, your cheek resting against his broad chest.

The warmth of him, the way his arms wrapped around your shoulders like a shield, made your eyes sting even though you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t let them fall.

“You ain’t deserve none of this shit,” he continued, his voice rumbling in his chest as he spoke. “I tried tellin’ him over and over, but his ass don’t listen.”

The words washed over you like a balm, soft and sincere, and for a moment you just let yourself lean into him—let yourself feel the comfort of being held by someone who didn’t look at you like a problem to be fixed.

Your hands gripped the fabric of his white tank, the scent of his cologne—fresh and clean, nothing like the stale cologne that clung to Jey’s shirts—filling your senses.

You wanted to tell him how tired you were, how hollow it felt to keep loving someone who never gave a fuck if you drowned.

But the words stayed stuck in your throat, so you just let him hold you, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat under your ear.

“I’m sorry, mama,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the crown of your head, his hand smoothing over your back. “You didn’t deserve none of this.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.

And with that, your tears began to fall.

So much had built up inside of you for so long—anger, heartbreak, exhaustion—like a storm that had nowhere to go. It finally broke. It finally cracked open in the arms of your ex’s brother.

But you didn’t think of it like that.

You didn’t think of it as a betrayal or something wrong. No, this felt like something you’d been needing for a long, long time.

It had been months—months since Jey held you the way Jimmy was holding you now.

Jey never held you like this when things got hard. He never let you just fall apart without judgment.

But Jimmy… Jimmy just let you cry.

He didn’t tell you to calm down, didn’t tell you to be strong, didn’t tell you to stop. He just kept his arms around you, steady and warm, his fingers brushing up and down your back in slow, soothing circles.

You buried your face in his chest, the soft cotton of his tank top dampening with your tears, and he didn’t flinch or pull away.

Jimmy’s phone buzzed again and again in his back pocket, but he ignored it.

You could see the screen light up behind you, catch a glimpse of the name that kept popping up: “wya Uce?”

Jey’s messages—over and over, trying to find his brother, trying to find you.

But Jimmy didn’t even glance at it.

Instead, he held you tighter, his jaw clenched like he was fighting off his own feelings, his own anger at seeing you like this.

You didn’t say a word, and neither did he.

The only sounds in the kitchen were your quiet, shaky breaths and the soft thud of your heart against his chest, like somehow both of you were holding each other up.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter who he was—it didn’t matter that he was Jey’s twin or that your world was on fire.

It just mattered that he was there, and he wasn’t letting go. 

He slowly tilted your chin up with two fingers, his thumb brushing along your jawline as he searched your eyes.

“You so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like it was scraping at his throat to come out. “Jey ain’t deserve you.”

The words sank into your chest deeper than any apology Jey ever tried to spit out. Your heart thumped so hard you could feel it in your fingertips, your breath catching as his dark eyes stayed locked on yours.

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Jimmy moved closer, his hand still cradling your chin, the warmth of his skin grounding you as your mind started to spin.

“Shoulda been me who got yo number at that party three years ago,” he continued, his tone heavier, regret lacing every syllable. “Not him.”

The confession hit you like a wave, flooding your chest with something warm and something wild, something you didn’t want to name.

Your mind was shaky, confusion tangling up with the heat blooming in your belly.

Maybe it was the alcohol, swirling through your veins and making your head feel light.

Maybe it was the heartbreak, the way you were tired of feeling alone in a relationship that never cared for you the way you needed.

Or maybe it was that damn depo shot that had your emotions on a rollercoaster, making you want things that felt reckless and new.

Before you could even piece together what was happening—

“mmph,” you let out a soft hum of surprise as his lips pressed against yours.

The kiss was sudden but slow, like he’d been holding back for years.

His hand slid around to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing your pulse as he deepened the kiss, his lips warm and sure against yours.

You could taste the whiskey on his breath, feel the roughness of his stubble on your skin as he pulled you in closer, like he was trying to tell you something he couldn’t say out loud.

And in that moment, with your mind spinning and your heart pounding, all you could do was kiss him back.

Jimmy was always there when Jey wasn’t.

Always the one who picked up the pieces when Jey’s sorry ass was nowhere to be found.

He’d help you with your grocery shopping on those long-ass days when you were too tired to lift a finger, his laughter making it feel easier somehow.

He was the one who’d drop you off at the airport when you were visiting your family, making sure your bags were packed right, and then waiting to pick you up with a smile when you got back—even if it was three in the damn morning.

When that time of the month rolled around and Jey would cringe like it was a disease, Jimmy would show up with your favorite chocolates and a heating pad, knowing exactly what you needed before you even had to ask.

It was like he paid attention to all the shit Jey ignored—like he actually saw you.

And every time he did, it made your heart ache a little bit more because you knew he was the kind of man Jey could never be.

His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, trailing soft, wet kisses that sent chills down your spine.

A soft whimper slipped out before you could stop it, your breath catching.

“Jimmy,” you moaned, your voice shaking with need.

“Mhm, say my name again, mama,” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin with every word.

“J-Jimmy,” you repeated, your fingers moving up to his head, finding those neat cornrows that always looked so damn good on him.

You traced the braided patterns with slow, teasing fingers, feeling how his breathing changed under your touch.

He didn’t wait, didn’t give you time to think.

His lips found yours again, slower this time, like he was taking his time to memorize every part of your mouth.

Then his strong arms wrapped around you, lifting you like it was nothing, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist.

He walked you over to the couch, his lips never leaving yours, his hands tight on your ass like he was claiming you right then and there.

When he sat down, you landed in his lap, and you didn’t stop—no, you couldn’t.

His hair was right there, and you just had to feel it.

It was so soft, smelled so damn good—like that fancy shampoo he probably didn’t even realize he used.

You started undoing his cornrows, one by one, your fingers working quickly but gently, feeling his breath hitch every time you got closer to his scalp.

When you were done, his hair fell around his face in messy waves, and you couldn’t help but run your fingers through it, tugging lightly just to see him shiver.

His big hands moved down to grab the softest parts of your ass, squeezing like he couldn’t get enough, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp.

He looked up at you through half-lidded eyes, biting his bottom lip at the sight of you getting so damn needy, grinding on him without even thinking.

He leaned back slightly, his eyes locked on yours as his lips curved into a slow, dangerous grin.

“Nah, you takin’ control,” he murmured, his voice all heat and gravel. “You know what it feels like to be in control, mama?” he asked, his hands still guiding you but letting you take the lead, his words making your whole body ache for him.

You shook your head slowly, your hair falling forward a bit as your lips parted. Jey never let you take control—never gave you the chance to figure out what it felt like to be first. Never let you finish first, never even asked if you were okay.

Jimmy tilted his head at you, a small pout on those full lips, his eyes softening as he watched you struggle to find the words.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper but still firm.

His thumb brushed your hip, slow circles that made you shiver.

“You want me to touch you, pretty girl?” he asked again, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your lips.

You couldn’t speak at first, so you nodded slowly, your eyes flickering up to meet his as if you were asking for permission.

“Use your words, mama,” he said, his voice low and patient, but there was a hunger in his eyes that made your pulse quicken.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath leaving you as you finally whispered, “Touch me, Jimmy.”

That was all he needed.

His hands slid up your sides, rough and sure as he pulled you closer, pressing your chest to his.

“Yeah?” he said softly, one of his hands slipping up to cup the side of your face, thumb tracing your cheek.

You nodded again, your breathing uneven, your heart thudding so hard you thought it might jump out of your chest.

“Good girl,” he breathed, and then his lips were back on yours, slow but deep, like he was determined to show you exactly what you’d been missing.

His hand slid under your shorts, the ones that were neither too tight nor too loose, and his fingers found their way to that spot that had been aching for attention. No panties made it easy for him to find his target, and when he did, he didn’t rush. He moved his fingers in slow, deliberate circles, teasing you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and then rolled back, a quiet gasp leaving your lips as your back arched. Your mouth opened, but no words came out—just shaky breaths and tiny moans.

Jimmy leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice low and thick with desire.

“You like that?” he murmured, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You tried to nod, but your whole body felt like it was buzzing, every nerve tuned in to the way he was touching you.

“You gonna let your ex’s brother finger fuck you, mama?” he whispered again, his lips curling up in a half-smirk.

You let out a small whimper, your hips pushing down into his hand on instinct.

“Yeah…yeah,” you managed to say, your voice breathy.

He let out a low chuckle, his fingers speeding up just a little, just enough to make you shiver all over.

“Tell me,” he coaxed, his voice rougher now, “tell me you want it.”

Your eyes opened halfway, meeting his gaze, and you could see the hunger in his eyes.

“I want it,” you whispered, your lips trembling as you said it.

“I want you to make me feel good.”

He groaned softly at that, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eye as he moved his fingers a little faster.

“Good girl,” he said with a soft bite of his lip, “you keep talkin’ to me like that and I’ma make sure you forget about him for good.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your hips grinding down harder, and all you could do was hold onto his shoulders as he kept going—slow and steady, but enough to make you lose your mind.

And then he added a finger, sliding right into you with ease, your pussy already so ready for him.

“F-fuck, Jimm—” you gasped, your hips jerking as you felt the stretch.

He let out a low, husky laugh, his thumb brushing your clit in slow, teasing circles.

“Fuck, you wet as fuck, mama,” he murmured, his voice rough and breathy as he watched your face twist with pleasure.

You could only nod, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your head fell back.

“You like that, huh?” he asked, his tone soft but dirty, “you gonna let me keep going? Let me finger fuck you ‘til you can’t even think?”

“Y-yeah,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved up in a crooked grin, “that’s what I wanna hear.”

He moved faster, his fingers slipping in and out of your raw noisy pussy with a steady rhythm, the sound of your wetness filling the quiet room.

You tried to bite back a moan, but he moved his thumb just right and you couldn’t help it—your hips bucking against his hand.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice low as he tilted his head to watch your face, “you so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby.”

Then he added another finger, stretching you wider and making you cry out.

“Shit—J-Jimmy!” you gasped, your breath coming in fast, shallow pants.

“Uh-huh, that’s it,” he said, his lips brushing your jaw as he spoke, “take these fingers, baby. Take ‘em just like that.”

Your shorts were soaked, sticking to your skin as he held you with his veiny arms and fucked you with his fingers faster and harder.

“You feel how wet you are?” he asked, his tone a little mocking but still gentle, “this all for me, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice cracking as you clung to him, “all for you, Jimmy.”

He let out a low groan, “shit…you drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”

His fingers curved up inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over, and you couldn’t hold back the moans that spilled from your lips.

“Jimmy, I’m—” you gasped, your hips jerking as the pressure built, your walls tightening around his fingers.

“Go on,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, “cum on my fingers, pretty girl.”

And you did.

You came hard and fast, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as your legs shook and your whole body went tight. Your hot juices were flying everywhere beneath you.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he murmured, his fingers slowing down just a little to help you ride it out, “just like that, mama…fuck.”

When you finally caught your breath, your chest heaving, you looked at him through heavy lids. His fingers slipped out slowly, his hand glistening with your release, and he brought them up to his lips, sucking your taste off with a dark, hungry look in his eyes.

“You taste so good,” he said softly, “could do this all fuckin’ night.”

Your heart thudded hard in your chest, your head spinning as you realized you wanted him to.

Jimmy leaned back on the couch, his eyes dark as he watched you catch your breath. 

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and rough, his hands sliding up your thighs. He guided you to straddle him again, pulling you close until your chest pressed against his.

You could feel him hard beneath you, his swollen dick pressing against your soaked shorts, and it made your breath catch. “Jimmy…” you whispered, your voice shaky. He just smirked, his hands sliding under your shorts to cup your ass, squeezing gently. “You know what I want, mama,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “I want you to ride this dick. Take me how you want.”

Your cheeks flushed hot, but your body was already moving, hips shifting so you could grind against the thick outline of him. He let out a low groan, his hands tightening on you. “Fuck…that’s it. You wanna take me out, or you want me to do it?” he asked, his breath ragged. “Y-you…” you stammered, biting your lip. He smiled, that cocky grin that made you melt. “Nah, baby. You’re in control tonight. You wanna ride this dick? Show me how bad you want it.”

You reached between you and tugged his sweatpants down just enough to free him, his thick swollen dick springing free and resting against his stomach. Your breath hitched at the sight—hard, glistening and pink at the tip. “shit…” you said softly, your hand wrapping around him. He hissed out a breath. “Fuck, baby. That’s it.”

With shaking fingers, you pushed your shorts to the side and guided him to your entrance, your slippery pussy already dripping down onto him.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his eyes locked on yours. 

Slowly, you sank down on him, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him. “Fuck, fuck—” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. He let out a deep, low groan, his hands gripping your hips as he watched you take him all in. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “Take every inch, pretty girl.”

When you were finally seated all the way, you paused, your head thrown back, your mouth open in a silent moan. “Shit, you feel so fuckin’ good,” Jimmy breathed, his hips shifting just a little to push deeper, making you gasp. “Move for me,” he said, his eyes half-lidded, “show me how you wanna fuck me.”

You started to move, rolling your hips slowly at first, testing the feel of him filling you. He let out a ragged breath, his hands on your ass guiding you. “Yeah, that’s it,” he growled, his eyes locked on the way your body moved against his. “Look at you…so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You moved faster, your hips rising and falling, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting filling the air. He leaned back on the couch, letting you take control, his hands roaming up your sides and squeezing your waist. “Fuck, mama…you feel so good ridin’ me like this,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust. You could only moan in response, your head spinning with pleasure as you moved faster, grinding down onto his fat dick, pounding your cervix with every thrust. “You gonna cum for me again?” he asked, his thumb brushing your clit just enough to make you shiver. “Gonna make a mess all over me?” “Y-yes…Jimmy, fuck—” you gasped.

His lips curved into a dark smile as he watched you lose yourself, his hands pulling you down harder onto him. “That’s it, mama. Show me how good I make you feel,” he said, his voice low and hungry.

You were so close, your whole body tensing as your pleasure built to a fever pitch. “Jimmy—!” you moaned, your hips jerking as you came, your walls tightening around him and pulling a deep groan from his chest. “Fuck…that’s my girl,” he growled, his hands holding you tight as he thrust up into you, making you ride out every last wave of your orgasm.

When you finally slumped forward, breathless and trembling, he kissed your neck softly. “You did so fuckin’ good, mama,” he murmured, his lips warm against your skin. “So good for me.”

🏷️ @shantinextdoor @sheaabuttaababyy @empressdede @punksyeet @usoinked @pr0wlerpunk @skyesthebomb @morgshope @marley1773 @fearlesschimera @mama-rein @harmshake @uceybluecy @luuvprincess @trentybenty @lov3rla03

[uceyliyahh]

thinking abt jey being a munch 😵‍💫 (yall i swear the weed just be smoking me back. also catch the sinners reference in there if you can :p)

- getting head from jey is a big part of you guys’ routines. he’d honestly stay down there forever if you let him!

- jey would also eat you out anywhere if you let him tbh

- when y’all first moved into your dream home, of course y’all had to christen every room!

- jey always finds literally the worst times to decide to initiate anything because he truly does not care

- you’ll be working in your home office when jey just waltzes in and rolls your desk chair, with you in it, in front of him. he’d be wearing that little devious look on his face he always did whenever he wanted some pussy.

- “please, mama? i just wanna taste you,” he’d whisper to you in the movie theater. y’all, well you, were trying to watch that new marvel movie but jey had other plans.

- let’s just say that the new avengers got a show that night!

- after a long day of work, you both just need to relax. what better way to do that than getting some earth-shattering head from your husband?

- he’ll start off slow, so slow that it’s almost painful how much you have to hold yourself back from grinding your hips into his face.

- once he speeds up though, you eat all your thoughts. his tongue licking at your clit with so much determination paired with two of his fingers inside of you was a heavenly match.

- your legs would tremble around his head but he wouldn’t care.

- y’all already know he’s talking you through that shit.

- one night you’d just been so bratty and he couldn’t take much more of it. the one thing that man loved more than eating you out was putting you in your place.

- “w-why you fucking me like thiss,” you’d moan as his skilled tongue moved all over your clit. he had already made you cum twice but he was determined to teach you a lesson. you’d move your hand to his face, a weak attempt at pushing him away even though you craved more.

- “nah move that hand,” he’d say breathlessly, dominance still lingering in his tone even though he’d been lapping at you for lord knows how long, “you was talking all that shit, right mama? don’t run now.”

- you didn’t know how long jey had been down between your legs but his pace never faltered. you were so close to your release and he knew that, the way your walls squeezed his fingers told him everything he needed to know.

- “this pussy so fucking good, baby,” he’d mumble against you, not even bothering to look up. at a sudden squelching sound that came from his fingers’ face pace inside of you, he’d speak up again. “shittt, you so wet. this all for me?” he’d ask even though he knew it was.

- you’d barely even heard him, your mind too focused on how good he was eating you out. “m’fuckkk,” you’d moan out first, your brain desperately trying to form words. “s’all for you, daddy,” you’d whine once you’d gathered your thoughts.

- “you so fucking pretty, baby,” he’d gush, “can’t wait to nut all up in this.

- and that, he did.

[uceyliyahh]

TELL ME ABOUT FRIEND THAT BALD ASS BITCH PUNISHING US ALL BC WE WANTED R-TRUTH BACK SO FUCKING STUIPD

Alright.. so EVERYONE is on our boy’s ASS.

And , I’m not too happy about it.

But, he also KNEW how much heat he would be getting from winning the title . So, I ain’t THAT upset about it.

WHAT I WILL BE MAD ABOUT IS…. If They make him lose it to someone undeserving, and just BS his title run. (if you get what I’m saying)

Creative and triple fuckin balls betta do right by him and I’m NOT fucking playing

[uceyliyahh]

real

Chapter 84: “Lesson Time, Big Daddy Style”

Samara’s smirk was pure mischief, that slow, knowing grin that said she wasn’t scared of a little heat—nah, she welcomedit. Casamigos still buzzin’ through her veins, she bit her bottom lip like she was daring Jey to come through. Her eyes locked with his, burning with that familiar fire.

“Was that a threat, big daddy?” she purred, voice low and thick with that sassy sass only she could pull off.

She leaned in close, pressing her chest right up against his shirtless, inked-up skin—the one he worked so hard on, the one that was hers to claim. The heat radiating between them was real, crackling like static.

Jey’s breath hitched just a bit, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was ready for the challenge.

“Ain’t no threats here, baby,” he said, voice rough but smooth like dark whiskey. “That’s just a promise.”

Samara’s fingers traced the tattoo on his bicep, slow and deliberate.

“You know I ain’t never been against a lil lesson,” she whispered, eyes dancing with daring.

Jey’s grin widened, teeth flashing, as his hands slid to her waist, pulling her just a little closer—enough to feel her heartbeat against his own.

“Good,” he said, low and serious. “’Cause I been waitin’ on this lesson since you ran outta that kitchen like a damn criminal.”

The room filled with electric tension, their breaths mingling, the past and present colliding in that moment.

Samara laughed softly, shaking her head.

“You so extra sometimes, Joshua.”

“Only for you, baby.”

And just like that, the night promised to get a whole lot hotter—because when Samara and Jey locked eyes like this, you knew some serious heat was about to drop.

Chapter 85: “Big Daddy Clocked In”

She was already stretched across the couch, cocky and comfortable, one thigh hooked lazily over the armrest like she lived there. The back of her hand rested against her glistening, Casamigos-heated chest, and that damn lollipop she'd been teasing him with earlier was between her teeth again as she smirked up at him.

“The fuck we still standing here for?” Her eyes dragged slow and hungry up his shirtless chest, past the chain hanging low, to his jaw that ticked just once before tightening. “I ain’t had no d since we split six years ago, don’t play with me.”

Jey’s hand flexed once at his side. She knew what that tone did to him—she was baiting him. Playing like he wouldn’t really do it. Testing his patience with that lip-bite and all that extra attitude.

He leaned down slow, hovering over her, nose brushing hers.

“You real bold right now, baby girl.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But I ain’t ‘bout to fuck you on this damn couch with my son three doors down and my brothers in the kitchen talking ‘bout lemon pepper.”

Samara smirked, rolling her eyes. “Aww, big bad Fatu got manners now?”

Jey didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead?

That man scooped her up like she weighed nothing.

Arm under her thighs. Other pressed to her back. She let out a sharp gasp, wrapping her arms around his neck just in time as he carried her like a full-course meal down the hallway, deep into the back of the house. His room door slammed shut with his foot. The lock clicked.

And just like that—privacy.

He didn’t even give her time to keep talking.

He kissed the shit outta her—deep, messy, intense. One of those kisses that tasted like regret, anger, and six years of missed chances. His hand ran up the back of her neck, gripping gently like he needed to remember this.

Samara melted under him, clutching his braids with a whimper. “Mm—Jey…”

“Nah. You wanted a lesson, right?” he murmured against her lips. “Told me I ain’t got the knees. Said I can’t keep up?”

His tone was dark silk. Dangerous. That old Jey was back—the one who used to sneak her into his mama’s basement and make her see God before dinner. The one who had her head gone from the first stroke.

Samara’s breath hitched, eyes wide as he gently dropped her on the bed.

