levissslutt

[levissslutt]

hey y’all, I’m not dead. just trying to get my life together. imma be back soon with some updates!!don’t worry🤭 but whyyyyyyy did I see this dog at the shelter? 0MG I couldn’t cry because i couldn’t explain that my fictional fur baby died and i pictured him exactly like this LMFAOOOOOO

but um yea me and that fuck nigga extension cord will forever be beefing idgaf if it ain’t real😭😭😭😭

@charmed-dreamssss

[levissslutt]

Prada You 2 Chapter 16: When It Hurts So Bad

Summary:

Three years have passed, but in city, the past never truly stays buried. The Prada Bois have grown stronger, their grip on the city unshaken. Old faces remain, new tensions rise, and the streets are more dangerous than ever.

Toya’s wedding should be a day of celebration, but for those who knew her, it’s something more—a gathering thick with whispers, with the weight of what was lost. Some wounds have scarred over, while others remain raw, unspoken.

Yet, the night brings a shift. A presence. A force that neither time nor distance could erase. The whispers start first, a low hum of disbelief that spreads like wildfire. Some things refuse to be forgotten. Some stories aren’t finished.

Because in this city, love, loyalty, and revenge all walk the same tightrope. And once the past steps forward, there’s no turning back.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye), Jacob Fatu x Kiyah, Sami Zayn x Natasha, Jimmy Uso x Nataya

Author’s Note: This story is set in a AU that takes place over summer in 2002. It has four original characters. If you come across this and haven’t read the first story, click here.  Again, I appreciate y’all for all the love and support. I hope I’m able to create something that’s worthy as Prada You.

Warnings: Some foul/harsh language. Heavy conversations.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 16: When It Hurts So Bad

July 9th 2002 (Tuesday)

...over at Big Mike's Pool Hall

Jey sat at the far end of the bar, the bottle of Heineken sweating in his grip as the condensation slid down to meet the veins in his hand. His eyes were distant, staring through the television above the liquor shelves.

Some late afternoon game played in flashes of green and gold, but Jey wasn’t watching. His mind was somewhere else entirely—still stuck in the bedroom where the air had gone still after three words too heavy to ignore.

Jimmy’s voice cut through the fog.

“She show you some proof or something? You even see a test?”

Jey blinked, slow to register what his twin had said. He turned, brows raised, the question clinging like humidity to his skin.

“The fuck you mean, Uce?” Jey asked, his tone sharpened now. “What you tryna say?”

Jimmy didn’t even look at him, just lined up his shot at the pool table. The click of cue against ball echoed low through the nearly empty lounge. Sami leaned against the wall nearby, watching with a quiet mouth and eyes that wouldn’t meet Jey’s just yet.

“I’m saying you need to make sure instead of just going off whatever she said,” Jimmy replied smoothly, sinking the eight ball without breaking stride. “Taya showed me the test. I was right there in the bathroom when she took it. And I’ve known my baby a whole lot longer than you’ve known ol’ girl.”

There was no malice in his voice. If anything, it was the same warning tone he used when Jey used to bet too much at the dice tables—when he let emotions call his plays.

Jey leaned back on his stool, frown cutting across his face. The low light of the bar flickered off the silver in his chain as he looked between the two men.

“That’s how you really feel, Uce?” he said, nodding once, like the betrayal cut a little deeper than it should have. Then he turned his attention to Sami. “What about you, Sam? You think she playin’ me too?”

Sami scratched at the back of his neck, that guilty shuffle in his body giving him away before he even spoke. “I—look, Tutor seems cool, man. But what’s the harm in having her take another one? Just to be sure.”

Jey didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened around the bottle. Somewhere deep in his chest, something itched. An unease he hadn’t admitted. A shadow he kept telling himself wasn’t there.

“Man, y’all buggin’,” he muttered after a long pause. “Watching too much TV. My girl ain’t like that. She solid.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes like he’d heard that one before, and Sami didn’t say anything else. They didn’t have to. The silence that followed told Jey exactly how they felt.

Still, he turned his back on them both. He didn’t want to see that look in Jimmy’s eyes—the one that said I told you so before anything even happened.