“I was talkin’ shit—” “And now I’m ‘bout to handle mine.”

That man got to work like he never clocked out.

Every kiss down her stomach was a slow burn. Every grip of her hips was possessive. And when he finally slipped her shorts down? He looked up from between her thighs with that hungry, greedy-ass stare and muttered:

“This still mine?”

Samara gasped, voice barely there. “Boy, shut—fuck—Jey!”

He ain’t shut up.

And he damn sure didn’t stop.

He worked her like he was proving a point—like she was homework and he was tryin’ to graduate with honors. Her legs locked tight around his head halfway through, and when he finally came up for air, he kissed her hard and flipped her over like it was nothing.

“On your stomach.” “Oop—wait—” “Nah. You asked for it.”

A good ten minutes later, Samara was finished. Hair wild, lashes halfway off, one sock missing, the other hanging by a thread. She laid there like a smoked-out emoji, eyes barely open, chest still panting.

Jey leaned over her, kissing her shoulder softly now, breath warm against her ear.

“That a good enough lesson, or you need summer school too?”

She didn’t answer.

Just reached back slow, gave him a weak thumbs up, and slurred—

“Straight A’s, professor…”

Chapter 86: “Strokes & Smoke” Subsection: Keep Playin', Sis.

The morning sunlight slid lazy through the curtains, golden and nosey, lighting up the edges of the bed like it was highlighting sin.

Samara was curled on her side, one leg tangled in the sheet, silk bonnet slightly crooked, and a faint smirk tucked at the corner of her mouth. She felt it before she saw him—Jey moving beside her, arm stretching out with a grunt as he sat up on the edge of the bed, back covered in ink and muscles like a mural.

She took one look at the scars on his shoulder blades, dragged her eyes lower, and let out a humph.

Jey glanced back, lips already parting like he was about to throw some flirty morning mess—until—

“Strokes need improvement though,” she mumbled, voice syrupy-slick but casual like she was talkin’ weather. “Felt like our first time again… clumsy and soft.”

He turned slow, one eyebrow raised like she had just cussed his ancestors.

“What?”

She stretched dramatically, arms above her head, lips parting in a yawn. “I’unno. I just thought the king of the jungle would’ve brought out a lil more bite, feel me? You was feelin’ like Simba… not Mufasa.”

Jey stared at her like she slapped him with a Bible and dared him to quote scripture back.

“Oh, you got jokes this morning.”

Samara grinned. “I got facts, baby.”

He was off that bed so quick, she barely had time to blink. One second she was still in the sheets, and the next? That man was looming over her with one hand gripping her ankle, pulling her slowly back toward the edge of the bed.

“You real disrespectful for somebody who was cryin’ into the sheets talkin’ ‘bout don’t stop, Jey.’”

She squealed and kicked, laughing as he dragged her closer. “Boy, that was muscle memory and tequila don’t hype yourself.”

“Say less,” he muttered, voice dropping low as he leaned in, his nose brushing the crook of her neck. “Imma refresh that memory real quick. Let’s see if you still talk slick after round two.”

Samara narrowed her eyes. “I still got a nerve pinched from last night. You sure your old ass got the stamina?”

Jey smirked, already sliding his hand up her thigh.

“One thing I don’t play about?” His lips brushed her ear. “Remedial strokes.”

Chapter 87: “Remedial Strokes Pt. 2” Subsection: Teach Me, Daddy.

The bedroom was humid with leftover sin and quiet tension. The kind that crackled like static in the air, waiting to strike.

Samara was halfway through another cocky stretch, bonnet now fully off and forgotten somewhere on the floor, when Jey scooped her thighs with both hands and lifted her like she weighed less than a hoodie.

“Damn, you mad mad?” she laughed breathily, her tone teasing but her body already folding into him like second nature.

“Ion get mad.” His voice was gravel. “I get even.”

He had her back flat against the mattress again before she could blink, one of her knees pushed up beside her head like she was in a damn yoga pose. His eyes dragged over her slowly—hooded, hungry, the smugness hitting full throttle.

“Nah, run that Simba shit back again.”

“I just said you was… like, mellow. Soft,” she mumbled, cheeks warmin’ up now even though she tried to sound unfazed. “It was still cute—”

“Cute?” Jey’s laugh was low and deadly. “So I’m cute now?”

He pressed down, letting his hips sink in just enough to make her breath catch but not enough to give her what she wanted. His lips were right at her jaw, but he refused to kiss her yet.

“Oh, I’m ‘bout to ugly this dick up, then.”

Samara gasped, half-laughing, half-falling into that sharp inhale of anticipation.

“Jey—"

“Shut up and take ya lesson.”

One slow stroke, heavy and deliberate, made her eyes roll back in real-time. That wasn’t soft. That wasn’t clumsy. That was a grown man putting his whole chest into it—like he was signing a love letter in cursive with his hips.

Her mouth opened, no words, just a messy moan that sounded way less smug than anything she’d had to say ten seconds ago.

“What was that?” he grunted in her ear, not breaking rhythm. “Say it with your chest this time.”

Samara clawed at the sheets. “I ain’t—”

“Oh nah.” He gripped the back of her thigh, flipped her clean over like a spatula flipping a pancake, and locked his hand around the nape of her neck. “That mouth been slick since sunrise. Let’s see how smart it sound with a pillow in it.”

She bit into the corner of it, groaning loud as he started handling her with all the aggression she swore he didn’t have anymore.

“No more Simba?” he asked, half-growling as he picked up the pace.

“Mmmf—!”

“That’s what I thought.”

Each stroke knocked sense and sarcasm out her skull like a therapy session in real-time.

He pulled her up by the waist, her back flush to his chest now, hand splayed across her belly while his lips kissed a trail down her neck.

“You talk all that shit…” he murmured, biting her earlobe, “...but your body been callin’ me daddy since last night.”

Samara collapsed forward, panting into the sheets. “Okay… okay, you proved it.”

He wasn’t done.

“Nah, baby girl. You called for a lesson…”

His hand slid up to her throat.

“…and I don’t believe in extra credit till the assignment is perfect.”

Chapter 88: “Truth Serum & Backshots” Subsection: Blame Casamigos (But Also? The Pipe.)

The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead like it had all the time in the world to witness the mess going down in that bedroom. The air was thick—sweat, heat, a little leftover Casamigos still swirling in her system, and the kind of pressure that made it real hard to hold onto pride.

Samara was face-down again, cheeks flushed, lips glossy and parted as Jey kept delivering like he was tryna reclaim all six years in one go.

He had a hand planted firm on the small of her back, the other gripping her hip like it owed him money. His chain swung forward, occasionally brushing her back, that soft clink of gold mixing in with the low groans and ragged moans.

Samara’s mouth started moving before her brain could slap the emergency brakes on.

“I missed you, Jey,” she whined through clenched teeth, eyes rolled up. “Missed you so bad.”

Jey leaned over her, grip not loosening for a second. “Mm?”

He slowed his pace just enough to make her cry out.

“You said what, baby?”

She bit her lip, but the words came tumbling out like a damn confessional. “I missed your mouth. Your hands. This dick—God, Jey—you the biggest I ever had.”

Jey’s smile went full villain. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it.

“Oh, word?” he grunted, dragging it out, rolling his hips deep and slow like he was laying down foundation. “Keep talkin’. I’m listenin’.”

“I ain’t let nobody else hit,” she whimpered, forehead against the sheets, arms trembling. “Not since you—fuck—since we broke up.”

“Say that again.” His voice was low, thick with that signature Fatu edge.

She tried to bury her face in the pillow, but he snatched her up by her hair gently, just enough to get her looking forward.

“Nah, mama. I wanna hear you loud.”

“I ain’t fuck nobody else,” she panted, barely holding on, her whole body twitchin’ under him like he had a controller and she was glitching. “You ruined me—Jey—you ruined me for other men.”

That man grinned.

“Good.”

He shifted her legs higher, arms sliding under her belly, holding her close as he went even deeper. The angle had her screaming.

“Jey—”

“You feel me, huh?”

“Yes.”

“You love this dick, huh?”

She cried out, all her attitude melting like heat against the hood of a car.

“I love you.”

That slipped out.

Dead silence.

Except… Jey didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch.

He just wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, kissed her shoulder, and whispered:

“I know.”

Chapter 89: “Unfiltered & Unstoppable” Subsection: Confessions in the Dark

The room was soaked in shadows, broken only by the streetlight sneaking through the blinds. Samara’s chest rose and fell hard, breath hitching like she’d run miles, but it was all from the way Jey moved inside her—slow, deliberate, like he was marking territory only she knew existed.

Her hands gripped the sheets, fingers clutching as if trying to hold onto every moment before it slipped away again. Her head tilted just enough to catch the curve of his jaw, slick with sweat, teeth clenched tight from the tension he was holding in his body.

“You really ain’t changed, huh?” she murmured, voice low and trembling. “Still got me shook like the first time.”

Jey’s eyes burned, full of something fierce and tender all at once. He pressed a kiss behind her ear, voice rough but gentle. “You been carrying that love for me all this time, girl. Don’t gotta hide it.”

Samara let out a shaky laugh, the kind that breaks through walls. “Carrying it? Bruh, I was damn near drowning.”

He chuckled, deep and guttural, hips still setting the pace. “I been drowning too, Samara. You think I wasn’t thinking ‘bout you every damn night? Every fight? Every time I looked at Zion, thought ‘bout you holding him down?”

She tightened her grip, heart pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it under the music of their bodies colliding. “I never stopped loving you. Even when it felt like hell.”

Jey’s voice cracked—just a little—as he whispered, “Neither did I.”

There was a pause, a rare stillness in the storm of their passion. He cupped her face, thumbs brushing tears she didn’t even realize were there.

“You’re my queen, Samara. Ain’t no scars or pain gonna change that.”

Her breath hitched, tears slipping free as she smiled through the ache. “I’m scared sometimes… scared you gone leave.”

Jey leaned in, forehead resting against hers. “I ain’t going nowhere. Not this time.”

And just like that, all the years of distance, silence, and bruised pride melted into something new—something fierce, real, and unbreakable.

Chapter 90: “Raw & Real” Subsection: Peak Heat & Playful Fallout

They hit the peak like a damn explosion—Jey’s body trembling, veins pulsing, breath ragged and wild. Samara’s nails dug into his back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in that perfect mix of pleasure and relief.

For a second, the whole world disappeared except for the sound of them—breaths, skin slapping, heartbeats thudding like war drums.

Jey pulled back just enough to look down at her, chest heaving, sweat slick and wild. His eyes wide like he just realized the gravity of what they did.

“Shit,” he hissed, voice low and rough. “We went raw, Samara.”

She opened one eye, that sly-ass grin curling on her lips like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Yeah,” she teased, voice soft but full of mischief. “Didn’t think you had it in you to lose control.”

Jey groaned, burying his face in her neck, cussing under his breath like a man who just realized he might’ve gone a little too far but damn if he wasn’t proud.

“Fuck, girl. You throwin’ me off my game, ain’t nobody ever had me this shook.”

Samara’s fingers traced lazy circles on his chest, still catching her breath, totally unbothered.

“Keepin’ you humble,” she said, voice playful, eyes sparkling with that fire only she could spark in him.

Jey’s laugh was rough, a mix of frustration and admiration. “Damn, you lucky you fine or I’d have to put a leash on you.”

She rolled over, nudging him with her hip, still that queen energy dripping off her like royalty.

“Try me, big daddy.”

The room fell into a soft, heavy quiet—the kind that only comes after the storm—both of them just soaking in the moment, knowing damn well this wasn’t the last lesson either of them was gonna get.

Chapter 91: “Caught in the Act” Subsection: Interrupted & Exposed

Jey was still deep in the moment, hips slow but heavy, eyes locked on Samara’s face—every flicker of pleasure, every soft moan fueling him like fire.

She was arching beneath him, breath tangled, lost in the heat they’d just made, when—

“Yo, what y’all takin’ so long in here?!”

Zion’s voice sliced through the room like a damn alarm.

Both Samara and Jey froze.

Jey’s eyes snapped open, wide as saucers. Samara’s breath hitched, and she grabbed a pillow, scrambling to cover herself as Zion’s head poked through the doorframe.

His face went from confusion to pure, unfiltered horror.

“NOPE! NOPE! NOPE!” Zion screamed, bolting out the room like he just saw a ghost—or worse, his parents’ love life on display.

Jey groaned, face flushing red as he watched his son’s retreating back.

“Man, I swear I’m gonna kill that kid,” Jey muttered, half laughing, half annoyed, still tangled in sheets and embarrassment.

Samara shook her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “He needs some therapy after this one.”

Jey rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smug grin creeping back.

“Guess we’ll be movin’ faster next time, huh?”

Samara smirked, reaching up to kiss his jaw. “Oh, you know it.”

Chapter 92: “Tea, Tears & Turn-Ups” Subsection: The Aftermath & The Comeback

Out in the living room, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife—but for all the wrong reasons.

Zion was on a rampage, pacing back and forth like he’d just seen a horror movie but worse—because it was his parents. His jaw was tight, hands flailing, eyes wild with disbelief.

“Y’all heard what I just saw?!” he barked at his uncles, his voice cracking. “My mama and daddy straight up doin’ the nasty in the bedroom! Like, right there!”

Jimmy smirked, leaning back on the couch with that “I told you so” grin. “Bruh, welcome to the grown folks’ world. It’s messy, but that’s love.”

Sefa chuckled, passing Zion a soda to calm the storm. “Man, you gotta respect your folks’ hustle. They been holding it down for years.”

But Zion wasn’t having it. “Respect? Bro, my whole social life just died. My homies finna roast me for life!”

Across the room, Trinity sat on Jimmy’s lap, looking unbothered and chill as ever, draping an arm around his neck like she owned the damn place. Jenny was nestled in Sefa’s lap, sipping her drink with a sly smile like she knew exactly how much trouble this all caused.

Meanwhile, upstairs in Jey’s room?

The tension had flipped into something thick, electric, and borderline sinful.

Jey and Samara exchanged a look—half smug, half satisfied—as if the world outside didn’t exist.

Samara flicked ash from her blunt, eyes glittering with mischief. “They might as well have a front row seat to this, honestly.”

Jey grinned, pulling her closer. “Let ’em talk. We got unfinished business.”

The music from downstairs filtered up, a faint thump of bass and laughter, but the only soundtrack they needed was the one they were making themselves.

Jey’s hands traced slow patterns down Samara’s back, voice low and teasing. “Six years, huh? Thought you forgot what I brought to the table.”

She laughed softly, breath warm against his neck. “Forget? Boy, you just raised the damn bar.”

Their lips met, slow and deliberate, a quiet promise that no matter what chaos swirled below, upstairs was their kingdom.

[uceyliyahh]

real

Chapter 78: “Cheeks, Chaos & Consequences”

🎵 “Wipe me down…” 🎵 BOOSIE. Full blast. The crowd unhinged. That Freaknik bass slapping everybody’s morals clean out their chest.

And right in the thick of it?

The girls.

Still crowd surfing.

Still twerking.

Still on demon time.

Samara didn’t even know where she was anymore. Her lashes was sliding, bikini barely hangin’ on, the blunt behind her ear miraculously still intact. She had one hand in the air and the other on some dude's shoulder as she rolled her hips to the beat like she was on a pole in a past life.

Jenny was gripping two cups and screaming,

“MY MAN LOVE ME REGARDLESS!” Like Sefa wasn’t in the damn crowd, steam coming off his braids.

Trinity? This woman was throwing up peace signs with her feet while two frat boys held her in the air.

Then came Samara’s Moment of Mistake™.

The crowd shifted.

She got passed forward.

Cheeks. Out. Glazed up.

She felt strong hands catch her— “Ohhh y’all gentle with it,” she slurred, giggling. “Hold me real soft, I got trauma in my shoulder—"

But then she threw it back.

Hard.

With expertise.

Clap. Clap. CLA-CLAP.

Like she was trying to win a BET Uncut award from the grave.

And the crowd screamed.

Except it wasn’t random hands holding her anymore. It was one pair. One tall-ass, tatted-up, thick-palmed, Samoan ass pair of hands.

Jey.

Angry. Silent. Murder in his eyes.

And Samara?

She was still throwing that thang.

Didn’t even look back.

Didn’t feel the rage radiating.

Didn’t hear the sudden silence from the girls who definitely saw what was happening.

Then…

SMACK.

Cheeks? Met jawline.

Her head turned over her shoulder—eyes glazed, mouth parted to moan some drunk nonsense— And saw him.

Jey.

His jaw clenched.

That vein in his temple dancing salsa.

His hands still gripped her thighs, muscles flexing, because he refused to drop her in this chaos, no matter how bad he wanted to throw her ass in a trash can.

Her lollipop dropped out her mouth.

“...J-Joshua?”

His brows lowered.

He spoke low through gritted teeth:

“You throw this ass on one more man, I’m locking you in my trunk.”

She blinked.

“...You caught me?”

“I caught this ass, Samara.”

Jenny was screaming in the background laughing, Trinity about to get caught next by Jimmy who was bulldozing through people like it was Royal Rumble: Marriage Edition.

Samara just slapped a hand over her mouth and whispered, “...Oops.”

And that was the last straw.

Jey threw her over his shoulder like a damn sack of sins and started walking through the crowd while she weakly kicked her legs yelling, “PUT ME DOWN YOU POSSESSIVE SIMP!”

“Shut up. You grounded.”

Chapter 79: “Girl, You Thought You Ate?”

It was the calm after the drunk storm—if calm meant sweaty backs, smeared lashes, and a parking lot full of salty men with war in their eyes.

And then it happened.

Jenny touched down from the crowd surfin’ like she was reborn in the Spirit of Freaknik, laughing, her gold grill flashing under the parking lot lights. She turned, looking for Samara—only to spot Sefa.

Standing. Arms crossed. Timbs planted. Braids slicked back but swinging like they had attitude. And that white tee? Already stretched from him throwing people out the way trying to get to her.

“...Babe?” Jenny blinked, trying to fix her top. “Why your eyebrow twitchin’ like that?”

“Get. Yo. Ass. Over here.” His voice came out deep as hell, that dangerous whisper. The kind that made grown men fold like laundry.

“...I was just dancing–”

“On what? Jenny? The mic stand? Or the 6’5” linebacker that had both hands on your waist?”

Jenny paused. Looked at her drink.

“…It was Casamigos fault.”

Sefa ain’t even entertain the joke. He snatched her arm, spun her around, wrapped his jacket around her near-naked body and hissed in her ear:

“You lucky I love you. You lucky you cute. You lucky I didn’t beat everybody you threw it back on. And you got one more time to crowd surf like you on a Jesus float.”

She blinked, stunned, then muttered: “Okay, Daddy…”

Sefa damn near combusted.

Trinity’s turn?

That woman was mid-split on the grass, phone in her hand like she was about to go viral on TikTok.

Cue the Jimmy Jump-Scare.

“TRINITY LANAE’ FATU!”

Her entire soul left her body.

She squealed, jumped up, nearly tripped over her own shoe. “Baby?!” she gasped, already trying to pull her shorts down to cover cheeks that had been hollering to Uncle Luke moments ago.

Jimmy’s face was red. RED. Vein in the neck. Breath short like he been chasing her through five counties.

“You doing splits? With Hennessy in your hand?!! While ‘Whoop Rico’ playing in the back?? You got my daughter in cheerleading and you out here poppin’ it like you in a Greek week competition!”

“I–it was just a little–a lil’ movement–” she tried.

“You was upside down, Trinity! Upside. DOWN. They done tagged you in a reel! My homies can SEE IT.”

She blinked at him. “...Which reel?”

“ALL OF THEM!”

Jimmy ripped his hoodie off and threw it over her body, looking at the rest of the parking lot like he was ready to go to war with every dude who breathed too close to his wife.

Trinity didn’t even fight it.

Samara, meanwhile?

Still dangling over Jey’s shoulder with no remorse yelling,

“That’s what y’all get for hangin’ with me! Shoulda stayed at home with your lil husbands!”

Jenny and Trinity both glared at her as she giggled and bounced with every one of Jey’s heavy-ass, angry stomps.

Zion peeked his head out the SUV, holding his phone camera.

“Say hi to the livestream,” he muttered. “Y’all hoes is embarrassing.”

Chapter 80: The Snitch Gets a Feast, the Girls Get Humbled “Operation: Escape These Polynesian Papas”

The Fatu household was split straight down the middle like a high school cafeteria after a messy breakup.

On one side? Zion, sittin’ tall and smug at the dinner table with a plate stacked like Thanksgiving. Gold forks. His favorite pineapple soda. Chicken wings with extra lemon pepper dust. Some fries from his favorite spot. The boy even had a candle lit beside his plate like he was the damn guest of honor on an awards show.

Sefa slid him a hot honey-glazed rib. Jimmy poured him another splash of juice like it was champagne. Jey? That man had the nerve to crouch down in front of his son like it was a medal ceremony.

“You did good, son. Real good. We needed eyes on the inside.” He looked proud. Too proud. “You one of us now.”

Zion beamed. “Do I get, like… a cool name or code or somethin’?”