And he damn sure didn’t want to admit that maybe, just maybe, something was off.

---

July 9th 2002 (Tuesday)

Guiding Light flickered on the screen, soft and sentimental like the moment I was trying not to ruin. Mama’s hand moved slow and rhythmic against my bare arm, brushing lazy circles that calmed my nerves just enough to keep me breathing steady.

My head rested in her lap, and every so often, she’d lean down and kissed the crown of my head like she used to when I was little. It felt safe here.

But inside… I was anything but cool and calm.

The minute the show ended, I knew I had to do it. No more dodging. No more praying she wouldn’t find out. I needed to be the one to tell her. Not some messy family friend. Not some whisper at church. Me.

When the closing credits rolled and Mama shifted to get up, I stayed behind on the couch, watching the TV like it might hold the answers.

I gave myself a little pep talk in my head.

Just do it, Nye. Don’t back out now.

By the time I made it into the kitchen, Mama was already rinsing chicken in the sink, humming to herself like she didn’t have a clue that the air around us was about to change. I hopped up on the counter, tapping my thighs, pretending I wasn’t a bundle of nerves about to unravel.

“Something on your mind?” she asked without turning around.

I paused, biting the inside of my cheek. Then nodded, even though she couldn’t see me.

“Uh, I do,” I said slowly. “You remember how I said I had two jobs while I was living with Auntie Darlene?”

She turned her head a little and nodded like, go on, baby.

I started wringing my hands together. It felt like they were the only things brave enough to speak.

“I worked at the school doing work-study. And I—” I hesitated, then pushed the words out before I could swallow them again. “And I danced at night to help pay for school and other things I needed.”

It was barely above a whisper. I don’t even know how she heard me, but she did. I could tell by the stillness that followed. Not an ounce of movement. Just the water running and my heart hammering against my chest like it wanted out.

Then she spoke.

“Darlene was right then. She felt something was up when you’d came home in the early hours of the morning. And the abrupt move out didn’t help and neither did those envelopes full of money. Work-study doesn’t pay enough for all that.”

I blinked. Aunt Darlene… snitched? My mouth dropped.

“You knew? She knew? Oh my God,” I said, covering my face like it might erase the moment.

Mama laughed. That same full-bellied, soft-mouthed laugh I’d always loved.

“I didn’t know for sure,” she said, turning the water off. “But all that money you pulled out at the car dealership kind of confirmed it for me.”

Relief and embarrassment crashed into me like two waves meeting in the middle. I rubbed my hands down my face.

“Ma, I’m sorry…”

She cut me off with a wave of her hand before I could even finish.

“I don’t need no apologies. You’re an adult. Enjoy that freedom but also be ready to face those consequences that come with it.”

She dried her hands and walked over, placing one warm palm against my cheek. Her eyes found mine, gentle and unwavering.

“I’m proud of you. Never forget that. You stayed out of trouble, got your degree, and came home to me in one piece. I know I got a smart baby, so I know you’ll make the right choices.”

That was it. That was the moment. The wall I’d built between us over guilt and fear crumbled. I threw my arms around her neck, tears springing to my eyes before I could stop them.

“Mama, I promise I won’t dance forever. I still want to be a psychologist. And that’s what I will be. And if it ever gets too dangerous, I’ll leave it behind right then and there. I promise not to leave you.”

She held me tighter than I deserved, kissing my cheek with the kind of love that forgives what you don’t even know how to confess.

“I know, baby. I know you will.”

We said our I love yous like we always did, and just like that, the room settled back into comfort. Like nothing had changed at all. But I knew better.

I tucked that promise deep into my chest like a prayer. One I knew I’d have to keep.

---

July 10th 2002 (Wednesday)

I didn’t go to work Wednesday night. Not out of fear. Not completely. It was Solo’s warning that stayed with me about not showing my face on certain nights. And Jey knowing where I work didn’t help none either.

I’d already decided I wasn’t stepping foot in Sugah’s on a weekday again. Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays—those were the only nights I’d show face now. I’d let Sugah know next time I clocked in.

Maybe I’d find a new club to hit on the weekdays, but that meant leaving the city. And I wasn’t ready to do that just yet. If the money started drying up, then I’d make moves.

Instead, it became a night for the girls. My girls. Kiyah, Nataya, and Natasha. They’d been begging to see the new place. I said yes before I could talk myself out of it. I picked up a few things for dinner—taco shells, ground beef, taco mix, shredded cheese, a little guac on the side. You know all the extras needed for tacos.

Plus, a little pot of Rotel for nachos. And because I wanted to spoil us just a little, I grabbed some of that fancy champagne they kept locked up behind glass at the liquor store.

I’d already wiped down the counters and fluffed the throw pillows before Kiyah came through the door at 7 on the dot. She was in a whole pajama set with a silk bonnet and her overnight bag slung on her shoulder like this was The Real World and we were all moving in.

I squinted at her. “Is this what we doing? You ain’t say nothing about spending the night, heifa.”

She popped her gum and snapped her fingers. “And what about it? You knew I was coming to stay. I don’t drink and drive no mo’.”

I gave her that look—eyebrows raised, mouth tight—and she gave it right back. Two seconds later we were doubled over laughing because the both of us knew damn well Kiyah still had that reckless streak. She just liked playing grown now.

The twins pulled up right after. Same deal—nightclothes, duffles, hair tied up like it was a slumber party they RSVP’d to without me. That’s when it hit me. This shit was planned. And I was the last to know.

“At this point, I’m charging all y’all,” I huffed, watching them get comfortable. “I ain’t approve no sleepover.”

Nobody paid me no mind.

---

It didn’t take long for Nataya to find her way into the kitchen like it was hers. She clapped when she saw what I made, fixed two plates like she hadn’t eaten in weeks, and hummed her way right back into the living room.

“Thanks baby,” she sang, kissing my cheek. “I’ll be back for seconds.”

Once plates were made and drinks were poured, we flopped down in the living room like we used to back in the day. My Wife & Kids was on the screen. Champagne sparkled in their glasses. My heart felt lighter just having them close.

By 10, we were stretched out across my couch and floor—full, tipsy, giggling. MTV was playing in the background, but we weren’t paying it no real mind. The conversation had turned to real things.

I told them everything. How I’d started dancing to help with school but liked it enough to keep doing it. I watched each of their faces as I spoke, already knowing how they’d react.

Kiyah was hype, standing up mid-sip talking ‘bout how she was to start shaking ass too.

Natasha’s mouth dropped open, hands in her lap like she couldn’t believe I’d kept this from her.

Nataya was full of questions, asking if Sugah’s was like The Players Club and if I had a diamond stage name.

“It ain’t been that exciting,” I admitted with a small laugh. “More of a soft hustle than a show.”

But when I told them Jey followed me home after seeing me dancing at Sugah’s. And how he forced his way in like he still had the right to be all up in my space.

The room shifted.

“He so damn annoying,” Natasha snapped. “Like, I would’ve called the cops on his punk ass.”

Kiyah nodded, chip in one hand, champagne in the other. “He always been crazy but like—ain’t you got a girl? And said girl supposed to be pregnant?”

That’s when it happened. Like someone yanked the needle off the record. Like a loud pop right before a storm. The silence was thick, like fog, like molasses sliding down the walls.

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. Pregnant?

“I know you fucking lying. Who told you that?” Natasha gasped, with a hand paused mid-air with a chip between her fingers.

Kiyah didn’t miss a beat, sipping her champagne like she was sipping tea. “I overheard Tama telling Jacob that he heard from Tonga who heard from Bronson that Tutor told Jey she was pregnant.”

It sounded like a game of telephone with life-altering consequences. I sat there, stunned into silence as the rest of them went off.

“I ain’t really talked to Jimmy since last week,” Nataya chimed in, adjusting the strap of her tank top. “But I’m sure he knows. That’s his twin. Jimmy never liked ole girl, so I’m sure he’s upset.”

I could barely hear them after that. The room started to fade in and out like static. My champagne glass felt weightless in my hand. My chest was too tight, like something was clawing around inside, trying to get out but with nowhere to go.

Natasha must’ve noticed because she pinched my arm, soft but sharp enough to ground me.

“You good, boo?”