Jimmy leaned over. “We call you Lil Wire Tap.”

Sefa grinned. “Nah, he Zion 007 now.”

Meanwhile…?

In the back of the house, behind the big-ass couch?

Chaos.

Samara was laid on her belly, hair tied back with one sock halfway off, whisper-yelling like she was lead commander on a mission.

“Okay, Jenny—you belly too round to slide flat, so you gone have to lift up on your elbows. Trinity, stop giggling you sound like a teacup chihuahua.”

Jenny huffed. “It’s the booty, not the belly.”

Samara flicked her middle finger up. “Same difference.”

They were in full tactical crawl mode. Palms to the carpet. Elbows bent. Matching white socks and regret on their faces. Every time a floorboard creaked, they froze like Toy Story toys.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen:

“—and then he said my momma was throwing it in a circle but it was actually more like a square,” Zion told the men, chewing loud as hell. “It was real bad. I almost cried.”

Jey gently patted his son’s head, eyes closed in disappointment. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Sefa handed him a mochi donut. “You strong for making it through, lil bruh.”

Jimmy toasted him with a Capri Sun. “Fatu men protect the women… even from themselves.”

Back in the trenches?

Trinity whisper-screamed, “Is that a Capri Sun? Are you kidding me right now?”

Jenny grunted. “Y’all smell them ribs too?”

Samara glared toward the dining room like she could kill Jey with her retinas. “You know what? F this.”

She rolled to her side, held up her fingers in a silent hand gesture sequence like she’d been training for this moment.

🫡👉🏾🤫👣🏃🏾‍♀️🪖💥

The girls knew exactly what it meant:

Crawl out the back, we regroup at Trinity’s car, no sudden moves, no loud asses, GO.

In a flash of fishnets, stolen hoodies, and shame, they army crawled in synchronized rhythm to the back hallway. Jenny crab-walked over a throw pillow. Trinity duck-rolled under a plant. Samara dolphin-flipped behind the kitchen island like she was in an Olympic tryout.

Jey looked up right as the back door creaked.

“…Was that the wind?”

Zion didn’t even look up from his chicken.

“Nah. That was guilt in the form of three half-naked fugitives.”

Jey stood.

“Lock the front door.”

Jimmy already cracking his knuckles. “Time to go gather our lil' freaknik fugitives.”

Chapter 81: Freaknik Fugitives—The Great Backdoor Heist, Pt. 2 “Catch Me If You Can: Hoochie Edition”

—

The back screen door creaked like it ain’t been oiled since the ‘90s.

The girls were almost there.

Jenny’s hips bumped the doorframe ‘cause she was movin’ too fast and too thicc, Trinity caught her box braid in the curtain rod mid-squat, and Samara had her speaker in one hand like a football in the final quarter.

They were two steps from freedom when—

“Aye.”

That one word came from the throat.

Low. Heavy. Polynesian Daddy Mode activated.

The porch light clicked on like the sun itself was petty.

Caught. In. 4K.

Trinity screamed and dove into the bushes. Jenny tried to pretend she was sleepwalking. Samara froze with her hand on the gate, hoodie slipping off her shoulder, glitter on her cheekbone still shining like crime scene evidence.

Jey stepped forward slowly like a horror movie villain that ain’t need to run. Sefa and Jimmy flanked him, tall, broad, built like disappointment and discipline. Zion watched from the front window like he was livestreaming an episode of Cops: Island Edition.

Samara straightened up, shoulders back.

“Before y’all say somethin’, let me explain—”

“Explain why your cheeks was doing the electric slide on my speaker?” Jey said flatly.

Trinity poked out the bush. “It was the Casamigos!”

Jimmy dragged her out by her ankle. “You said you was going to Target!”

“Target my ass,” he muttered.

Jenny tried the charm route, batting her lashes at Sefa. “You mad or you just hungry, baby? I got you a funnel cake…”

“I’m ‘bout to funnel you into the damn car,” he growled, picking her up over his shoulder like a sack of sin.

Samara squared up with Jey now, eyes sharp, jaw locked.

“What, you gon’ ground me? Put me on freaknik restriction?”

“Nah. I’ma remind you what house you live in.”

“I don’t live here.”

“Then take that hoodie off.”

She gasped. “You petty as hell, Joshua.”

“And you wild as hell, Samara. What part of bed rest meant crowd surfing and Casamigos? You got shot and your ass out here actin’ like Megan Thee Stallion’s spiritual advisor.”

Zion cracked the front door open just enough to slide a rib out like he was making an offering to the deities of drama.

Samara turned to her girls. “Y’all ready for the second attempt?”

Jenny dead serious: “If we do the serpentine zig-zag, they can’t catch all three of us.”

Trinity muttered, “We gone die.”

But then—

Outta nowhere, Samara juked left, hit a clean spin, and RAN.

The hoodie slipped off like she was shedding skin. Shorts riding up. Blunt still behind her ear.

Trinity screamed, “GO! GO! GO!” and followed behind her like she was in a heist movie.

Jenny hesitated, looked at Sefa, batted her lashes—

And got SNATCHED mid-wink.

Sefa didn’t even blink. “One down.”

Jey muttered, “Trin ain’t makin’ it past the sidewalk.”

Jimmy jogged forward. “I got her.”

That left only one.

Samara.

And Jey already taking his damn earrings off.

Chapter 82: “Knees of a Kingpin, Speed of a Scorned Baby Daddy” “Catch Me Outside Then, Joshua.”

—

The suburban silence of the neighborhood shattered like a beer bottle on concrete.

Samara was already halfway down the block, doing a light jog backwards like she was in a damn Nike commercial—but with attitude. Her glossy lips curved into a smirk, and the blunt behind her ear barely tilted as she tossed a braid over her shoulder.

“Boy please,” she taunted, loud enough for Jey to hear from the porch. “You ain’t got the knees to keep up. You might run a kingdom but not them hammies.”

Jey blinked once. Slowly.

“Zion,” he said without breaking eye contact with the woman jogging away.

“Yeah?”

“Hold my shirt.”

Zion, from the doorway, wide-eyed like this was the most intense pay-per-view drama he’d ever witnessed, caught the black tee Jey whipped off and clutched it like a holy relic. “Oh shit. Mama messed up.”

Back on the street, Samara kept pace easy, light-footed in her Nike dunks, shorts ridin’ up, glitter bouncing off her skin like crime scene stardust.

“I’ll leave yo old ass at the mailbox!” she teased.

Behind her?

Thud. Thud. THUD.

The sound of pure Polynesian pressure hittin’ the pavement. Jey didn’t jog. He stomped with purpose, shoulders squared like a damn linebacker who saw red.

Samara’s brows flew up. “Hold up now—why you closin’ in like that?!”

Jey didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His silence was the threat. That man picked up speed like an old Honda Civic with a turbo boost and zero morals.

She yelped, turned around for real, and started haulin’ ass.

“Oh, so you serious?! You out here runnin’ like this yo block?! JOSHUA STOP—”

“You said I ain’t got the knees,” he growled, voice closer now.

“I WAS PLAYIN’—!”

But it was too late. She juked past a trash can. Hopped over a scooter. Damn near did a barrel roll around someone’s lawn flamingo. And still—

He was right on her ass.

Jey had that dad strength + street hustle combo. His breath steady. Arms pumping. Cheeks barely jiggling like he’d trained for this day.

Samara shrieked again, turning down an alleyway.

“Okay you win! You got the knees! You got the thighs too, I see you!”

From the house, Zion hollered through his Capri Sun straw, “RUN FASTER MAMA HE LOOK MAD MAD!”

Inside, Sefa was recording on his phone.

“This going viral.”

Jimmy? Already out front on the lawn, hands on his hips. “I told her he’d catch her ass.”

—

End of the block.

Samara saw her out—Trinity’s car. Parked half-crooked. All she had to do was dive in like it was home base. But just as she reached for the handle—

Jey caught her around the waist.

She screamed, legs kicking mid-air.

“Lemme GO! I’m a grown ass woman!”

“And I’m a grown ass man who told you to stay yo ass home!”

“YOU AIN’T MY DADDY!”

“NO, BUT I’M THE ONE WHO GOTTA FIX YO BACK WHEN YOU THROW IT OUT AT A FREAKNIK!”

She froze. Huffed. Pouted.

“...That’s low.”

Jey didn’t flinch. He had her tossed over his shoulder like luggage with attitude. “You done?”

She crossed her arms upside down while hanging. “Depends. Y’all still got ribs?”

He smirked.

“You gon’ eat after we talk, and you sit that ass down.”

From behind the neighbor’s bush, Trinity peeked out. “So we...not runnin’ no more?”

Jenny, already in cuffs—aka her man’s arms—sighed. “We never had a chance.”

Chapter 83: “Sit Yo Ass Down, Samara.” —The Conversation After the Capture—

The front door slammed shut behind them like the final act of a soap opera. Samara sat hard on the couch, legs crossed, ponytail lopsided, face flushed and still mad that she got caught. She had the nerve to fold her arms and pout, even though she was the one throwin' it in a circle on top of Jey’s SUV like a freaknik Avenger.

Jey stood in front of her. Shirtless. Chest rising and falling slow. That golden brown skin gleaming with sweat and fury. The grill still glinted in his mouth even as his jaw clenched tighter than TSA at LAX.

“You done?” His voice was low, rumbling like a quiet-ass earthquake about to tear up a whole street block.

Samara looked up through her lashes. “...You chased me like I had a warrant.”

“You lucky I ain’t tase you.”

“Boy shut up. You ain’t even got a taser.”

“I am the taser,” he snapped, stepping forward. “What the hell was that out there, huh? You know how much it took for me to not lose my damn mind when I saw you throwin’ that ass off a damn stage like you was auditionin’ for a world tour?!”

She blinked slowly. Lollipop still in her mouth.

“You jealous or horny?”

He leaned down, both arms on either side of her on the couch, lips inches from hers. That damn scent of sweat, cologne, woodsmoke and pure Polynesian rage clouded her brain.

“Both.”

Her thighs clenched. Visibly.

He smirked.

“You think this shit funny, huh? Zion came home traumatized. Said you had cheeks clappin’ on livestreams and Jenny was gettin’ her back slapped to Casamigos while Trinity did a split in front of somebody uncle.”

“He snitched tho—”

“He twelve, Samara!”

His voice dropped lower, rawer.

“And you his mama. You think I like seeing you lookin’ that damn good with every dude from out the woods staring at you like they ain’t got no sense? You think I enjoy feelin’ like some other man might touch what’s mine?”

That last word came out thick. Heavy. Unapologetic.

Samara flinched just a little. She felt it in her spine.

“...What you mean yours?” she asked, quieter now.

Jey didn’t blink. He leaned in closer, his grill flashing, lips brushing her ear.

“You been mine since you was seventeen and cussed me out in front of my grandma’s church for lying about your name bein’ Samaya. You still mine now. I don’t give a fuck if you throwin’ it in circles or squares or trapezoids. I don’t want nobody else lookin’ at you like I look at you. Nobody touchin’ you. Nobody gettin’ to say they had a piece.”

“You wanna act like we casual?” he whispered, hot breath on her neck. “Then why the hell you still run to me when shit hit the fan? Why you still cook for me when you mad? Why you still call me ‘Joshua’ like you tryna pull my soul out my chest?”

She swallowed.

“You ain’t ready for me,” she whispered back.

“Baby, I ain’t never stopped wantin’ you.”

He tilted her chin up gently, the pad of his thumb soft but firm.

“You wanna run around the block half naked with yo lil homegirls, fine. But when you come back home? Understand something.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“You belong to me. Ain’t no stage big enough to outshine that.”

Samara’s breath hitched. Her legs uncrossed. Her body leaned in like she couldn’t help it.

He leaned closer. Damn near nose to nose.

“Now sit yo ass still before I sit it for you.”

Her eyes widened.

“Joshua—”

“Nah, you wanted big baby daddy energy? You got it. Now shut up before I remind you who name you moan when the music stops.”

[uceyliyahh]

real

Chapter Sixty-Nine: “Nah, I’m Not Dealing With This.”

Inside the house, the energy was still a chaotic mix of awkward tension and leftover warmth. Zion was already flopped on the couch with a plate of fries, flipping through the TV like he hadn’t just walked in on his parents rekindling decade-long trauma-turned-romance.

Samara stood there for a beat, arms crossed, her lips twisted to the side. Jey was talking to Zion, trying to smooth things over with a calm “we’re just talking” vibe, but her heart was already thudding way too loud in her chest.

She blinked, shook her head, and turned on her heel.

“Nah,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing her little shoulder bag off the side table. “I’m not dealing with this.”

She dipped out the door quiet as hell, pulling it shut behind her with a soft click.

The summer night air hit her skin instantly. Warm, with that lil humid stickiness that clung to her edges and had her regretting not bringing a scarf. She didn’t care though—right now, she needed a blunt and a minute.

She slid into the big worn-in armchair on Jey’s front porch, the one he’d had since forever, that creaked just slightly under her weight. She grabbed her lighter from the pocket of her hoodie, placed the blunt to her lips, and sparked it up with practiced ease.

First inhale—deep. She held it in her lungs for a few seconds, letting the smoke settle in her chest before releasing it into the thick night air.

“…these men gon’ kill me one day,” she muttered, shaking her head.

The porch was quiet, except for the chirping of distant bugs and the occasional low rumble of a car driving past. She brought the blunt back to her lips, her legs crossed, elbow resting on the armrest as her head leaned back.

The stars were out. Bright and bold and probably judging her just like her damn ancestors.

“First I’m gettin’ shot at. Now I’m out here kissin’ the same man I said I was done with,” she scoffed to herself, taking another hit. “Somebody go check if Mercury retrograde hittin’ again 'cause I know I ain’t this dumb.”

She let her eyes close for a second, shoulders dropping just a little as the weed crept its way through her system. She needed this silence. This calm. This pause from the mess.

But in the back of her mind, she could still feel the weight of that kiss. The way his hands were gentle but sure. The way Zion looked like he’d seen his whole world rearrange in one second.

“Damn,” she whispered, tapping ash off the side of the blunt. “This ain’t even the strong pack and it still hittin’ harder than the truth.”

Behind her, she heard the faint creak of the front door starting to open—

Chapter Seventy: “Mr. Kissy Lips”

The creak of the door was light, careful. Like it was trying not to spook her—but she already knew who it was before he even stepped out. She didn’t turn around yet, though. Just took another hit and let the smoke roll out of her mouth slow, steady, uninterested.

Jey stepped onto the porch, barefoot, sweatpants hanging low on his waist and a muscle tee stretched across that wide chest. Tattoos visible, expression unreadable, jaw tight.

He paused in the doorway for a second, watching her. She looked… tired. But still fine as hell. Hair up in a puff, eyes low, hoodie swallowing her frame, and his graphic tee poking out beneath it like a little silent reminder.

Her head tilted slightly like she sensed his stare, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of eye contact. Not yet.

Instead, she finally raised a brow and pointed her blunt at him, arm lazy but precise.

“Uh uh, no sir. Don’t be tryna get all soft and shit around me, Mr. Kissy Lips,” she said, her voice smooth but sharp as glass. “Keep them germs to ya self.”

Jey blinked. “...Mr. Kissy Lips?”

She finally looked at him, expression deadpan. “Yeah, you heard me. Tongue down my throat like we ain’t been beefin’ since Obama left office. Had my knees weak, talkin’ ‘bout ‘always loved you’—boy if you don’t…”

He laughed then. Low and grumbly, running a hand down his face as he stepped out further and leaned against the porch rail next to her. “You started it.”

Samara side-eyed him through her lashes. “Don’t start lying on me, Joshua.”

“You did.” He looked at her. “You said you always loved me.”

She squinted. “Mmhmm. And I said I don’t know if I can trust you, too. But I ain't see you quoting that part.”

He stayed quiet for a second. The silence stretched out. Crickets chirping. The porch creaking. Her lighter clicking as she sparked up again.

“...You trust me enough to kiss me back though,” he muttered, eyes on the horizon.

“Boy.” She took another hit and exhaled slow. “If I let trust be the only thing dictatin’ who I kiss, I would’ve died in a drought.”

He snorted. “You wild.”

She cracked a dry smile but didn’t look at him. “You got somethin’ to say or you just came out here to flirt and breathe on my blunt cloud?”

“I wanted to see how you was doin’.”

Her eyes finally softened just a little. “You know how I’m doin’. Shoulder hurt. My son mad at us. Family lookin’ at me like I’m a damn martyr and a therapist. Shit ain’t new.”

Jey looked at her for a long time, then sat on the edge of the porch, back against the rail, one leg stretched out, the other bent. Close, but not crowding her.

“I’m sorry, Ma.”

She sucked her teeth, but not with her usual bite. “For what, exactly?”

“For everything. The mess. The pain. How I made you carry this whole thing for years. I should’ve done better—been better.”

She let that sit. Let him sweat for a minute.

Then, soft but still sharp, she said, “You right. You should’ve.”

They sat in that honesty for a beat. She finished her blunt, stamped it out in the ashtray, then finally looked at him again—really looked.

“I ain’t sayin’ I forgive you,” she said. “And I ain’t sayin’ I don’t still love you. I’m just sayin’… I’m tired of being strong alone. And if you not gon’ help hold this shit together, don’t come around just to make it harder.”

Jey nodded slowly. That hit. It knocked the wind out his chest a lil bit, but he needed it.

“I’m not goin’ nowhere,” he promised. “Not this time.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, king,” she murmured, already pushing up from the chair. “I don’t got space in my heart for another eviction.”

She brushed past him gently, heading back toward the door, the scent of her hair and smoke trailing behind.

Jey stared out into the night for a moment, his jaw clenched and thoughts racing.

Because damn… that wasn’t just a conversation. That was a test. And he knew better than to fumble this woman again.

Chapter Seventy-One: Freaknik Friday & The Great Hoochie Uprising

The sun was setting low, casting that golden-orange glow across the driveway like it knew trouble was about to pop off. The grill sizzled out back, sending up that smoky goodness while Jey, Sefa, and Jimmy stood around shirtless, sweat gleaming, tongs in hand, vibin’ to some old school Meek Mill.

It was Friday.

And the girls?

Oh, the girls had plans.

Inside the house, Samara was humming to herself, popping her lip gloss in her back pocket, nails tapping against her phone as she texted Trinity back.

Trin 💅🏽: outside Samara: bet, be there in 2 Trin 💅🏽: u look like sin 🥵 jenny bout to fight for her life Samara: GOOD

She glanced at herself in the mirror—hair laid like it was ‘98, face beat to the gods, skin oiled and glowing like she got baptized in cocoa butter and Fenty Diamond Bomb. The ripped, low-waist denim shorts hugged her just right, and the thin bikini top left little to the imagination. Her thong bikini bottoms peeked up on her hips in the back, straps visible like they paid rent.

A lil blunt tucked behind her ear. Lollipop between her lips.

She smirked. “Yeah... we outside tonight.”

Until—

“MAMA?!”

Samara damn near dropped her phone as her heart jumped out her chest. She turned around so quick the blunt fell from her ear. Standing there, wide-eyed and mortified like he just saw Santa twerking at church, was her twelve-year-old son, Zion.

He blinked in disbelief, then pointed dramatically at her butt like it betrayed him personally.

“MAMA!” he screeched again, voice cracking with righteous fury. “Your whole booty out—Daddy! MOMMA GOT ON THEM HOOCHIE CLOTHES!!”

Samara screamed. “ZION YOU SNITCHIN’ ASS LIL—!”

Before she could even get her breath back, she heard the shuffle of footsteps and the unmistakable clink of tongs dropping on concrete behind the house.

“Noooope,” she hissed, grabbing her rolling papers off the counter and hauling ass out the front door like she was on fire.

She bolted down the porch barefoot, lollipop still in her mouth, running like the cops were behind her. Out by the driveway, Trinity leaned out the passenger window of Jenny’s car, black shades on, hoop earrings swaying, and looking every bit like a baddie straight from 1994.

“Oh hell, run bitch!” Trinity screamed, already laughing.

Jenny was behind the wheel, lips glossed and hair laid, bikini top shimmering under her mesh crop top. “Why he yell like that?!”

Samara dove into the backseat like she was storming Area 51.

“GO, BITCH, GO!!” she yelled.

“I AIN’T EVEN TELL SEFA WHERE I WAS GOIN’!” Jenny howled, peeling off like they was in a Fast & Furious spinoff.

In the rearview mirror, Samara could see three angry Samoan men coming around the side of the house, led by Jey who was already snatching his grill gloves off and yelling, “SAMARA?!”

Zion stood behind them, arms folded with the same exact glare his daddy made when pissed.

“She ain’t even deny it,” he muttered, deeply betrayed. “She just ran.”

Jimmy blinked. “...Did Trin have on a see-through top?”

Sefa: “Ayo Jenny had the cheeks OUT.”

Jey: “NaH. Where they goin’? And why my son gotta alert me like the hoochie patrol?!”

Zion looked up at his dad with all the shade in the world. “You told me to tell you if she was doing somethin’ dumb again.”

Jey blinked. “...Shit. You right.”

Sefa groaned. “Jenny said she was just goin’ out for tacos!”

“Trin told me she was goin’ to a girls’ night movie and some appetizers. What appetizers need fishnets?!” Jimmy snapped.

Meanwhile, in the car, the girls were SCREAMING laughing.

Samara popped her lollipop out her mouth, still catching her breath. “Zion got the tattletale gene from his daddy. I knew I shoulda wore jeans!”

Trin rolled her eyes, already posting a Boomerang of them blowing kisses at the camera with “Freak Like Me” playing in the background.

Jenny: “What we tell ‘em when we come back?”

Samara grinned, leaning back and licking her lollipop slowly. “We say it was a spiritual retreat.”

Trinity snorted. “Girl shut up.”

Chapter Seventy-two : Lil Bro Sound the Alarm 🚨

Jey was in the kitchen, still pissed off and muttering under his breath while putting foil over the grilled chicken, lips pressed tight and jaw locked like he was on parole. Jimmy and Sefa sat on the couch behind him, both still lowkey in shock and disbelief.

Jimmy: “You sure that was a mesh top?”

Sefa: “Bruh it had glitter. Ain’t no appetizer spot need glitter tops.”

Before Jey could say anything, a SLAM echoed from the hallway.

Zion came flying out of his room like he was being chased, phone in one hand, Jordans halfway on, curly hair bouncing, face in full 911 panic mode.

“DADDY!! UNCLES!!” he shouted, practically skidding into the living room like a fast and furious Tokyo drift.

All three men turned at once. Jey blinked. “Zion? What’s wrong?!”

Zion waved his phone like a warning flare. “My friend Kai just saw them! At the rec park! I repeat—the rec park!”

Jimmy: “What you mean? Saw who?!”

Zion gasped dramatically, eyes wide like he just survived the Battle of the Hoochiepocalypse.

“MOMMA TWERKIN’ WITH CASAMIGOS!!” he yelled like it was breaking news. “AND—AND there’s big dudes out the woods there!”

Sefa’s brows shot up. “The—what dudes?!”

“The big ones!” Zion flailed, holding his hands wide. “With the muscles! Tattoos! Chains! And tank tops with no sides! The whole damn woods came out!!”

Jey snatched the phone. “WHO got video?! WHO POSTED WHAT?!”

Zion kept going, voice going full betrayal, “Auntie Trinity doin’ splits with Hennessy in her hand, like the bottle! And Jenny was letting Momma throw it back on her and again—I’m twelve!”

Jimmy: “OH HELL NAW.”

Sefa: “Jenny don’t even drink Henny!!”

Zion held his hands out like he was conducting an orchestra of chaos. “I’m sayin!! It’s people chanting, there’s a DJ—there’s a dude in a towel! They got glow-in-the-dark jello shots and somebody said it’s called Freaknik or some ancestral event I don’t know about??”

Jey looked like he saw the gates of hell open.

“I know Samara ain’t out here throwin’ ass in the Lord’s daylight with no shoulder bandage—Zion get in the truck!”

Zion was already halfway out the door, muttering, “If y’all don’t hurry, she gone be on somebody’s shoulders next...”

Jimmy and Sefa were grabbing their keys, faces stone cold.

“I ain’t say nothin’ when Trin ordered that extra wig last week,” Jimmy growled.

“And I ain’t question why Jenny been gettin’ waxed twice a week like she in the damn Olympics,” Sefa added.

Jey slammed the front door behind them. “They wanna be hoochies?? WE OUTSIDE TOO.”

Zion from the backseat: “So I’m not grounded for yelling this time?”

Jey: “Nah. You a damn hero today.”

Chapter: Casamigos & Chaos – The Hoochie Chronicles

The sun was fading into that golden-orange glow that made melanin look like it had a damn filter on it. The bass from the speakers bounced off the trees at the rec park like a heartbeat from the streets. And right in the middle of the crowd?

Three fine-ass women who gave ZERO damns.

Samara had her curly hair pinned half-up with two tendrils slick on each cheekbone, lip gloss poppin', lashes bat-flapping. She was grinning, eyes glazed from the casamigos, holding her blunt in one hand and a red Solo cup in the other, body rocking in slow circles to Uncle Luke. Her bikini top sparkled under the sunset, her booty-length braids swingin’ while she danced like the music was in her bloodstream.

Trinity? Oh she was doing damage. Leopard-print bikini top, knee-high platform boots, a lil mini skirt that honestly was just legal enough. She had two Henny bottles in her hand and was doing the splits while people hollered and threw ones like they was in Magic City.

Jenny? Jenny had two grills in, hoop earrings big as her damn head, and a crop top that said “Cuffing Season Cancelled” while she clapped ass with Samara, both laughing so hard they were crying. They took turns pouring liquor in each other’s mouths like it was a baptism of bad decisions.

“Y’all ready for the next challenge?!” a girl on the mic shouted.

“WHAT’S THE CHALLENGE?!” Samara screamed back, jumping in place, her ass bouncing like it had its own heartbeat.

“Gotta pick a random dude from the crowd and give him the best 15-second lap dance—winner gets a $100 Visa gift card!”

Trinity damn near dropped her Henny. “BITCH THAT’S GAS MONEY—WHERE HE AT?!”

Jenny grinned. “Ay yo Sam, pick that dude with the chest tattoo that look like Nipsey Hussle!”

Samara, drunk and chaotic, pointed her blunt and shouted, “YOU! BIG BACK! Get your ass over here I need to win that gas card!”

She straddled the man’s lap with the confidence of a woman that already had bail money set aside. The crowd went nuts as her hips started moving like she was built by Beyoncé and Juicy J. Her friends hyped her up like she was performing at Coachella.

“GO ‘HEAD BESTIEEEE!”

“Yessss that’s MY MF FRIENDDDDD!!”

Cameras flashed. Music thumped. Somebody passed around jello shots. Booty shorts were being passed out like souvenirs.

A random auntie shouted, “Y’all should be ashamed!” but she was sipping Crown Royal from a water bottle so her opinion didn’t count.

Then, just as the crowd hit a fever pitch, just as the girls were twerking in a three-way synchronized routine to “Back That Azz Up”, a deep voice echoed over the music—

“SAMARA MONAE LENNOX GET YO ASS OFF THAT MAN—RIGHT NOW!”

Samara froze mid-twerk.

Jenny’s eyes went big. “Oh...no.”

Trinity blinked. “Wait...was that...?”

They turned.

Jey. Jimmy. And Sefa.

Storming across the field.

All in black. Chains swinging. Jaws clenched. Eyes locked. Rage activated.

Zion behind them, smug. “Told y’all I wasn’t snitchin’ for fun.”

Chapter 74: “Run, Hoochies, Run!”

Samara’s eyes bugged as soon as she caught that deep-ass Samoan bark from across the park. Her blunt dropped straight out her mouth. Trinity damn near dropped her split. Jenny straight-up screamed and dropped her cup.

And then?

Samara cussed. Loud.

“On three, bitches!”

“One... two... TH—”

BOOM.

Them girls TOOK. OFF. The crowd parted like a damn sea as three of the baddest, most troublemaking women to ever set foot in a Freaknik-themed kickback went sprinting through the bodies and basslines like their rent depended on it.

Ass cheeks bouncing. Braids flying. Screaming. Laughing.

Samara cleared a dude in a lawn chair. Trinity pushed through a whole DJ table. Jenny damn near knocked somebody into a fold-up cooler.

“Y’all said they wasn’t COMIN’!” Trinity shrieked, tipsy and red-faced, clutching her bottle of Hennessy like a damn relay baton.

Jenny wheezed, “I lied b-bitch! I ain’t think SEFA could run that fast, he got them CHURCH KNEES!”

Samara was gone. That girl ran like her life depended on it. Like she had the Undertaker behind her. Like she’d been on “Cops” before and knew how to scale a gate from experience. When she saw that big-ass chain link fence? She didn’t slow down. Nah, she leapt like she was qualifying for the damn Olympics.

“C’mon bitch, MOVE!” she yelled back, flinging herself over that fence with the grace of someone fueled by Casamigos and terror.

Her shorts caught on the top, but she still made it over. Trinity and Jenny weren’t far behind, laughing their drunk asses off while tears streamed down their faces.

“MY WIG!” Trinity screamed when the wind snatched her 30-inch inches halfway through the run. Jenny grabbed it mid-air like a damn football catch and kept pushing.

Behind them?

The Fatu Men.

Charging.

Pissed.

Jimmy yelling, “TRINITY IF I CATCH YOU I’M GONNA WHOOP YO ASS WITH THAT FAKE SPLIT YOU DID!”

Sefa growling, “JENNY I’M NOT PLAYING WITCHU MA—I SWEAR TO GOD I’MMA BODYSLAM YOU AND THE HENNY!”

And Jey? Oh nah. Jey was on Demon Mode. He ain’t even yell. He just walked fast as hell with that locked jaw and twitchin’ temple, murder in his eyes.

Samara peeked back once and yelled, “Y’all better run faster!! HE LOOKIN’ TOO QUIET!!”

Trinity screamed, “WHEN HE DON’T YELL HE BE THINKING ABOUT MURDER!!”

The crowd just watched in chaotic silence as three women hopped fences and pushed through parked cars, screaming and laughing, followed by three furious Samoan men looking like the damn FBI.

This was not just a kickback. This was a full-blown Hoochie Escape Mission.

Chapter 75: "Hoochie Olympics: Roof Routine Edition"

It was chaos.

Straight-up hood-certified, Freaknik-style mayhem, and Samara? She was the damn ringleader.

The park had never seen anything like this before. Grown folks with plates of rib tips and red cups were stopped mid-step, kids with slushies paused, and even the DJ took a moment to record what the hell was going down.

Because Samara Lennox was on one.

Full-blown demon time.

She wasn’t just running from her baby daddy no more—she was putting on a performance.

Right when the girls ducked behind a row of parked cars trying to catch their breath, Samara spotted it. Jey’s big black SUV.

“Ohhh bitch, I’m finna be petty as hell,” she hiccuped with a smirk, snatching her portable speaker out her fanny pack like it was a weapon of mass destruction.

“SAMARA, NO.” Trinity wheezed, halfway keeled over from running.

Jenny was already sliding down the grass laughing, “Bitch, PLEASE do it! That’s the remix we need!”

Samara ain’t say a word. She just synced her phone to the speaker with a dead-serious face. And then—

“WAKA FLOCKA FLAME!!!” 🎵 “I go hard in the MUTHAFUCKIN' paint—!” 🎵

BOMP.

That bass hit like a damn earthquake.

And Samara? That demon woman climbed the hood of Jey’s SUV—barefoot, giggling, and drunk off Casamigos and audacity—and popped her ass to the beat like she was getting paid for it.

Hard. In. The. Paint.

“OOOOOOHHHH SHIT!!” people started cheering from the distance.

The whole damn park turned toward the show, phones out, screaming.

Samara arched her back, hands on her knees, throwing it in a full circle. Twerking like the rent was due tomorrow and this was the final round of “America’s Next Top Hoochie.”

She screamed over the speaker like a hood Beyoncé, pointing behind her while bent over:

“OLD ASS FATU KNEES, CAN’T CATCH NOBODY WITH THAT ‘I’M TOO SEXY FOR MY SHINS’ SPEED!!”

Jey was across the lot, eyes locked in, hands in fists, breathing like a dragon with a toothache.

“GET YO ASS DOWN FROM THERE, SAMARA!” he roared, storming forward like he was finna scale the truck next.

Samara?

She ain’t flinch.

She just did one last bounce for disrespect, flipped her middle finger toward her baby daddy, and—with too much precision for someone off the brown—jumped clean off the roof.

“BYEEEEEEE BITCHES!!” she cackled, sprinting again like she ain’t just disrespect a kingpin in front of God and 75 folding chairs.

Jenny and Trinity screamed and took off after her again, tears in their eyes from laughing, dragging their purses and heels and bottles like escapees from a club in the sky.

Somebody yelled, “Yo who mama is that?”

Another yelled back, “ZION’S MAMA. PRAY FOR THAT BOY.”

Chapter 76: "Hoochie Fallout & Fatu Fury"

Zion was in the backseat of his daddy’s SUV fully in his feelings.

He had both palms covering his face, his little body shaking as the sobs kept creeping out.

“I cain’t go back to school, bruh... I cain’t show my face at the rec...” he sniffled loud as hell, cheeks red, hoodie over his head like he was mourning. “They caught it in 4K! FULL CHEEKS DADDY, SHE WAS ON THE ROOF—”

Jey gripped the steering wheel so tight it squeaked. That man was seething like his whole bloodline had been dishonored in front of every grill master and uncle with a Bluetooth headset at the kickback.

Sefa was in the passenger seat, jaw clenched, face unreadable behind his shades. Meanwhile Jimmy was behind him in the next car, silent like a man on the edge of committing arson.

Zion kicked the back of the seat, yelling through tears, “AND WHY THE SPEAKER STILL PLAYING, BRUH?!”

Because it was.

Still.

Playing.

Outside the SUV, trailing faintly like a haunted trap anthem carried on the wind, they could hear Samara’s portable speaker bumping through the damn trees.

🎵 “I come in the club shakin' my dreads / Throwin' these bows and bustin' these heads…” 🎵 —“KNUCK IF YOU BUCK” BY CRIME MOB.

“OH MY GOD SHE DONE STARTED ANOTHER FIGHT.” Zion gasped, yanking his hoodie over his whole face like a burial shroud. “I swear to GOD I seen her throw her shoe and it hit some big ass man with no shirt and nipple piercings—”

Sefa turned, “You saw that too?! That was her shoe?!”

“YES. IT WAS HER FUCKIN’ SHOE, UNC!” Zion cried.

Jey popped the door open and slammed it so hard the whole car shook. His voice was low, tight, all tension, “Y’all stay here. I’m done playing with her.”

He moved like a man with murder on his calendar. Jimmy’s car door opened next, and Sefa followed suit.

Zion peeked out from under his hoodie just in time to see the three biggest, baddest Samoan men in California stalking through the park like Avengers headed to beat some ass—not save it.

The speaker kept getting louder as they approached the chaos.

🎵 “We ready to fight, we ready to fight / We ready to fight, we ready to fight—” “AYE MOVE BITCH! I SAID MOVE!” someone screamed in the background.

People were running. Phones were out. Drinks were in the air.

And somewhere in that swirling mass of hood debauchery, Samara was definitely still turning up.

Jey muttered under his breath, voice dipped in venom, “I swear to God if she still got that damn blunt behind her ear—”

“She do,” Sefa said flatly, pulling the photo Jenny accidentally sent to the family group chat on drunk autopilot. “And she got them lil gold star stickers on her cheeks now. I don’t even know where the fuck she found stickers—”

Jimmy just shook his head. “We gon’ snatch her up. She want attention, bet.”

[uceyliyahh]

- Heart & Sole 5 ❥

Plot: You know what they say: third time’s the charm!

Warnings: Hefty flirting, romance, & tooth rotting fluff!

A/N: gahhh our champion :( i miss his reign already 💔💔 anywho, welcome to the fifth part of h&s! this will, indeed, conclude my first ever mini series. thank you to everyone who’s supported / inspired me to keep it going. ily all and i can’t wait to (hopefully) make another one soon. enjoy! <3

previous chapter! <3

———————————————————————————————

i take a deep breath, scrunching my curls in the mirror.

today was perfect.

way smoother than i ever thought it would go.

my nerves were god awful but everyone was so welcoming.

the wives? beyond sweet. i even got both of their numbers for a future girl’s day.

trin? made me forget about all my worries, as always. she’s my bestie for a reason!

all the cousins? i didn’t get to talk to them much, but i could tell they approved of me right away.

and josh’s mom? absolutely amazing. and an insane cook.

going into today i thought i’d feel like an outsider, but that wasn’t the case. and i’m so grateful.

i pull out one of the many tubes of lip gloss in my bag and add a couple of layers, making sure to brush away any smudges.

once satisfied with my reflection, i wash my hands and head back outside.

on my way back to the kitchen, i hear light mumbling.

clear enough to know that it’s josh and his mom, but too muffled to understand what they’re saying.

and when i walk in, talisua’s eyes light up.

josh notices her change in expression and turns around, a warm smile immediately appearing on his face when our eyes meet.

i smile back, walking up to josh’s island stool.

“you ready to go, ma?” he asks, placing a warm hand on my lower back.

i nod, smiling and turn to his mom. “thank you again for having me.”

she smiles and shuffles over, embracing me. “you’re always welcome, honey. it was so nice meeting you.”

i chuckle, hugging back. “you too.”

she pulls away and smiles, looking up at josh.

he pulls away from me to embrace her, and i watch on smiling.

“thank you for everything ma,” he says, before kissing her temple.

she leans up to cup and kiss his cheek. “always, my love.”

i don’t miss the light whispering she does in his ear before they pull away.

josh takes my hand. “let’s roll, baby.”

“get home safe!” his mom calls from the doorway as we head to his car.

“we will!” he calls back.

the car ride home is quiet.

not in an awkward way, but more so comforting.

the type of quiet where you’re mentally reflecting on the incredible day you just had. and even when it’s about to, you don’t want it to end.

when we finally pull up to my place, the sound of the engine cutting off takes over.

josh shifts in his seat to turn to me and brush a loose curl out of my face.

“i’m happy you had a good time today,” he finally says, stroking my cheek with his knuckle.

i smile, leaning into his touch with a nod. “i did.”

he smiles back, licking his lips before speaking again.

“my mother don’t usually warm up to people right away,” he explains. “but you….you’re different, baby.”

i blush, chewing on my lower lip. “different how?”

he watches my lips for a while before looking back up into my eyes and getting lost in them all over again. “it’s your aura. the way you carry yourself. you’re so likable, ma. i don’t know how to explain it. but it’s the first thing i liked about you.”

“well,” i reply, turning my body towards him and laying my head comfortably on the headrest. “i could say the same thing about you, mr. main event.”

he smirks. “thas how you feel, huh?”

i roll my eyes playfully, smirking. “it’s how the whole world feels, goofy. you’re confident, sexy, selfless….what’s not to like?”

he raises an eyebrow. “sexy, huh?”

my breathing hitches and i immediately start mentally facepalming myself.

“i-uh…” i stutter, making his smirk widen. “i guess i was just…”

“hey,” he cuts me off, taking my hand and kissing the top of it. “no need to be nervous around me, mama.”

“kinda hard not to be when you look like….that.”

he chuckles, licking his lower lip again. “you’re somethin’ else, girl.”

i smile, looking down at our hands and intertwining our fingers.

the quiet sound of crickets chirping outside takes over, setting the mood.

“well,” i finally announce, unbuckling my seatbelt. “it’s getting late. i should probably head in.”

he nods, watching me.

“thank you again for today,” i continue, reaching over the middle console to hug him.

he huge back, stroking my lower back, his hands brushing my ass teasingly. “anytime, ma. i’m happy you came.”

i smile, resting my chin on his shoulder and inhaling his scent.

and when we finally pull away, the entire mood changes.

not for the worse - god not for the worse at all.

but it’s something i can’t quite put my finger on.

deciding not to discover what that is tonight, i quickly shake the feeling off.

“goodnight,” i whisper, leaning over to kiss his cheek and opening the passenger door.

he grabs ahold of my wrist, ever so gently. “where you goin?”

i turn around and blink in response. “inside?”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “you forgot somethin, baby. cmere.”

and before i can even process what’s happening, his lips are on mine.

finally.

i deepen the kiss, tangling my fingers in his curls.

he lets out a low groan before wrapping his arms tighter around me. like i’m a ghost that’ll just disappear any second now.

when we finally pull away, i instantly miss the feeling of him.

i let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through my curls. “woah.”

“sorry,” he apologizes, running a hand down his face. “i been tryna kiss them things all day.”

i giggle, letting out a deep breath shortly after. “yeah, you’re telling me. and for once jon wasn-“

and as if on cue, his phone rings.

my jaw drops as he looks at me with “holy shit” written all over his eyes.

“there’s no way,” i mutter, watching him pick up his phone from the dashboard.

he turns the screen my way and it reads one word: Jon.

“you handle that how you will,” i announce, making a shoo motion with my hand, turning towards the door again.

he laughs and pulls me back, kissing me again.

i kiss back, laughing as we pull away.

“nite baby,” he mutters, giving me one last peck.

he stops in his tracks for a minute, before speaking up again. “i love you.”

my heart drops. “i-i love you too.”

and fuck. i really do.

he instantly smiles and cups my face, placing a kiss at the corner of my mouth.

i smile back before heading out of the car, closing the door behind me.

“call me!” he calls out the window as i’m walking up the pathway to my front door.

“i will!” i call back over my shoulder.

his engine starts up again and he pulls away from the curb.

as he goes to turn the corner, his horn blows two quick beeps.

i wave until he’s out of sight.

a sudden gust of wind blows, resulting in me hurrying to unlock the door and rush inside.

and once i’m there, i lock the door, press my back against it, and just look up.

josh fatu loves me. and i love him.

my heart and sole.

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[uceyliyahh]

real

Chapter Sixty: “She Don’t Know How to Sit Still”

The front door creaked open slow. Jey stepped in first, the sound of keys jangling against his thigh as he walked. Sefa and Jimmy followed behind, Zion quiet between them, still deep in his thoughts from earlier.