I blinked, looked over at her, then at the other girls like I was just now realizing where I was.

“Yea. Yea, I’m okay,” I muttered. “That’s just… crazy news considering he was just here Sunday breaking and entering my house.”

---

I didn’t say it, but I was mad. Mad as hell, actually. Yea I probably shouldn’t have been, but I was. Because how could he? How could he let this happen?

He was just in my space. Just in my face. Kissing me like he still wanted me. Threatening his own blood over me. And now this? A baby? Nah. I wasn’t okay at all about the news.

I finished my glass and poured another. I wasn’t about to sit in this feeling sober.

“You know I think she lying though,” Kiyah said, crossing her legs and letting her bracelet catch the light. “She give me sneaky. Like, I just don’t get good vibes from her ass.”

That pulled the rest of us back in.

“What you mean?” Nataya leaned forward. “You think she trying to trap Jey? Why?”

Kiyah sucked her teeth, her eyes narrow with suspicion. “I sure do believe little Miss Tutor playing games. She know her time is up and what’s the best way to stop the inevitable?” She looked at each of us before finishing her thought. “A baby. Jey is a lot of things, but his ass gon’ take care of his seeds.”

That much I knew was true. Jey always wanted a family—someone to pour into the way nobody poured into him. He used to talk about it like it was his salvation.

So maybe Kiyah was right. Maybe this was her Hail Mary. And maybe he was willing to catch it.

I stayed quiet though. My head felt like it was filled with cotton and questions. I didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to believe. But it all sat heavy. Everything did.

---

Eventually, the conversation shifted to something lighter—talk of the crawfish festival coming up. The girls were excited. I said I’d go. I needed something to look forward to. Something to balance out all the bitterness floating around in my chest.

“I’m eating every crawfish I encounter,” I declared, trying to summon a little joy.

That earned a round of laughs. The energy softened. For a second, we were us again.

Until Nataya picked up my glass, pouring herself a drink.

“Woah there, woadie. You can’t be drinking that,” I reminded her, brow raised.

Nataya and Natasha exchanged glances like they’d just had a whole conversation in code.

“It’s okay, Nye,” Nataya said softly, her voice lighter than usual. “I can drink now.”

My stomach dropped. Kiyah turned to look at me. I turned to look at her. The same thought passed between us like smoke.

“Girl, what?” Kiyah asked, her voice lower now. “The doctor told you that or what?”

Nataya looked down, twisting the gold bracelet Jimmy gave her years ago. The one that look liked mines back then but carried a different weight.

She stayed quiet, almost contemplative. I just knew she was about to say something that would change everything.

“I’m not pregnant no more, you guys.”

Taya’s voice barely made it across the room. It was low, fragile. The kind of tone that didn’t ask for questions, only silence. But silence doesn’t always arrive fast enough. My heart tightened in my chest like it knew exactly what those words meant.

I swallowed hard. Across from me, Kiyah’s mouth parted slightly, her expression already falling. She was catching up to the same realization I had.

“Taya…” Kiyah whispered, shaking her head. “You did it? Oh my God. Does Jimmy know?”

Taya couldn’t even look at us. Her eyes dropped to the floor and stayed there, heavy and still. That was our answer. Natasha confirmed it with a bitter truth.

“No, he doesn’t know,” she said. “But once he does, he best be cool. That was Taya’s choice. Her body, her choice.”

The weight of it all dropped like bricks. The air in my chest felt thin. Natasha was right—Taya had every right to make the decision that was best for her—but I couldn’t stop thinking about Jimmy.

I knew what that baby meant to him. I knew what it would mean to lose it. Again.

My body moved before my mind could catch up. I pulled Taya into my arms, and the moment I did, she broke. Completely. Her whole body trembled as the tears came. Loud. Ugly. Raw. She cried like she’d been holding it in for weeks, like the grief and shame were clawing their way out all at once.

“I couldn’t do it,” she sobbed. “I… I’m too young. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I gripped her tighter, whispering gently as her pain shook against my chest. “We got you, Taya. No matter what, we got you.”