But as soon as Jey smelled the air, his jaw tensed.

Garlic. Chicken. Rice. Something buttery.

He blinked.

“What the hell—?” he muttered, eyes scanning the open kitchen.

Plates were out. Table half set. A pot still on low. Kitchen rag hanging off the stove like it got tossed in a rush. The smell of food filled the house with warmth but it sat heavy on Jey’s chest.

That’s when his eyes shifted to the couch.

And there she was.

Samara.

Laid out sideways, curled into herself with a blanket barely over her legs. Her brows were furrowed even in sleep, lips slightly parted like she was mid-sigh. But what grabbed him by the throat—was the deep, dark circles under her eyes. The fresh red stain soaking through the bottom edge of her shoulder bandage. Her fingers were still balled like she’d been gripping something before she passed out.

“Damn,” Jimmy muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She made dinner?” Sefa whispered like he didn’t believe it.

Jey didn’t say a word. He just moved.

He crouched down beside her, brushing one of those messy curls out of her face. Her lips were dry. Her skin warm but too pale under her golden tone. There was a faint tremble in her arms even in sleep.

Zion stepped around the couch, seeing her face, and he just stared—jaw tight, a little tremble in his lip. Jey saw it and gently reached out, putting a hand on his boy’s chest to keep him close.

“I told her to stay in bed,” Jey murmured. “Doc said she need to rest. Just for a few damn days.”

“She was probably tryna do somethin’ normal,” Jimmy added quietly, stepping over to lower the stove.

“Y’all know how she is,” Sefa said, voice low. “Won’t ask for help ‘til she damn near in a coma.”

That did it. Jey couldn’t hold it.

He carefully sat down on the floor in front of her, running a palm down her calf through the blanket. Not enough to wake her, just enough to feel she was still warm.

“I got you,” he whispered more to himself than her. “I got both of y’all.”

Zion crouched down next to his dad now. He laid his hand over his momma’s, and the look on his face? Yeah—it was quiet heartbreak. Quiet protection. That boy was only twelve, but right there he looked every year of it and a little more.

“C’mon,” Jey finally said, looking up at his brothers. “Let her sleep. We gon’ fix her plate, and if she don’t wake up tonight, she gon’ eat first thing tomorrow.”

Zion nodded.

“I’ll make her some tea, too,” the boy added, glancing back one more time. “She like the one with the mint and ginger.”

Jey smiled faintly.

“Yeah,” he said, pride tugging at his voice. “She do.”

They all moved softer after that. Like the house itself needed to be gentle.

And later that night, when Jey tucked the blanket up around her and sat next to her on the couch, he didn’t go back to bed. He just watched her breathe.

Because this woman—his woman—nearly died tryna love people too hard. And still, she got up and made damn dinner.

He wasn’t gon’ let that go unnoticed again.

Chapter Sixty-One: “It Ain’t Like the Movies”

The soft clinking of dishes and the low hum of voices drifted in from the kitchen, but Samara's face scrunched before her eyes even opened.

“Ugh…” she groaned low, rolling slightly and immediately regretting it.

Sharp pain lanced through her shoulder like lightning and she hissed, gripping the blanket tighter.

“Fuck,” she muttered, blinking into the low light. “They make it look cool in the movies. This shit hurt.”

She tried to sit up, but the throb pulsed so bad she froze halfway. Her curls were a mess, lips dry, and her face still bruised on one side—but her mouth worked just fine.

“Muhfucka done turned my shoulder to Swiss cheese…” she muttered, her voice hoarse. “I don’t understand how 50 Cent did it. Like…seven times?? Be f’real.”

The couch creaked and suddenly a voice—low, thick with sleep and relief—answered behind her.

“He had a budget, Ma.”

Jey.

She turned her head a bit and saw him sitting on the edge of the couch, his arms resting on his knees, watching her with this soft tired grin. He looked like he hadn’t blinked in an hour. Still shirtless, his durag slightly shifted from where Zion probably tugged on it earlier. Bags under his eyes, but warmth in them, too.

“Don’t be funny,” she rasped. “That shit really hurt. I think my bone got offended.”

Jey chuckled a little, reaching over gently to help adjust her blanket higher. His knuckles brushed her cheek for just a second.

“You had me scared,” he said quietly, and this time his voice cracked a little. “You was gone, Ma. Like, heart stopped type gone.”

She blinked at him, then exhaled slow.

“I know.”

The mood shifted. Quiet now. Thick.

She looked around finally—realized she was on the couch, not the bed. Realized her shirt smelled like him. One of his graphic tees, oversized, worn soft. The pot of rice was still on the stove, and there were plates on the table, leftovers neatly sealed in containers.

“You ain’t move me?”

Jey smirked. “You was gone-deep. Zion said leave you alone or he’d 'square up' with me.”

“…that boy got my whole mouth,” she mumbled with a ghost of a smile. “Even the attitude.”

“Facts,” Jey said, stretching his arm out across the back of the couch behind her head. “He got your dramatics too. He act like I shot you.”

“You mean besides the actual bullet wound?”

“…Damn. Aight, you got that.”

She groaned and tilted her head back, squinting at the ceiling.

“Can you grab my meds, baby daddy?” she said low, almost sheepish.

That got him. His brow arched as he stood up slowly, moving toward the cabinet.

“You ain’t called me that in years,” he said over his shoulder.

She smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

When he returned with the water and pills, she looked up at him with a small raised brow.

“You gettin’ soft on me, huh? Baby daddy gettin’ all tender…”

He handed her the meds and knelt down beside the couch again.

“Nah,” he murmured, brushing her thigh. “I’m just done playin’ like I ain’t care. That bullet woke me the fuck up.”

She swallowed the pills and sipped the water, eyes softening just slightly. The vulnerability lingered in the space between them, unspoken but heavy.

“Don’t make me say it twice, Joshua,” she muttered, voice fading as the meds started hitting her system. “This shirt real comfy tho… I might keep it…”

“You not gon’ fight me for it?” he teased, leaning in.

“Mmm. No fight left. Just pain and pride.”

She dozed a little again with him kneeling right there, his hand staying on her leg like a grounding point, like if he let go she’d disappear again.

And for the first time in a long time, Jey didn’t feel like a kingpin.

He just felt like a man—sitting beside the woman who survived for their son, for him, for herself. A woman who was all kinds of broken and all kinds of strong.

And damn it…he was still hers.

Chapter Sixty-Two: "Ain’t Nothing Changed, Baby"

The click-clack of slides smacking the hardwood hit first, followed by the sharp smack of a cabinet and the low mutter of pain as Samara moved through the kitchen like she ain’t just take a damn bullet days ago.

Trinity and Jenny stood near the counter, whispering and side-eyeing like aunties at a family function. Jenny was mid-sentence in Spanish before she saw her friend dragging her feet and still giving bad bitch in recovery energy.

“You up and moving already?” Trinity said, arms folded. “You ain’t even supposed to be on your feet.”

Samara stopped, blinked at them, and flipped both middle fingers up with a grimace and a deadass mean mug. She didn’t even slow her roll.

“Y’all can make your own damn plates. I ain’t even finna do it,” she snapped, her voice thick with that still-healing rasp, but loud enough to shut ‘em up.

Jenny snorted and Trinity laughed, “Oh yeah, she good. She definitely good.”

Samara grabbed a cup, turned around—and then she saw him.

Zion.

Her baby. Her first love. Her whole heart standing there in the hallway, his curls wild from stress and his eyes still glassy with leftover tears.

He looked like a kid again. Like he wasn’t tryin’ to be tough or brave or grown for once.

And just like that, her whole body froze.

Her cup slipped from her fingers into the sink with a clatter.

“Baby?”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. That boy moved fast—so fast—and launched himself into her. One arm flung around her waist and his face buried in her chest.

Samara held him tight with her good arm, her hand cradling the back of his head like when he was little, her cheek resting against his curls. Her mouth trembled, but her voice came steady, soft but full of weight.

“I love you, lil man,” she murmured, her lips brushing his temple. “Mommy so proud of you.”

Zion sniffled hard, clinging tighter. Like his whole world had been tilting and only she could hold it steady again.

She cupped his chin, lifted his face gently. Tears streaked his cheeks and her thumb moved to wipe them away. One kiss to his left cheek. Another to the right.

“Ain’t nothing changed, okay baby?” she whispered.

He nodded a little, blinking fast.

“Your daddy still yours,” she said firmly, her eyes flicking up and locking with Jey’s who was leaning quietly in the hallway watching the two of them. “And I’m always gon’ be your momma.”

She touched her forehead to his. “And we ain’t never gon’ stop loving you. Not ever. You hear me?”

His voice cracked as he finally said it, quiet but full of everything he hadn’t been able to say before:

“I was scared…”

“I know,” she said, holding him tighter. “Me too.”

Jenny was wiping tears and fanning her face. Trinity turned around like she wasn’t crying, too. Jey hadn’t moved. His hand was pressed to the wall like it was the only thing holding him up.

Because in that moment, the center of their whole chaotic little world—their son—had been seen. Held. Reminded.

And that made all the difference.

Chapter Sixty-Three: “He Still Tryin’ To Figure It Out”

The whole house had that kind of stillness that only happens after a storm.

Not the loud kind, either. The quiet, emotional ones—the ones that don’t leave broken windows, but leave people feeling like they’re what’s cracked.

Samara was still crouched in front of her son, her good arm wrapped around him while her body ached from the damage she hadn’t even had time to process. Her shoulder screamed every time she moved too fast, and the fresh blood blooming through her bandages hadn’t gone unnoticed. But right now? Zion was the only thing she could focus on.

The way his little body trembled.

The way his face was flushed from crying, jaw clenched like he was tryna stop the sobs that kept pushing past his throat anyway.

The way his eyes—her eyes—looked up at her like she was the only thing keeping him from breaking completely.

Behind them, everyone had gone silent. Jimmy was perched on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees. Sefa was leaning against the wall, Jenny hovering beside him with her arms crossed tight. Trinity had one arm wrapped around Kiara and the other holding Kyrie, her lips pressed to her son’s temple. Even Zilla and Jacob were unusually still.

And Jey?

He stood behind them all.

Arms crossed, posture stiff. But his eyes were locked on them—on her and their son—and the look in them wasn’t hard. It was shattered.

Zion’s voice cracked as he whispered, “You don’t hate him?”

Samara froze.

The question dropped into the room like thunder.

She opened her mouth, then paused—eyes flicking toward Jey for the briefest second. His jaw tightened like he already braced for her answer. Like he didn’t expect grace, not from her. Not after everything.

She turned back to Zion and exhaled slow through her nose.

“No, baby,” she said, voice soft but steady. “I don’t hate him.”

Zion blinked at her, confused. “But… but he left. He had all them other women. He wasn’t there. Why don’t you hate him?”

Samara swallowed. The words burned in her throat but they came anyway, from somewhere real.

“Because hate is for cowards.”

That had the whole room shift. Jenny blinked fast, Trinity’s brows lifted, and Sefa let out a low whistle under his breath. Even Jimmy sat up straighter.

Samara ran a hand through Zion’s curls, resting her forehead against his for a moment.

“Your daddy?” she said quietly. “He was just a kid, too. Just like you. He didn’t get to be held when he was scared. Didn’t get told he was allowed to cry. Didn’t get to feel soft… not even once. Everything he know? He had to learn the hard way. And sometimes when you grow up like that, baby… you don’t realize how much you hurt people tryin’ not to be the one hurt again.”

Zion’s lip wobbled again, his little chest rising and falling fast.

“He still tryin’ to figure it out,” Samara murmured. “Just like you. Just like me.”

There was silence. Real silence.

Then her boy asked, voice trembling, “So… so you ain’t mad at him?”

Samara’s expression broke then, her face scrunching like the truth cracked open inside her.

“I was mad,” she admitted. “Lord knows I been mad for years, baby. But being mad? That’s just sadness dressed up tryin’ to look tough. And I ain’t tough all the time.”

She glanced back at Jey again—he hadn’t moved.

“I don’t hate him,” she repeated softly. “We just… we just never got it right. Not the timing. Not the choices. Not us. But he’s still your daddy, Zion. And he loves you.”

Zion sniffled and blinked at her again, confused and hurt and angry and tired all at once.

“But why don’t he love you?” he asked, his voice so soft it cracked open Samara’s whole chest. “If he loved you, he woulda stayed. He woulda married you like Uncle Jimmy and Auntie Trinity.”

That part? That part right there—that made Jey visibly wince.

Samara sucked in a shaky breath and shook her head.

“Oh, baby…” she reached for his face gently, brushing his cheek. “Love don’t always mean stayin’. Love don’t always mean easy or forever. Sometimes love is trying, even when you don’t know how. Sometimes… it’s letting go.”

Zion looked down, eyes watery, lashes wet and heavy. “So what now?”

“Now?” she smiled and kissed his forehead. “Now we heal. We talk. We try. And no matter what—you remember this: your daddy ain’t perfect, but he loves you somethin’ fierce. And me? I’m always gon’ be your momma. That’s never gon’ change.”

Zion melted into her then, wrapping his arms around her waist, careful with her injured shoulder.

“I love you, Momma.”

“I love you more, lil man.”

When Samara looked up, her eyes met Jey’s.

And for the first time in years, there wasn’t fire. Wasn’t bitterness.

Just… understanding.

He mouthed a quiet, “Thank you.”

She nodded.

Because sometimes, love ain’t loud. Sometimes, it’s just showing up when it matters.

Chapter Sixty-Four: “What You Don’t Say Still Echoes”

The living room had calmed down some, but the air was still thick with everything unspoken.

Zion sat cross-legged on the floor, lowkey trying to act like he wasn’t still sniffling while he passed the controller back and forth with Kiara. The two twelve-year-olds were deep in a game of Mortal Kombat, Kiara mumbling “you cheating, boy” every five seconds while Zion kept trying to spam the same combo move.

Kyrie, the youngest, was curled up on the couch beside Trinity, fighting sleep with a juice pouch in his hand.

The adults?

They were all posted up in a loose circle around the living room, drinks in hand, expressions sober. Nobody really said it out loud, but they knew that moment—what Samara had just said to Zion—wasn’t just for the kid.

That was for everybody.

Sefa shook his head first, exhaling sharply as he leaned back on the armrest. “I don’t even know how she do it,” he muttered. “That woman got every reason to wild out and she still hold it down with grace.”

Jenny, perched on the edge of the recliner with her arms crossed, nodded slowly. “Y’all don’t even get it. Zion showed up at the shop earlier cryin’ like his chest was broke in two, and she still found a way to put herself second to calm him.”

Jimmy had one arm around Trinity, his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “That’s Samara though,” he murmured. “Always been the heart of the room, even when hers was getting stomped on.”

Trinity side-eyed her man but nodded. “Y’all saw her earlier—bloody bandages and all, still cookin’, still watchin’ over Zion like her body ain’t gone through hell and back.”

Jey didn’t say much. He sat on the arm of the couch, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor like it held answers he’d been chasing his whole damn life.

He could still hear her words playing back over and over:

“He was a kid too, just like you.”

“He still trying to figure it out.”

“Hate is for cowards.”

She said it in front of everybody, with Zion damn near breaking in her arms—and she still gave him grace.

That part ate at him.

“I ain’t deserve that,” Jey said quietly.

Everyone looked up.

Jimmy’s brow furrowed. “Deserve what?”

Jey tilted his head back and let out a breath that shook a little more than he liked. “The way she covered me like that. The way she still protected me in front of our son after everything.”

Sefa leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Yeah, but you showed up, bruh. That counts. You pulled up for him. You pulled up for her.”

“Bare minimum,” Jey muttered. “I been doin’ bare minimum for years.”

Trinity raised her brow, sipping her wine. “Okay, but now you know better. So whatchu gon’ do with it?”

Jey glanced toward the kids. Zion was laughing now, the high kind that made his chest rise with it, a genuine one that didn’t sound like it belonged to a boy who just shattered an hour ago.

And Samara?

She had stepped out to rest again, finally listening to Sefa and letting her body sit the hell down. But her voice was still in his head.

“Try not to be hard on him. He love you to death.”

Jey’s voice was hoarse when he finally spoke again. “I just… I ain’t tryna be the reason my son gotta unlearn love when he gets older. I don’t wanna be another wound he gotta heal from.”

Jenny looked up sharply. “Then don’t.”

Simple. But it landed heavy.

Jimmy nodded. “Start from right now. You got time. Maybe not to fix everything all at once, but enough to show him what choosing your people really look like.”

Jey leaned back, his fingers steepled together in front of him. “I just hope it ain’t too late to show her too…”

Sefa clapped his shoulder. “It’s never too late if the door ain’t shut. And Samara?” he smirked. “She ain’t never shut no door that had love on the other side. She just lock it a lil’ longer than most.”

Everyone chuckled low under their breath at that. Even Jey cracked a smile.

The game in the background ramped up again with Kiara yelling, “STOP CHEATIN’, Z!” and Zion yelling back “I’M NOT EVEN DOIN’ NOTHING!”

Laughter bubbled from the kids, a normalcy that hadn’t existed in a long time.

Jey watched his son, saw the way he grinned—half his childhood still in his smile, the other half growing too fast.

And for the first time in a while, Jey didn’t feel stuck in what he used to be.

He just felt… ready.

Chapter Sixty-Five: “The Glue Gets Tired Too”

Jey stood in front of the bedroom door, his hand resting on the knob, breathing in slow through his nose. He wasn’t sure what he expected—maybe her knocked out again, maybe curled under his comforter, maybe asleep with one arm cradling her stitches and the other hand over her heart.

But when he opened the door and stepped inside, she was already standing.

Barefoot, hair a little wild from tossing in bed, his oversized graphic tee falling just above her thighs, and her eyes—those warm, fierce, fight-for-you-then-fight-you eyes—were glassy, red-rimmed, and locked on him like he was both the problem and the cure.

“Samara—”

“What we doing, Joshua?”

Her voice cracked, soft and flat and real. Not laced with that usual venom. Not covered in sarcasm or laced with a quick clapback. She wasn’t aiming to bruise him.

She was already bruised.

“I been covering you since before we was eighteen.”

She swallowed, a tear slipping down her cheek, and she didn’t even wipe it. Her arms were crossed tight like she was holding herself together in real time, and it was a fight she was losing.

“I’m tired.”

She took a shaky breath, her voice dropping even softer.

“And it’s hard being the glue.”

Jey’s mouth parted, but no words came out. His feet stayed planted by the door like gravity had him in a chokehold. The silence was thick, the kind that makes your ears ring with everything you wish you’d said earlier.

Samara stepped back a little, bracing herself against the edge of the dresser, her fingers digging into the wood. “You know how many times I held shit down for you, protected you, forgave you when I didn’t even know if you deserved it? How many times I smiled in front of our son when all I wanted to do was scream?”

Her lip trembled.

“I’m so tired, Jey.”

That name again—Jey. Not “baby daddy,” not “Fatu,” not even “yo ass.” Just Jey.

And it made his stomach twist.

He finally stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him. “I ain’t tryna… I ain’t tryna give you no speech. I just wanted to check on you.”

She shook her head slowly, voice hardening like she was trying to stuff her emotions back down. “I don’t need checking on. I need help. I need partnership. I need somebody who gon’ catch me when I can’t hold it all together no more. I’ve been the glue for too damn long and nobody ever stops to think, what happens when the glue starts cracking?”

He moved closer, a few slow steps, his voice low. “I think about it.”

“Do you?” she snapped, tears falling freely now. “Because you got to leave. You got to chase money and play street king. I had to stay. I had to raise Zion in pieces, answer questions I didn’t have the words for, and still make it look good. You got to disappear, Jey. I didn’t.”

That landed. Heavy.

He was quiet for a long moment, his jaw clenched, eyes locked on hers with a storm behind them. Then he reached up, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I ain’t got no excuse. I just got regret.”

Samara looked away, lips pressed tight, trying to keep from crying harder.

“I been out here trying to run an empire that don’t mean shit if my queen been crumbling this whole time,” he said, voice rough like gravel. “You right. You been the glue. And I’ve been… too comfortable letting you hold everything together while I kept chasing ghosts.”

He stepped closer again. This time, she didn’t move.

“I miss you. Not the idea of us. You, Ma. You and that fire and them smart-ass lips and how you always saw something in me—even when I couldn’t see it myself.”

Samara sniffled. “And now what, Jey? You wanna come back just ‘cause the pieces don’t fit without me?”

“No,” he said. “I wanna come back because I finally learned how to build it with you, not just sit back while you do all the work.”

She stared at him. So many emotions crossed her face—hurt, love, exhaustion, disbelief, hope.

“Talk is cheap, Joshua.”

“I know,” he whispered, voice cracking. “That’s why I’m tryna move different now.”

Silence again. Her tears slowed. She turned her face toward the window, jaw tight.

He took another step and reached out, gently brushing his fingers against the back of her hand. She didn’t pull away.

“I ain’t asking you to forget the past,” he murmured. “I’m just asking for a chance to finally show you the man you deserved all along.”

She looked at him finally, eyes raw and searching. “I got a baby boy who look up to both of us. I can’t afford for you to be inconsistent anymore, Jey. I can’t.”

“I know.”

“And if you ever break that boy the way this life broke me…”

“I won’t,” he said quickly, firm now. “Not again. Not never.”

They stood there. Quiet. Breathing in the tension. Standing in the middle of a battlefield made of love, scars, and second chances.

Finally, Samara sighed deeply, stepping closer until her forehead was pressed to his chest. His arms wrapped around her without hesitation.

She mumbled against his skin, voice small again. “Being the glue hurts like hell.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Then lemme be the hands that hold you together this time.”

Chapter Sixty-Six: “Don’t Go Away”

The room was quiet. Zion and his cousins’ laughter floated in from the other side of the house, muffled by the walls. Jimmy and Sefa stood nearby, halfway talking about what needed to be done next, but Jey wasn’t listening.

He was too locked in on her.

Samara stood in front of him, the lights low and casting soft shadows across her face. That tired beauty clung to her—pain still stitched into her shoulder, but a new ache swimming in her eyes. Not physical. This one had been brewing for years.

Her good hand lifted slowly, and when her fingers gently cupped his jaw, it nearly made Jey flinch.

Not ‘cause it hurt—but ‘cause it healed.

Her voice came soft, low like a confession—one meant for his ears only, though the other two brothers stood close enough to feel the temperature shift.

“Loving you…” she started, her thumb brushing along the line of his beard. “Has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done besides raising him.”

Jey blinked, his throat tightening.

“And it just don’t go away, king,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. “Not even when you put me through hell.”

Jey’s chest rose slow and deep, like he was holding back a hundred words that wouldn’t make a difference right now.

Samara’s eyes glistened, the rims red and heavy, but she didn’t cry for real—she’d done enough of that. Still, a tear betrayed her, slipping down her cheek. She sniffed once and kept looking at him like she was searching for something.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said, her voice cracking just enough to split him wide open.

He nodded slightly, not even daring to speak. He didn’t wanna mess up whatever this moment was.

“But I always love you, Jey,” she said, her voice barely a breath now. “Always have.”

And before he could process what she meant by that—before she could even question the way her own heart thudded in her chest—her lips were on his.

It was slow. Soft. Not desperate, not heated.

Just true.

Jey froze for a second, shock rippling through his whole body. Even he didn’t see it coming. Behind him, Jimmy’s mouth parted like yo what the hell, and Sefa literally stepped back a half-step like he just caught his brother walking into the gates of heaven with his shoes off.

But none of that mattered.

‘Cause Samara didn’t kiss him to make a statement.

She kissed him ‘cause her body didn’t know what else to do with all that still-here love that wouldn’t die no matter how many times he fumbled it.

When she pulled back, her lips still brushed his, and her eyes searched his with a haunted tenderness. She didn’t smile. Didn’t say another word.

She just stood there—chest rising, breath shaky—as if she didn’t even believe what she just did.

And Jey?

His hand found the side of her waist, light as air, and he whispered like the words were scared to be spoken out loud:

“…Damn, Ma.”

Chapter Sixty-Seven: “Mine, Still.”

Jey was still staring at her like she done flipped his whole soul inside out.

That kiss was still humming on his lips, but it wasn’t just the kiss. Nah—it was everything in her eyes when she pulled away. Everything she said. Everything she didn’t say but he felt.

Samara stood there, jaw clenched like she regretted how vulnerable she just let herself be. Her body shifted like she was getting ready to pull back, to play it off, to pretend like the moment didn’t mean what it meant.

But before she could move—he did.

Jey stepped forward, big hands sliding up her arms slow and gentle, like she was glass and he was scared she’d shatter. His forehead came down to rest against hers, and she gasped a little at how close he pulled her, but she didn’t move away.

Not this time.

His voice dropped low, all grit and raw edge, “‘What we doin?’” he repeated her words back to her, quiet and slow, like they’d been bouncing around in his chest. “We doin this, Samara. We always been doin this.”

She blinked, lips parting slightly as his hands slid to her waist, still careful of her shoulder. Her breath hitched.

Jey’s thumb grazed her side as he leaned in again, but he didn’t kiss her yet. Nah. He looked at her. Looked at her like she was the air he’d been holding in for too long. Like the mother of his child. Like the one he never stopped loving, even when he was being too stupid to act right.

“You tired?” he asked her gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“I know,” he murmured, tilting his head. “But you ain’t gotta be the glue no more. You ain’t gotta hold everything by your damn self.”

She looked up at him, like she was trying not to believe that. Like believing it would make her hope again, and hope was dangerous.

“I don’t wanna hurt no more, Joshua.”

His jaw flexed. “Then I’ll take the pain for you.”

Samara looked away like her eyes were too heavy to keep steady, but Jey gently turned her face back.

“I should’ve been the man I’m tryna be now… back then,” he admitted. “I should’ve picked us every time. But I got the chance now—and I ain’t walkin past it.”

And just like that, he kissed her.

This one wasn’t hesitant.

It was deep. Firm. Full of years worth of sorry, I miss you, I love you, and never again all rolled into one.

Her hands, even with one arm still weak, gripped his waist. Her mouth moved against his like instinct—like she been waiting to breathe again and finally remembered how.

When they broke apart, she leaned her forehead against his chest, chest rising in deep shaky breaths. His arms wrapped around her like protection, like claim, like he was finally home.

Jey whispered low by her ear, voice hoarse, “You mine, Samara. Always was. I just forgot how to treat you like it. But I ain’t forgot you.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just buried her face into his chest with a choked laugh that turned into a broken sob.

Jey held her tighter. Kissed the crown of her head.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of them pulled away.

Chapter Sixty-Eight: “Z!?”

“...you mine, Samara. Always was.”

Her forehead still rested against his chest, and Jey’s arms hadn’t moved. That silence? It was thick. Full of everything they didn’t know how to say but were finally feeling. Peaceful. Still.

Until— “HUHHHH!?!”

They both jumped damn near out their skin.

Samara’s head snapped up like a deer caught in headlights, while Jey whipped his body around like he was ready to square up—just for them both to freeze again.

Zion was standing in the doorway, jaw on the freakin floor, his face caught somewhere between horror, confusion, and pure betrayal.

Big eyes. Big inhale. Mouth hanging open like he was witnessing the fall of a nation.

“Z!?” Samara squeaked, heart thumping. “What the hell you doin sneakin up on folks!?”

He blinked at her like she grew three heads. “ME?! Nahhh, what YOU doin?! Momma—was y’all kissing!?”

Jey cleared his throat, backing up slow like the boy caught him making out behind the bleachers.

“Son…”

“Don’t ‘son’ me!” Zion’s voice cracked like he was personally offended. “I came to ask if we was ordering out or not—y’all over here tryna be the next episode of Love & Hip Hop: Kingpin Edition!”

Samara slapped her hand over her face.

Jey turned away, laughing under his breath like he couldn’t even deny it.

“Nah, ‘cause what is happening!?” Zion threw his hands up. “Mama, you always say he get on your nerves and you hope his durags slip off in his sleep!”

Jey damn near choked laughing. “Yo what—?”

Samara turned beet red. “Zion Omari Fatu I do not—okay maybe once, but—shut up!”

Zion narrowed his eyes at both of them, arms crossed.

“You two… y’all weird. I thought y’all hated each other.”

Jey sighed and walked forward slowly, squatting down to eye-level with his son. “Nah, lil man. We just forgot how to show we loved each other right. We hurt each other. A lot. But… your momma? She the realest woman I ever met. And you the best thing we ever did. I’m tryna fix what I messed up.”

Zion looked between the two of them, brows furrowed deep.

“Ion want y’all to play with each other feelings no more,” he said, voice smaller. “Not mine neither.”

Samara’s eyes softened, and she crossed the room, gently cupping her son’s cheek. “We not, baby. We figuring it out. Slowly. But with love. Always with love.”

Zion sniffled a little, then wiped his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Y’all weird… but okay.”

Then he paused.

“Still ordering out tho?”

Jey busted out laughing again, ruffling his son’s curls. “Yeah, Z. Let’s eat.”

[uceyliyahh]

real

Chapter Fifty: “Ain’t Nothing Soft About Me, Ma”

The bedroom was dim again, early morning creeping in through the closed blinds. Jey sat on the edge of the bed, one arm stretched behind Samara’s back to brace her as she leaned into him, groaning low in her throat.

“Here,” he muttered, holding the pain meds out to her with a water bottle already cracked open in his other hand.

Samara took the pills slowly, eyeing them like they were poison before finally sighing and popping 'em in her mouth. She gulped down a few sips, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and then squinted up at him through messy lashes.

“You ain’t called me that in years,” she mumbled, voice scratchy but teasing. Her tongue peeked out to wet her bottom lip.

Jey smirked but didn’t look away, still cradling her weight so she didn’t lean on her bad shoulder.

“Called you what?”

She raised a brow, clearly not about to let him dodge.

“Ma.”

The corner of his mouth tugged higher. “Ain’t like it stopped bein’ true.”

She scoffed through a breathy laugh, shifting slow to get more comfortable. “Don’t tell me my baby daddy gettin’ soft.”

Jey chuckled low, shaking his head. “Ain’t nothin’ soft about me, Samara,” he murmured, leaning in close, his lips ghosting over her ear. “But I am tired of actin’ like you ain’t mine. That part? Dead.”

Her heart did a little somersault in her chest, but she played it cool. Always.

“That so?”

He nodded once, firm. “That been so. But I was stupid, and you were stubborn… and now we both bleeding over shit we never fixed.”

She looked at him long and hard, no cap in her eyes. Just bruised vulnerability and the flicker of something old and real rising back up.

“You think I don’t want this?” she said quietly. “You think I ran to you at that park ‘cause I was scared of him? Nah, Jey—I ran to you ‘cause you the only person I ever felt safe with, even when you pissed me the fuck off.”

That hit him right in the ribs.

His jaw tightened as he brushed a curl off her forehead, fingers lingering at her temple.

“You still safe with me,” he promised. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Samara. Not again.”

She tilted her head back just slightly, pain meds starting to settle in, her body getting heavier in his arms again. But her eyes stayed on his.

“I ain’t ever need soft, Jey. I just needed you.”

He kissed her forehead without a word, tucked her back down in the bed, slid in beside her and held her like she was all he had.

And for once… she let him.

Chapter Fifty-One: “Your World, Your Son”

The house smelled like eggs, bacon, and slightly burnt toast—aka love in its purest, most chaotic form.

Sunlight filtered in soft through the windows now, gold spilling across the floors as the little family remained curled in the center of Jey’s king-sized bed, tangled in blankets and healing silence.

Until—

“WAKE UUUUUPPP!”

Zion’s voice cracked through the room like a ray of sunshine on Red Bull, followed by a loud clatter and a heavy thump as he kicked the bedroom door all the way open, arms full with a breakfast tray and the proudest damn smile on his little face.

Jey blinked, groaning low as he stretched, shirtless and groggy. Samara shifted beside him, one leg flopped over his and her hand instinctively reaching for her sore shoulder.

But Zion? Unbothered. Grinning like he just won the lottery.

“I made breakfast! Like for real. I even cut the toast into lil hearts,” he added with a bashful shrug, cheeks flushed.

Samara propped herself up, groggy but wide-eyed, brows knitting together. “Z, baby… you did all this?”

He nodded hard. “Yep! First time we all been in the same place like this since I was six, so I figured…” He shrugged again, nervous all of a sudden. “I just… wanted it to feel like somethin’. Like family.”

Jey sat up slower now, his throat tightening, eyes flicking to Samara’s. Her lip wobbled for a second, and she reached for her baby boy, letting him crawl on the bed and kiss her cheek gently.

He turned and kissed his dad’s arm too, almost shyly.

“I ain’t wanna wake y’all up too early, but I made a plate for everybody,” he added, his voice muffled against Samara’s curls.

And that’s when she said it.

Calm. Clear. With love but no softness.

“I think you, Jimmy, and Sefa need to take him out today.”

Jey stiffened slightly, meeting her gaze.

She continued, “It’s gotten too messy… and way too deadly to keep him in the dark. You see how smart he is, how he feels everything around him. He’s not a little boy anymore, Jey.”

Zion looked between them now, confused.

Samara brushed a curl from Zion’s forehead and kissed him again before murmuring low, so only Jey could really feel the weight behind it.

“This your world. And if y’all don’t tell him the truth… he’s gonna find out the wrong way.”

Jey’s throat worked around emotion he wasn’t used to letting show. Not even for his brothers.

But she was right.

He looked down at his son—his mirror, his shadow, his legacy.

Yeah… it was time.

Chapter Fifty-Two (Alternate Take): “What You Chose” Still from Jey’s POV.

Jey was already feelin’ tight in his chest when they pulled up to the old lot. The kind of place they used to handle business back in the day, now just a shell for truth to echo off broken walls and tired hearts.

Zion was quiet behind him. Not the usual distracted, humming-to-himself kinda quiet, but heavy silence—the kind Jey remembered from when his pops used to fight with his mom. It was silence that said, I’m listening, even if I don’t want to.

They all got out.

Sefa leaned against the hood. Jimmy hung back, eyes low.

And Jey crouched down a little, on eye level with his son, sitting on the beat-up bench under a crooked-ass tree.

He started soft. Gentle. Like if he raised his voice, the truth might come out louder than he meant.

“Z… this talk? It ain’t easy. But it’s gotta happen.”

Zion just looked at him, eyes already glossy, nose twitchin’ like he was tryna stay cool.

“I been protectin’ you the only way I knew how. But I made choices—ones that came with enemies and dirt. Some of that dirt got on your mama. That’s on me.”

Zion’s lip quivered.

Jey saw it.

“And I didn’t want you caught in this life. That’s why I ain’t let you all the way in. But it ain’t work. And now, I can’t keep lying. You in it, even if you don’t wanna be.”

Zion blinked real fast and then—BOOM. That crack in his voice busted wide open.

“You were supposed to protect us!”

The sound sliced through Jey’s gut like a blade.

“You chose this? This gang, these people, this… life—over me? That’s why you wasn’t around? Why momma always said ‘don’t ask’? Why she cried some nights when she thought I ain’t hear?”

Sefa dropped his head.

Jimmy turned around and walked a few steps away.

Zion’s voice broke again, tears spillin’ fast and hot.

“She almost died, Daddy! She’s in pain right now ‘cause of you! That man took her ‘cause of your choices!” he screamed, shoving Jey in the chest. “You ain’t protect her. You ain’t protect me.”

Jey didn’t stop him.

Didn’t even flinch.

Because that pain? He deserved to feel it.

And Zion wasn’t done.

“I used to wait for you. Every birthday, every holiday, I used to tell people ‘my dad comin’, he just busy.’” His fists clenched. “You wasn’t busy. You just chose something else.”

And with that?

Zion turned.

And ran.

Full speed.

Just like his mama did when she was scared—but this time? It wasn’t fear in his feet. It was rage, confusion, heartbreak, all twistin’ up into something no child should carry.

“Z!” Jey called, voice crackin’. “ZION!!”

But that boy didn’t look back.

He disappeared down the path, limbs flailin’, breath hitchin’.

Sefa stepped forward, voice low. “You want me to—”

Jey shook his head, eyes locked on the space his son left behind.

“Nah,” he said, hoarse. “Let him go. He gotta let it out.”

Jimmy walked back up, clapped a hand on Jey’s shoulder.

Jey didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe right.

Just sat back down on that bench, elbows on his knees, and wiped the wetness from under his eyes with the back of his tattooed hand.

That wasn’t how he wanted it to go.

But maybe that’s how it had to go.

'Cause Zion didn’t need no fairytales.

He needed the truth—even if it broke both they hearts.

Chapter Fifty-Three: “My Daddy Ain’t My Hero No More”

The bell over the salon door jingled. Normally? That meant a walk-in or a delivery. But the way it flew open? The way the wind slapped through like something was wrong? Jenny looked up from shaping a regular’s coffin tips with her brows already pulling tight.

“Zion?” she blinked, standing up slow, realizing he was alone.

His little chest was rising fast, face blotchy, curls wild like he’d been running. And before she could even ask — he ran at her. Full speed. Like she was the only solid thing left in his crumbling world.

“Ay Dios mío—Zionito!” she gasped, barely catching him as he crashed into her waist.

He clung to her, shaking like a leaf, sobbing into her apron, his small hands balled into the sides of her waist.

“H-he—my daddy…” Zion’s voice cracked, broken open like glass under a tire. “My daddy ain’t my hero no more…”

Jenny’s heart plummeted.

“Ay, baby—no no no—que pasó? Qué pasó?” she whispered, sinking to her knees right there in the middle of the damn salon, ignoring her client, ignoring everything else. Her hands went to his face, wiping at tears, cradling his jaw.

Zion just sobbed.

Not the spoiled-brat cry. Not the dramatic one.

This was the gutted kind. The cry that comes from your soul when the foundation you believed in crumbles and all you can do is scream inside.

“I thought he was—he was s’posed to be the good guy! He said he lied! He—he got momma hurt! She could’ve died!And all this time, he was doin’ this bad shit and not tellin’ me—why?!” Zion sobbed harder, hiccuping through his words, hands balled into fists against his own chest now. “Was I not good enough to tell the truth to?! Did I not deserve to know?!”

Jenny hugged him tight, rocking with him, whispering softly in Spanish, tears pricking her own lashes.

“No, baby. No, mi amor, it ain't about you. Don’t you ever think that. Adults? We fuck up. We lie thinkin’ it’s protection. But that don’t make it right.”

Zion trembled, his voice barely a whisper now.

“I just wanted him to be the hero I thought he was.”

Jenny swallowed hard, smoothing her palm over the back of his curls.

“He still can be, Zionito. But sometimes heroes gotta earn that cape back.”

She kissed the top of his head.

“You don’t gotta forgive him today. Not tomorrow. But your pain? It’s real. And you ain’t alone in it, okay?”

He nodded weakly, curling tighter into her.

Jenny looked up, locking eyes with the other girls in the shop — the regulars, the techs — all frozen. Some had tears, others covered their mouths. They felt that moment. That heartbreak.

And none of them said a word.

Because that boy wasn’t just Jey Fatu’s son in that moment.

He was everybody’s baby.

Chapter Fifty-Four: "Don't Touch Me, Joshua"

The matte black Escalade pulled up outside the shop hard. Tires crunched the curb, engine still running as the doors swung open damn near in sync. Jey was out first, jaw tight, eyes wild with worry beneath his gold frames. Sefa right behind him, face sharp, and Jimmy had that still-simmering fury in his shoulders like he’d shoot first and talk never.

Jenny was already outside, arms crossed over her chest, not moving an inch when they approached.

“He’s inside,” she said, nodding toward the shop’s back room. “But y’all need to check your tone and your egos before you walk in there—he’s hurt. Bad. Don’t make it worse.”

Jey didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His pulse was in his ears and his heart was in his throat. That was his baby. His only baby. And Jenny texting Sefa that Zion was at the shop crying about his daddy being a fraud? Yeah. That shit shattered something in him.

Inside the shop, everything was dead quiet—like the kind of quiet after lightning, when the air itself holds its breath.

Zion was standing by one of the dryers, his back turned. Hoodie on. Hands balled in the pockets. But when the door creaked open behind him, he stiffened.

Jey stepped forward slow, his voice rough.

“Zion…”

The boy turned. Slowly. Chin tilted up, eyes gleaming with unshed tears—but no crying now. Nah. Not anymore.

Now? It was anger.

Defiance.

Zion gritted his teeth, chest puffed slightly, trying to hold the tears back. And the moment Jey stepped closer—hands up, gentle like he was approaching a wild animal—Zion snapped.

“Don’t touch me, bruh!”

That stopped Jey cold.

Zion’s voice cracked but his words didn’t waver.

“I said don’t touch me, Joshua!”

That name? That government-ass name from his son?

Felt like getting slapped with a cinder block.

Sefa winced. Jimmy flinched. Even Jenny leaned against the doorframe, hand over her mouth like damn.

Jey’s throat worked hard. “Zion, son, I—”

“You lied!” Zion cut him off, tears finally spilling now. “You said you was protecting me! You said you had it handled, but she almost died! She almost died and I had to see her like that and you were gone!”

“Z—”

“You were gone, bruh! Off doing what? Shooting people? Selling stuff? Lying to your kid? Putting us in danger?”

Zion shoved past him with a shoulder bump that felt more like a slap to the soul.

And as he passed his uncles, he threw a glare sharp enough to bleed.

“I’ll find my own way back,” he spat. “Since I can’t rely on none of y’all no more.”

The door slammed behind him.

Leaving nothing but a gaping silence in his wake.

Jenny looked at Jey and whispered, “You gon’ chase after him?”

But Jey just stood there.

Still.

Crushed.

Looking at the door like his whole world had just walked out behind it.

Chapter Fifty-Five: “¿Y Ahora Qué, Papa?”

Jenny watched the door slam, the echo hanging in the shop like smoke after gunfire.

The room was dead silent.

Jey hadn’t moved.

Jimmy looked at the floor, jaw tight. Sefa rubbed his palm over his braid, cussing low in Samoan under his breath. But Jenny? She didn’t flinch. She walked right up to Jey—slow and steady—her chipped nail glinting under the salon lights.

“¿Y ahora qué, papa?” she said quietly, head tilted. Now what, daddy?

He blinked down at her, eyes bloodshot, jaw locked like if he opened his mouth, something raw might come out.

Jenny didn’t wait.

“You gon’ stand there and mope while your son out there hurt? Or you gon’ grow a pair and go be his daddy?”

Jey still ain’t say nothing.

So she stepped closer, jabbing him in the chest with her middle finger.

“He didn’t say all that ‘cause he hates you,” she said, voice rising. “He said it ‘cause he loves you. He scared. He don’t understand this life. You told him y’all was solid and then all this crazy shit started happening—his mama damn near died, and he saw it. He had to run from it. And now he think everything he knew was a lie.”

Jey’s chest rose hard like he was fighting tears but couldn’t let ‘em win.

Jenny’s voice dropped again, softer now.

“You think he hate you? Nah. He’s hurt. And if you don’t go fix it? If you don’t talk to him with your whole heart—not that fake kingpin voice, but that daddy voice? You might really lose him. For good.”

Sefa was watching, arms crossed. Jimmy looked up then, nodding.

“She right, bro,” Jimmy said low. “He your mirror. You don’t fix this now… it’s gon’ be harder later.”

Jenny sighed, stepping back, eyes shining but her face set.

“Go find your son, Joshua.”

She smirked a little despite herself.

“Before I do.”

And with that? She left him standing there—three grown men suddenly feeling small as hell—and walked to the back to get the broom.

Because she knew Jey would go.

She knew it.

Because no matter what mask he wore in the streets?

To that little boy?

He was still daddy.

Chapter Fifty-Six: "The Bench at Woodhill"

It was late afternoon, sun leaning low in the sky, casting golden streaks across the basketball courts and worn-out jungle gym. Jey spotted him instantly—Zion, all by himself, sitting hunched on that same beat-up park bench Jey used to post on as a teen.

His boy looked smaller than usual.

Not physically. But in that spirit way. Like the world had sat on his chest and told him to deal with it.

Zion was wiping at his eyes, sniffling, trying so hard to act like he wasn’t just breaking on the inside. Jey’s throat tightened. His steps slowed.

“Z…” he said gently, just once.

Zion stiffened.

Didn’t even look at him when he spoke.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone?” he bit out, voice trembling.

Jey winced, but kept his tone steady. “You did.”

Zion finally turned, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. His eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks blotchy. “You good for that, ain’t you?” he hissed. “Leaving. Same with mama too.”

Jey stepped closer but stayed a respectful distance, arms at his sides.

“I ain’t gonna lie to you no more, Zion,” he said low. “I ain’t been perfect. I ain’t even been good half the time. But I ain’t ever left you, not in my heart. Not one day.”

Zion laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You wasn’t there. You was always off somewhere else. Handling ‘business.’” He spit that last word like poison. “While I was watchin’ mama cry on the bathroom floor, or pretend like she wasn’t scared when some random dude pulled up too close to the shop. While you was out doin’ all that, we was still right here, waiting for you to stop choosin’ that life over us.”

Jey flinched. That boy had inherited his fire and his honesty. It hit deep.

“I never wanted to choose it over y’all,” Jey admitted. “But I ain’t know how to protect you in a world like this unless I stood on top of it.”

Zion finally looked at him full-on, eyes glossy. “But I didn’t need you to be no kingpin, Daddy.”

That word stopped Jey cold.

“I just needed my dad. The one who used to watch cartoons with me and get mad when mama braided my hair too tight.”

Jey’s breath caught.

Zion stood up now, face scrunched with fresh tears but his voice clear.

“You was my hero. But now? I don’t even know who you are.”

Jey swallowed hard, his hands balling into fists at his sides—not from anger, but from how helpless he felt.

He took a slow step closer.

“You still got your hero,” he said, voice gravelly. “But he had to grow up. Just like you. This world? It chews people up. I was tryin’ to build something y’all could be safe in—but I see now… safety ain’t walls and crews and power.”

He looked his son dead in the eye.

“It’s showin’ up. Every time. No matter what.”

Zion didn’t move. Just stared at him, breathing hard.

And Jey did something he didn’t do often.

He dropped to his knees right there on that cracked concrete.

“I’m sorry I let you down, son.”

Zion’s chin wobbled, his face breaking.

“I’m sorry I let her down too.”

Zion blinked fast, looked away, then looked back—torn, raw, hurting.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

Jey nodded, eyes glassy. “Me too. But we get through it together now. You and me. And your mama. Ain’t no more secrets.”

A beat.

Then Zion took a shaky step forward.

And launched himself into his father’s arms.

Jey caught him, strong arms wrapping tight around the only thing that ever made him feel whole.

Chapter Fifty-Seven: "You Should’ve Chosen Me"

Zion hadn’t let go yet.

His little fists were gripping the back of Jey’s shirt like he was afraid he’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight. But Jey felt the moment coming—the shift in the way his son’s breathing changed, how his body trembled harder.

Then the dam broke.

“I hate this…” Zion sobbed into his chest, voice cracking with every word. “Why couldn’t you just choose me, huh?!”

Jey froze.

“I was your son, man! I’m your kid—why’d I have to grow up half together my whole damn life?!”

Jey couldn’t breathe.

Zion pushed back enough to look at him, face streaked with tears, lips trembling in pain and betrayal.

“Why mama gotta get hurt?! Why she always gotta be scared? Why it’s always me who gotta watch it all happen and act like it’s normal?!”

Jey’s throat closed up, and his vision blurred as Zion kept going, voice rising.

“You think I didn’t notice the way you was never around when I was little? All them times you popped in with gifts, money, a hug and a smile, then disappeared for a week or two—or three? I asked mama where you was and you know what she said?”

Zion’s chest rose fast, shoulders tense.

“She used to say ‘he busy,’ or ‘he out handling stuff.’” He shook his head, teeth clenched. “But she knew. I ain’t dumb.”

Jey’s jaw was tight now, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t dare. Not yet.

Zion wiped at his eyes harshly, face scrunched in fury and heartache.

“I get it now. Them women, the streets, the money… all that came first. She came last. No wonder mama was always cold with you. No wonder she ain’t wanna talk about you, why she got that bitter laugh whenever I asked about y’all back in the day.”

Jey’s heart cracked in a thousand places.

Zion kept going, pushing the words out like he’d been holding ‘em hostage too long.

“You was out there being a hoe, right? Thought I ain’t know? Thought I ain’t hear mama crying after she heard something or somebody called your phone too late at night when I was just supposed to be sleep?”

He sniffed hard, stepping back.

“You ain’t give a damn about mama, and now all of us payin’ the price for it. She damn near died, Pops. And I was there. I saw her bleed. I ran for help.”

His voice cracked again, hands shaking.

“So nah, I ain’t tryna hear ‘sorry’ right now. You can’t fix this with some hug. This ain’t no scraped knee and I ain’t a baby no more.”

Jey didn’t speak for a second. Just let the silence wrap around them, heavy.

Then finally… he nodded.

“You right.”

Zion blinked.

“You’re right,” Jey repeated, chest heaving. “Everything you said. Every bit of it. You are my son, and I should’ve made you and your mama my only priority from the jump. And I didn’t. I fucked up. I failed you.”

Zion’s lips trembled again, the anger flickering behind the tears.

Jey stepped forward slowly, not touching him yet, just making sure his son was looking at him dead in the eyes.

“I was out there trying to build an empire and didn’t realize my kingdom was already at home. And I let it break. I broke her. I broke you. But I swear on everything, Zion Omari Fatu…” His voice dipped low and heavy, soaked in sincerity. “You ain’t never gonna wonder again if I chose you. From this day forward, it’s you. You and your mama. Nothing comes before that. Nothing.”

Zion was breathing heavy, tears still streaming.

“But I know I don’t get your trust back just by saying it,” Jey added. “So I’ma show you. Every single day. I’ma earnbeing your hero again.”

Zion didn’t answer.

He just looked at his father, heart torn between love and fury and grief.

Then he turned around and sat back down on the bench—silent.

Didn’t run.

Didn’t yell.

Just sat.

Jey followed.

Sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder, no words.

Just a father finally being still.

Finally being there.

Chapter Fifty-Eight: "It Could’ve Been Worse"

The park was dead quiet.

Zion sat hunched forward, his arms propped on his knees, head down, kicking at gravel with his shoe. Jey hadn’t said another word since he promised to earn his place back. And Zion hadn’t moved from that bench.

But Jey sat right there next to him.

He could’ve left. Could’ve stormed off like he used to when the weight got too real. But this time? Nah. He sat with his shame. Let it marinate. Let it humble him.

And then… it hit.

She could’ve taken this from me.

He glanced sideways at his son—his baby, his pride, his mirror—and the words played again in his head like a loop: "You were supposed to protect us!" "You chose this over me!"

And damn if those weren’t true.

But the truth that cracked Jey wide open… was that Samara didn’t say those words to Zion herself. She never sat their son down to poison his heart against him. She had every right. She’d had plenty of chances.

All the nights Jey ain’t come home.

All the whispers in the streets.

All the women who tried it and the fights that followed.

All the heartbreak she swallowed and still showed up for their son with breakfast on the stove and love in her touch.

She could’ve ruined him in Zion’s eyes.

She could’ve told him everything. Every ugly detail. Every missed birthday, every lie, every hurt.

But she didn’t.

She waited. She let me be the one to tell him the truth…

And as much as that truth crushed Jey’s spirit, the fact that he said it? That he got to look his son in the eye and own his sins—that was a gift she gave him. One he didn’t even realize he needed.

Jey dragged a hand down his face and let out a long breath, the kind that came with years of weight finally landing on his chest.

“Damn, Ma…” he muttered under his breath, thinking of her.

He could see her in his head so clearly—hair wrapped up, earrings off, that permanent side-eye ready at all times. The way she squared up to the world every day like it was tryna take something from her.

She protected Zion’s innocence way longer than she had to.

She gave Jey a second chance at being a father on his own terms—even when he didn’t deserve it.

And now that Zion knew?

Jey finally understood the cost of all that silence.

She didn’t just carry her own hurt… she carried his, too. For years.

And she never threw it in his face.

That realization made his eyes burn, but he didn’t let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of his baby who needed him to be sturdy again.

So instead, he spoke.

Low and slow.

“Your mama tougher than any man I ever met.”

Zion looked at him, blinking through the last of his tears.

Jey nodded, eyes on the distance.

“She been protecting you from the kind of man I used to be for a long time. She let you think I was better than I really was. ‘Cause she ain’t want you hurtin’. Not by me.”

Zion sniffed hard and looked down again, a little quieter now.

“She could’ve told you everything. Could’ve made you hate me years ago,” Jey continued, voice raw. “But she didn’t. She waited. She let me tell you, even if it broke both our hearts.”

Zion didn’t speak, but his eyes were wide—processing. Feeling. Sitting with it.

Jey leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“She gave me that grace, Z. And I ain’t deserve it. But I swear to God, I’m grateful.”

He turned to his son, voice barely above a whisper.

“And I’m grateful to you too. For not walkin’ away. For letting me sit next to you right now. I know you don’t forgive me. And you don’t gotta. Not today.”

Zion nodded slowly, chewing on his bottom lip, his chest still tight.

“I just wanna understand,” he said softly. “I don’t know what any of this means. It’s all so much, Pops…”

“I know,” Jey murmured, putting a steady hand on Zion’s back. “But we gon’ figure it out. Together.”

Zion didn’t say anything back.

But he didn’t move away either.

And for now?

That was enough.

Chapter Fifty-Nine: “It Ain’t Fair”

They were walking back toward the truck now, slow and quiet.

The sun was starting to dip, casting long shadows over the park’s cracked pavement. Jey had one hand in his pocket, the other twitching like it wanted to reach out again but was scared to push.

Zion’s voice broke the silence. Low. Heavy.

“I hate it.”

Jey looked over.

Zion’s eyes were locked on the sidewalk in front of him, scuffing the toe of his sneaker with every other step.

“I hate always seeing her with dudes that don’t deserve her,” he mumbled. “I hate acting like I’m big enough to be the man of the house. I hate pretending like I don’t care when she cry in the bathroom and think I can’t hear it.”

Jey’s heart squeezed so tight it almost made him stumble.

Zion kept going. Words bubbling up like they’d been locked up for years.

“I hate watching cornballs flirt with her at the shop. Hate how she smiles like she actually likes ‘em when I know she don’t. I hate how they look at her like she easy when she done broke her back to take care of us.”

He kicked a loose rock into the grass.

“I hate having to protect her when that shoulda been you.”

Jey’s breath caught.

Zion’s jaw clenched. His fists, too. But he didn’t look angry—he looked tired. Tired in that grown-up way kids should never have to be.

“It ain’t fair,” he muttered, wiping at his eye quick with the back of his hand like it ain’t happen. “Why Uncle Jimmy got Auntie Trinity to stay? Why their kids get to eat dinner together every night? Why his daughter don’t gotta sleep with a bat under her bed just in case?”

Jey stopped walking. Zion did too, standing right there on the sidewalk under that flickering streetlamp like something out a memory.

And the words finally found Jey’s throat, low and hoarse.

“Because I fucked up.”

Zion looked up, startled by how honest his dad sounded.

Jey’s voice cracked when he kept going.

“Because I thought I had time. Thought I could fix everything later. But I missed out on shit I can’t get back. And while I was out here acting like the streets owed me something... your mama was holding it down all by herself.”

He paused.

“And you? You’ve been carrying too much on them little shoulders since you were nine. I know it. I see it.”

Zion swallowed hard.

“I didn’t want you to be the man of the house,” Jey said quietly. “That was never your job. That was always supposed to be mine.”

Zion blinked up at him, and Jey finally reached out—this time, Zion didn’t flinch.

He rested a hand on the back of his son’s neck, pulling him in slow and careful. Not forcing it, but offering it.

“I don’t got all the answers, Z. But I know one thing—your mama’s never gonna settle again. Not if I got breath in my chest. And neither are you.”

Zion’s eyes welled up again, but this time, he didn’t look away.

“Promise?” he whispered.

Jey nodded once.

“On everything.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Zion leaned into his father’s side. Not just out of hurt, but out of hope.

They stood there in the quiet.

Two generations of hurt trying to rebuild something from the ground up.

[uceyliyahh]

🥀Protector & Plaything😮‍💨 (Solo Sikoa X Black Reader)

Summary: You were running and hiding from Jacob and the only person who can protect you was the leader of the New Bloodline…that Jacob happened to be in. He’ll protect you, but nothing comes without a price…and he’s not talking about money😮‍💨🫡

CW: Choking, Creampie, Rough Sex, Squirting, Eye Contact (oh yeah, lock in 🫡), Oral (m! receiving), Orgasm Denial, Hair pulling, Unprotected p in v, Dirty Talk, Profanity, Nudity, Heavy Smut, 18+ MDNI, It’s a lot going on basically 😭

Word Count: 5.9K

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” You cursed yourself as the sound of your heels hit the tile floor. You had a Samoan werewolf on your ass because you decided that in an attempt to help Braun from the vicious assault that Jacob was giving him, you’d get the referee’s attention—which didn’t go over too well with Jacob. He was pissed. Not just annoyed, pissed. Not only did he lose the match via distraction from you, but you were only supposed to be at ringside under direct orders from Solo. Your job? Distract Braun. What actually happened? You accidentally cost Jacob the match instead.

Now you were running through the dimly lit halls of the arena like your life depended on it—because with how Jacob fought, how he moved, it just might. The air was heavy, thick with tension, and your lungs burned with each step.

Then you heard it—BOOM!

A loud crash echoed from the hallway behind you followed by a loud CLANG of metal echoing against the corridor.

Jacob Fatu was in a rage, the kind that made people clear out entire locker rooms. Steel chairs flew, crates were flipped, and equipment clattered to the ground as he stormed through the backstage like a hurricane with a target. His thick frame moved like a freight train—broad chest rising and falling rapidly, thick cords of muscle twitching beneath the fabric of his black Bloodline tank top. His jaw clenched so tightly, only coming undone to release heavy breaths like snarls through his glinting golden grills. His eyes were wild—bloodshot, narrowed—and every step he took made his black and red dreads whip violently like war flags behind him.

“WHERE SHE AT?!” he bellowed, knocking over a rack of gear cases with one arm. “I seen her back here! You think you can just cost me the match and walk?! Huh?!”

You ducked behind a row of storage trunks, trying to control your breathing, heart racing like a war drum. There was no way you could outrun him forever. He was built for destruction, and right now? You were his target.

There was only one person who could control Jacob when he got like this.

Solo.

The leader of the New Bloodline. The only one Jacob respected enough to listen to—even if it was barely. Jacob was unhinged and tilted on the edge quite a few times but never outright disrespected Solo.

You made a hard turn and sprinted toward the direction of Solo’s locker room. You didn’t even bother knocking. You burst in, slamming the door behind you and locking it before you turned to find him already sitting in the center of the room.

He looked completely unbothered.

Solo sat there, calm as ever—like the chaos outside the door wasn’t his concern. His frame was broader, thicker, his build more solid than chiseled, but none of that took away from the quiet dominance he carried. A sleek, beige turtleneck clung to his torso beneath another beige tailored suit, the fabric pulled slightly at his chest and stomach when he shifted in his seat, hinting at the power coiled beneath. Tribal tattoos curled up from beneath his sleeves and inked their way up his neck, bold and unflinching, each mark a chapter of a bloodline steeped in violence, honor, and control. His eyes found yours—icy, unblinking, and impossible to read. You weren’t sure if he was going to save you or let Jacob tear through the door. All you could do was hold your breath and hope you hadn’t run straight into something worse.

But those thoughts got interrupted the moment Jacob screamed your name from the outside as if it was a curse, causing you to flinch. Your breathing picked up and you could feel the tears prickle at the corners of your eyes from straight fear. You could still hear Jacob raging outside, yelling your name like a curse.

“I—I didn’t mean to—I was trying to—” you stammered.

Solo simply raised a hand, silencing you. His voice was low, controlled, with the weight of someone who didn’t need to yell to be heard.

“I’ll handle it.” He said before nodding his head toward the locker room showers, you could only stand there frozen a moment before you were suddenly pulled out of your trance with a loud BANG! A fist hit the door, causing you to jump before looking back at Solo, desperate and helpless.

“Aye Solo! Open tis’ shit up!” Jacob’s voice was ragged with anger. He was clearly pissed all the way off. “She in there? I swear—”

Solo walked over slowly, unlocking the door, and opening it just enough to step into the hall. The way Jacob squared up and immediately became animalistic. His chest heaved, muscles twitching under his black Bloodline muscle tee as his eyes scanned over Solo’s shoulder, trying to see inside.

“I know she came in here, and I know you let her in here! Don’t play wimme bruh” Jacob growled, teeth flashing.

Solo didn’t flinch. “First of all, you need to lower yo tone talkin’ to me. Second of all, she ain’t here.”

Jacob’s jaw flexed. His fists were clenched so tight you could see the whites of his knuckles, and his nose flared as he looked Solo dead in the eyes.

“She cost me that damn match, I had ‘em!”

Solo’s voice stayed calm, but firm. “Ua lava lea. (That’s enough.) Listen. You’ll get your rematch. Imma take care of it. And if I see her, imma take care of her too.”

Jacob didn’t respond right away. His dreadlocks bounced slightly as he turned and looked down the hallway, still fuming. Then, after a long beat, he slammed his hand against the wall and stormed off, the air practically vibrating with his anger.

Once Solo shut the door again, you got the courage to slowly peak around the corner of the bathroom wall. The silence between you was suffocating before it eventually was broken by the shuffling of fabric as you made your way over to Solo slowly. You looked up at him, grateful—and a little shaken.

“Thank you…” you murmured.

But Solo didn’t smile. His expression was still unreadable. His eyes dragged over you slowly before he stepped closer, the scent of his cologne now cutting through the adrenaline clouding your senses.

“You made a mess tonight,” he said quietly, his tone like chilled iron. “And I just cleaned it up.”

You nodded quickly. “I didn’t mean to-, I was just-“ you paused as Solo’s eyebrows furrowed the more you tried to explain. “Look he went too far, and I panicked and—”

He stepped forward, stopping right in front of you giving you no more room for excuses before cutting you off with a few simple words.

“Aua le toe fai.” (Don’t do it again.) His accent hung thick with seriousness, laced with that slow, deliberate weight that made every syllable feel like a warning. His brown eyes bore into yours—dark, unreadable, intense enough to still the air between you. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your breath catching before you gave a small, shaky nod.

You’d spent nearly a year around him. Enough time to learn the rhythm of his silences, the sharp edge beneath his calm, and just enough Samoan to know when he wasn’t making a suggestion—he was giving a command.

“I won’t. I swear—”

He tilted his head, cutting you off with nothing but a twitch of his jaw. One corner of his mouth moved, barely, like the ghost of a smirk that never fully formed. But there was no humor in his face. Only pure calculation. Control.

“I said I’d handle it,” he repeated, quieter now, his voice molasses-thick and heavy with something that made your spine stiffen. You didn’t know how he did it—how he could drop the volume of his voice and somehow make it more dangerous.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he stepped closer—so close you could see the flecks of gold in his irises, the sharp flicker of dominance behind them. “But don’t nothing,” he added lowly, “come without a price.”

Your lips parted, trembling before you even realized it. Your bottom lip quivered under the weight of his gaze, unsure if it was from fear, anticipation, or some dangerous mix of both. Solo lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, his tattooed fingers grazing your jawline with the back of his knuckles—tender, almost affectionate… but filled with unspoken power. Like you were glass and he was deciding whether to admire you or shatter you.

You let out a nervous chuckle—small, forced as a slight look of confusion danced across your face. You tried to act clueless. “Well…what do you want?”

A grin tugged at his mouth, sharp and slow. He dropped his gaze for just a second before returning it to you, and when he did, every trace of softness was gone. His hand slid up, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, still trembling.

“You’re not stupid,” he murmured. “You know exactly what I want.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in slightly, not enough to touch you, but enough to make your skin burn from the nearness. His presence was overwhelming—commanding without raising his voice, intimidating without lifting a hand. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run or fall to your knees.

“I was your protector tonight,” he continued, voice smooth but deadly. “And in return, I want you to be my plaything.” He added, his thumb lingered against your lip with a low chuckle that contrasted the intensity in his eyes.

“O se fesuiaʻiga faigofie, a ea?” (A simple exchange, right?)

Your eyes darted back and forth between his, his broad chest before going up and down slowly. That look. It was a look of hunger on his face the more you realized what he meant. “What….what are the conditions?”

“I’m glad you asked.” His teeth were slightly visible for a second as his smile flashed quickly before the corner of his lips slowly retracted and his eyes darkened. “On your knees.”

Your throat was dry from nervousness but you still couldn’t help but to follow his command, before you knew it your body had a mind of its own as your knees kissed the carpet, the soft fibres brushing against the smooth brown skin of your legs, grounding you in the moment. Your dress, a deep wine-colored velvet, draped over you like a second skin—elegant, sensual, and meant to be admired. It clung to your body with quiet reverence, hugging every curve as if the fabric itself knew it was lucky to even get a taste of you. The neckline dipped just enough to tease, revealing the soft slope of your shoulders and the delicate flutter of your collarbone with each breath.

Your heels hadn’t been slipped off just yet—golden, straps wrapped around your legs with a fat sole pointing upright —forgotten in the heat of the moment because of course that was the last thing on your mind right now.

Your makeup was simple but striking. A soft blend of brown eyeshadow warmed your eyelids, with a touch of gold shimmer that caught the light whenever you blinked. It wasn’t too much — just enough to make your eyes stand out. Your lashes were long and full, coated in black mascara that gave them a little drama without going overboard. Black eyeliner hugged your lash line, winged out just slightly, adding a sharpness to your look that felt effortless.

And your lips — they were painted in a bold red, rich against your brown skin. The color popped beautifully, like it was made for you. A look of confidence and polishedness.

Your butterfly locs flowed like a crown of midnight silk, thick and beautifully done, the ends kissing the middle of your back. Golden butterfly charms were woven delicately between them, catching the light every time you moved, as if little pieces of the sun had chosen to live in there. They were soft, gentle reminders of your beauty, and the way they shimmered made you look almost otherworldly to the man above you.

This is what the man above you wanted to see, the view he wanted to get knowing that in minutes he would be ruining all of it.

As he glanced down at your face and took in the scenery, the tint in his pants only became more apparent. Deep brown skin that glowed like it held the sun beneath it. High cheekbones and full lips that begged to be kissed, the slighted part between your lips made him all the more eager to spread it apart even further. Your nose was strong, regal, grounding the softness of your features even more. The makeup only made your eyes, darker and deeper, as you looked up with a gaze that could undo any man. Kneeling there in confusion yet beauty was everything Solo wanted, his tatted hand finding its way to your chin as his thumb ran across your red bottom lip. “Take ‘em off” he said and you couldn’t help but to stare back up at him. The sounds of unzipping, unbuckling, and the shuffling of pant fabric, as your hands made there way to the muscle beneath his boxers sounded like background noise. Your hands glided over the spandex as his girth damn near fought to get out of the blanket of material covering it. As your nails pulled the elastic from around his waist and dragged the polyester fabric down to his knees, you were immediately slapped with the tip of the brown muscle between his legs. He was large, thick, and by the way the tip was dripping pre cum already, he was also eager to have your lips around him. “Go on” he instructed as your hands found themselves wrapped around him, slow back and forth motions gave him satisfaction. His tribal covered hands found themselves in your hair as he pushed his hips forward slightly, the tip making eye contact with your lips. You had no choice but to open leading to him smirking because he had gotten exactly what he wanted.

His grip on the back of your hair hardened as he pushed forward, your mouth opening further at the pressure and force behind his thrusts. His entire girth filled the back of your throat, both sides of your cheeks and you knew better than to let your teeth graze any part of him. The more he pushed and the way he barely pulled back only to thrust right back made your jaw clench and your body’s natural reaction was to let out a moan. Your pace quickened and his began to slow letting you know that he wanted to take his time, take in how vulnerable you were, how much you were his plaything. Your role was to meet his needs and accept the consequences of your actions. The position you were in was nothing short of indecent, your knees buried into the carpet while your hands had slowly made their way off the thick muscle and down to his thighs, his cock filling your throat as spit gathered around the corners of your lips. Saliva slowly dripped around, meeting in the middle as it began forming a tear drop shape, thinning out at the top.

The more you kept going, the more you were holding back gagging as air was getting thin. But Solo could tell and he loved every bit of it. His grip on your hair had tightened and he threw his head back, he could feel the moaning, how stubborn you were being trying not to gag even though he could feel the pressure building in the back of your throat, and how wet your mouth felt around him. Your jaw was becoming sore and just as you felt yourself gag you pulled away just back to the tip as you left spit and saliva strings where you once were. This didn’t seem to please Solo as he slowly looked back down towards you seeing you stopped. You didn’t even realize it till you looked back up at him, the tip of his cock still in your mouth.

“I don’t have to remind you…where you belong do I?” He said, his stare feeling like a grey cloud hovering over you, dread completely taking over your half naked body. “I asked you a question, are you ignoring me?” He said as his fingers slipped through your curls before gripping onto the back of your scalp, pushing your head further and further towards his pelvis, his balls brushing against your bottom lip each time. The taste of skin and saliva coated your tongue as his girth stretched your oral canvas, his tip brushed up against your uvula earning a gag from you in response causing Solo to let out a grunt. “Just like that. Ua e lelei tele…” (You feel so good). Don’t stop just cuz you’re gaggin’, you let me worry about that.”He commanded. The corners of your mouth stretched out, pools of saliva coating the skin as the sounds of slurping and sharp breaths filled the room. A single tear slipped from the corner of your eye, catching on the thick, black mascara coating your lashes. It clung there for a second, suspended, as if deciding whether to fall or not. But it didn’t have a choice as gravity took it — dragging a thin trail of pigment down your cheek like a hairline crack in porcelain. You didn’t notice at first being too distracted by what was currently filling your mouth. Your body was tense, your breathing was getting thinner, and your thoughts were in whirlwind of panic due to the gagging and not having any control over it.

But the tears kept coming. One after another, faster now, catching on your lashes and bleeding through the eyeliner. The crisp, jet-black wing you had drawn so carefully earlier that day began to warp at the edges. The sharp flick softened, beginning to smear upward toward your brow bone, and the base of your lower lashes pooled with tears until the liner bled into your skin, blurring the definition of those fierce eyes you once had.

Your lips were trembling, parted from being full of dick as the once-smooth coating of lipstick had begun to crack. With each thrust from Solo, the combination of saliva and the way your mouth stretched around the muscle between his legs, the pigment broke apart at the center, splitting along the dry lines of your lips that saliva hadn’t gotten to yet leaving behind a mottled, smeared mess. Your top and bottom lip were fading fast, the color disappearing everytime it came in contact with the base of Solo’s cock, his balls, and his pelvis.

What had once been bold, beautiful makeup — armor, almost — was now visibly breaking down with you. Pools of water continue to cover the corner of your eyes as your brown eyes became desperate. Filled with want as you kept eye contact with the man above you. “Mmpf!” The sounds of your moans sent vibrations down the thick muscle that was filling the back of your throat.

Solo cursed as he gritted his teeth, clearly being on the edge of release, but the eye contact you two shared as he was currently forcing your head between his legs, with your makeup ruined from everything he was doing, sent him even closer. Saliva was dripping from your bottle lip onto the carpet below as your nails were practically digging their way into his thighs leaving crescent shape marks where they were. The fact that you were holding back more tears from the pressure, the twitching of his cock from the clear build up he was having, and the warm feeling in between your own legs was driving you close to the edge as well. You both were reaching a high, one that you wanted desperately to be filled by the same muscle that was in your mouth, and one that Solo gave you as he threw his head back a second time releasing a loud groan unable to contain himself as he released his warm thick liquid into your mouth. “Fuck” he breathed out as his grip tightened even worse causing his knuckles to turn white, the hair follicles in that spot being pulled toward him. Your body jolted as you fought the urge to gag not expecting the release since it caught you by surprise. You broke eye contact for a moment feeling the wetness between your legs get worse due to everything going on, but his voice broke that quickly. “Stay right there, don’t swallow that yet. Look at me” he commanded as his grip slowly lessened on your hair before making its way under your chin, forcing your eyes back to him. “Now you can swallow it, that’s a good girl. Get rid of all that” he praised as he watched your throat move, a small, deliberate motion—subtle, but noticeable. The back of your trembling hand rubbed at your face, smudging everything in frantic, uneven streaks. Mascara that hadn’t yet run was now pressed into your skin in soot-like patches. Your eyeliner was no longer sleek — it was clouded, thickened, and raw around the rims of your now red eyes.

As he slowly let you pull away, the distance that followed was brief before he pulled you close to him by your arm taking in your scent of ripe peaches in the summer sun, mellowed by warm amber—golden, sultry, impossible to forget—sweet, soft, and dangerously inviting. A warmth that lingered in the air like the last words of a secret. It was intoxicating as Solo’s eyes came to a close, before his hand made its way down to your chest, gently snaking its way behind your back finding the invisible zipper to your dress and pulling it down. “Take this off” he commanded before lowering his hand cupping the soft tissue of your ass. But the closer he got to a certain area, he noticed how warm it was, prompting him to use both his index and middle finger to graze your dripping cunt through the black fabric of your thongs. You shivered in response as your hands gripped the fabric of his beige turtle neck. Solo noticed how sensitive you were, the jolts of electricity that went through your body each time his fingers moved back and forth and it was only through the fabric, he hadn’t even touched you bare yet. “Take this off or I’m gonna rip it off” he instructed giving a dangerous ultimatum, one you didn’t want to fight him on prompting you to quickly pull your dress up over your head carefully not to let the charms in your hair snag on the fabric.

You were nearly bare except the tiny string of fabric surrounding your waist and the thin cover of lace covering your pussy…that was until Solo moved it and suddenly you found your back against the wall, one of your legs stretched out, another one raised in the air as Solo stood in front of you. “We got all night, so you not going nowhere until we’re finished” he said before his face disappeared into your neck as he mumbled against your skin. “I’m bout to ruin you even more girl.” He said as he placed kisses down your neck before you felt his fingers suddenly slip between your folds earning a gasp followed by a soft moan from you.

His fingers slid further into your walls as your breathing shifted — growing quicker, more shallow, with every second that passed and every bit of pressure he applied. It hitched when his touch deepened, your chest rising and falling faster, like your lungs couldn’t keep up with the rush building beneath your skin.

Air stuttered past your lips in uneven bursts, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Each breath came tighter now, caught somewhere between anticipation and overwhelm — like you were teetering right on the edge and every exhale was a silent cry for Solo to keep going, keep pushing— to keep unraveling you.

By the time his pace quickened, your walls tightened further, your breathing was damn near frantic — fast, needy, ragged. Like every gasp was tangled with the heat he was dragging out of you. Your insides were getting more slippery and your voice was becoming louder.

Your pussy was dripping, your body was jolting each time his pulled his fingers out just to shove them right back in, you could hardly keep your legs up and your breaths were becoming more ragged and intense. The feeling building in your stomach was getting stronger and stronger by the second, an intense orgasm waiting to happen. You could only chase after it as your arms tightened around Solo’s neck, your head falling against the wall. “S-Shit! I-I’m gonna fucking c-cum” your voice broke and you were clearly on the verge of begging before feeling his fingers graze over a sweet spot of yours causing your hips to thrust forward being desperate for him to keep this pace.

But Solo could only chuckle, the kind that let you know he wasn’t having any of it and you weren’t getting your way. The moment he seen your reaction, he purposely went along with it, hitting that spot over and over again and just when you felt like you were seeing heaven, he took it all away with one swift motion leaving you feeling empty as your orgasm slowly began to fade. “W-Wha-? Why?” You whimpered as you looked at him begging practically. “I said I would ruin you, you can’t be dumb enough to believe I was gonna do that just using these huh?” He said before shoving those same fingers into your mouth causing you to gasp in shock before letting out a moan, casually tasting yourself on his tan skin. As he slowly released his fingers from your mouth, he pulled off his turtle neck with one swift motion before speaking again and putting one of his hands on your hips, and another one on your leg keeping it raised to his side.

“If you scream too loud, he’s gonna come back so unless you want that. You’re gonna be real quiet f’me, understand?” You could only nod but you had a feeling that wouldn’t last long, the moment you felt his tip push against the folds of your skin below, your breath hitched. Your body tensed and you did your best to relax but because of the pressure and some additional pain because of how big he was, that shit was hardly working. Your walls were being spread apart and it felt never ending, the empty space suddenly being replaced by something hard, large, and straight up fulfilling. “I know, don’t worry it’s almost in there”he reassured, sure you were his plaything but that didn’t mean he was going to purposely hurt you or didn’t care if you were comfortable. But once your insides felt as full as can be, the moment you felt his balls kiss the opening of your walls, the world around you didn’t even matter. Your voice had finally come back from the gasp you had been holding back, transitioning into a shaky moan as you begged Solo to start moving.

The Samoan man slowly pulled back just enough where the tip was still in just to slam back in being in the same position he once was. It was slow at first but his dominance was quick to show as his hips slammed against yours, the hunger in his eyes being more evident than before from the sensation as you made a pathetic attempt to cover the sounds your mouth released, pressing a trembling hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the sharp gasp that tore from your throat. At first, the sounds were small — strained inhales through your nose, the barely-there whimpers caught behind clenched teeth. Your jaw trembled as you bit down hard, trying to trap the noises within the back of your throat. But the pressure kept growing, crawling deeper into your core, twisting and tightening like a vice as his dick pushed in and out, your walls gripping onto it before releasing each time it would pull away just for a second.

Your chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow bursts as pleasure lanced through your body, raw and unrelenting. Your eyes widened, glassy with tears that threatened to spill, your brows pinching together in a silent plea for the sensation to continue.

A low groan slipped out — unbidden, raw. Then another, louder this time, torn from you like a confession. Your back arched slightly, muscles tensing and twitching with each surge of electric sensations from this extremely intimate encounter. The room began to feel too small, too quiet, every sound you made echoing louder in the silence before you couldn’t take it any longer.

Those attempts at restraint crumbled. Moans burst from your lips in broken rhythm, each one shuddering with pleasure and desperation. Your hand tore away from your mouth as it gripped onto his tribal tatted arms, while your other hand stayed wrapped around his neck. There was no hiding now — You had completely forgot what he said earlier about being quiet because he was currently drilling you with 8 inches of raw and unfiltered thickness. His name rolled off your tongue in desperate pleas as your once flawless makeup was a wreckage of what it had been. Following the events from earlier when you were on your knees and now this, thick streaks of black mascara ran down your cheeks in uneven rivers, some thin like veins, others blotched like ink spilled on paper. The tears hadn’t just fallen — they had dragged the remaining mascara with them, carving paths through the thick coating on your lashes until clumps clung to the corners of your eyes. Your lashes, once perfectly fanned and curled, now stuck together in spidery spikes, wet and trembling with every blink.

Your eyeliner was worse — the once-sharp wing that framed your eyes had smudged into a chaotic smear. It pooled in the creases under the lower lash line, shadowing your eyes like bruises. One side had bled so much from you rubbing it away with the back of your hand that it looked like it had melted into your skin, leaving behind dark smudges that faded into a murky grey haze.

The lipstick you had on, bold and rich before, was now a ghost of its former color. The edges had been wiped away entirely, leaving behind a faint, patchy halo around your mouth. The center of your lips had faded the most — the pigment stripped away from crying, biting down, and the way your lips trembled as you tried to stay quiet. Now your natural lip tone peeked through, raw and flushed, only bits of lipstick clinging desperately to the corners or in the fine lines of your mouth. It wasn’t just smudged — it was broken, ruined, undone. “Didn’t I tell you, I was finna ruin you? Huh?” You could only moan in response unable to even think straight, the only thing you were focused on was how hard his dick was currently drilling you giving you barley any room to speak anything other than his name. A moan erupted from you as you felt his cock graze against that same spot from earlier.

“You screamin’ real loud, you want him to come back in here huh? See how you’re taking me?” He said as his tatted hand clasped over your mouth, the taste of skin and salt from the tears that fell from your eyes weighing heavy against your lips and tongue. Your eyes fluttered as you felt Solo bury himself deeper into you causing your insides to clench around him even more urging him to stay where he was. This spot, the way he was abusing it hurt so good. The way you were falling apart, losing your mind, and control over your body fueled the man in front of you even more. Sweat covered your brown skin as some of it dripped from your temple, some of your baby hairs clung to the very top of your head, while the feeling in your core got worse…and worse. Solo felt it because the moment your legs started trembling he seized the opportunity, pulling his hands away from your mouth wrapping it around your throat. “Go ahead, I can feel it comin’”, he said as he angled himself to hit that spot even more causing curse words to leave your lips as your hips bucked forward before your orgasm hit you like a truck as a loud moan escaped from you. Your pussy jerked to life, sending a stream of fluid arcing through the air. The pressure made it pulse slightly, the stream strong at first, before gradually slowing down as your chest rose and fell rapidly. Your high was drawn out as Solo kept targeting that same spot sending your body into overdrive, overstimulation taking over fully as curse words left your mouth. “F-Fuck! I can’t, I c-can’t!” You said knowing another orgasm was building in your core. “Yes you can” he grunted, an animalistic groan escaped from him as you could feel him twitching inside of you signaling that he was getting close to his release as well.

“Keep them eyes on me—la lena(that’s it)” he said tightening his grip around your throat causing you to make eye contact with him again. Your moans disappeared again as nothing but the sound of ragged breaths and skin to skin contact filled the room for a short second before you could feel Solo’s other hand pressing into your waist. Despite all this your eyes remained on him until they couldn’t anymore, a second wave came crashing down followed by a long drawn out groan from Solo as you felt his release pool around inside of you. As you both came down from your highs, his breathing was still ragged, but the moment he pulled out, it was like a switch flipped. Gone was the man who’d whispered filthy things to you, the one who’d used your body like it belonged to him. In his place was someone softer — quieter — whose hands now trembled slightly as they reached for you.

“Hey…” he murmured, voice low, a little hoarse. “You still with me?”

You gave the faintest nod, your body still pressed into the wall with indentions on your back, both your bodies slick with the weight of what you had just done. Your thighs were sticky, lips swollen, what was left of your mascara barely clinging on. His features twitched — some mix of guilt and pride seeing how wrecked you were. But the moment you nodded, he took action.

“I gotchu” he whispered again before leaning in and kissing your forehead, then the tip of your nose, brushing the damp strands of hair away from your face. His hands moved slowly, deliberately — not like before. Gently now. He pulled you off the wall, one arm under your thighs, the other around her back, carrying her across the room like you weighed almost nothing. I mean…compared to the other people he lifted in the ring, you were light as a feather.

He found the bench and sat down, cradling you in his lap, your legs draped over his. He didn’t say anything right away. Just held you in the comforting silence. One hand brushed sweat-slick strands of hair from your face. The other sliding up and down your thigh, soothing.

“I’m not completely heartless,” he murmured. “If I was I would’ve just locked you out while Jacob was out there.”

You exhaled shakily once before laughing. “Well thank god you didn’t. That man is scary as hell when he’s mad.”

He chuckled low in his throat, fingers still drawing lazy circles on your thigh. “Scary, huh? And what am I?”

You tilted your head, giving him a tired little smirk. “You? You’re worse.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Worse?”

“Yeah. At least Jacob didn’t ruin my legs and my makeup in under ten minutes.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “I didn’t see you doin’ too much complainin’.”

You rolled your eyes, snuggling deeper into his chest. “Kinda hard to complain when I can barely form a sentence.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Taglist: @uceyliyahh @luvrgirl4roman @4milly @cafeluvs @gothsixx @marsstyles @isabella-2025 @empressdede @punksyeet @sheaabuttaababyy

Dividers: @dollywons @anitalenia

A/N: Uhhh I’m back, also sorry about any grammar errors😅