Kiyah and Natasha wrapped themselves around us too. It was instinct—unspoken and sacred. A wall of warmth around our sister. That’s what we were. Four girls who had grown up in chaos, learning how to hold each other when the world gave us nothing but hurt.

We didn’t talk anymore after that. There was nothing left to say. Nataya cried herself to sleep in my lap. We all ended up curled up on the makeshift bed in the living room, arms and legs tangled like old times—back when our biggest worry was a missed curfew or a bad grade. Sleep found us slow and quiet, and we let it.

---

July 11th 2002 (Thursday)

By morning, things seemed to have shifted back to normal for us. But I could see the residue of the night before lingering in everyone’s eyes. Taya moved slower. Natasha was quieter. Kiyah had her usual fire, but even that felt dimmed at the edges. I felt it too. I held it in my bones.

Still, we rose together. Taya helped me cook breakfast—pancakes, grits, eggs, sausages, and bacon. We moved around the kitchen like clockwork, saying little, doing much. When we all sat down to eat, the silence was comfortable. No one forced conversation. We just… were.

After we ate, the girls took their turns showering, getting dressed for the day. The weight hadn’t disappeared, but we carried it better in the light.

“We need to do this more often, y’all,” Taya said with a soft smile. “I enjoyed this. It felt like back in the day, when we used to sleep over each other’s houses.”

I looked at her and knew it came from a real place. That genuine kind of peace you reach after a storm. We all agreed—we needed more nights like that. More sisterhood. More space to be soft and scared and understood.

And as they left one by one, I knew we’d be good no matter what came next.

---

I was left alone with my own thoughts once the girls pulled out the driveway. Their laughter and perfume still lingered in the air, but everything else fell quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your brain wander, makes your heart ache just a little more than it should.

Jey was on my mind heavy. The thought of him possibly being a father. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.

It hurt more than I wanted to admit. That used to be our dream—something sweet we whispered about in those brief moments when life didn’t feel so bad.

Back when we were still “we.” But now… now it just felt like another door slammed in my face.

Maybe this would be the thing to finally make him leave me alone. Maybe this baby would give him a reason to stop showing up, stop rewinding our pain just to press play again. I could seal those wounds back up for good. Let the past stay buried where it belonged.

My phone vibrated against the table, pulling me out of the spiral. It was Damian.

I answered, voice flat but polite. “Hey.”

He caught it immediately.

“Wait, what’s wrong?”

I sighed, leaning back on the couch. “Just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

He didn’t push. But I knew him. He’d circle back eventually, find a way to check in without prying. That was his way.

“Enough about me,” I added, forcing lightness into my voice. “What’s up?”

“I called to ask you on a date,” Damian said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

I blinked. “A date?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, Nye. A real one. You free tonight?”

I was torn. Was this taking things too far? What would come of it? And just as I was about to bring up Jey, I stopped myself. Jey had a girlfriend and a baby on the way. He didn’t get to be a deciding factor in my decisions anymore.

He wasn’t mine. And I wasn’t his.

So, I made the decision. “Yeah. I’m free. What time you thinking?”

“Eight,” he said. “I’ll pick you up. The spot’s a surprise.”

We talked a little longer—nothing too deep. And once the line disconnected, I was surprised to feel something flutter in my chest. It was excitement brewing. The kind you experience when you do something unexpected or rebellious.

I was nervous too, in a way that made my stomach tighten. There was something about the way Damian looked at me like he could see through me and all the walls I had built. It was how he could make me feel shy and alive at the same time that drew me in.

Trouble would probably come from this but I pushed that to the back of my mind.

---

I showered, slipped into something simple but cute, and twisted my hair into a knot on top of my head. My mood was lighter. It felt good to be desired by someone without baggage dragging behind him.

I grabbed my purse, shut the lights off, and headed out into the garage. The engine purred to life. The garage door lifted like the beginning of something new. I eased back, ready to get my day started as my night was looking real promising.

But I couldn’t move because there it was. That damn BMW. It was parked in the middle of my driveway like it belonged there.

And behind the wheel was Jey, like his ass was on the lease too. I slapped the steering wheel, hard enough to make my hand sting. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just leave me alone.

I was finally ready to move on for good and leave his ass in the past. Ready to move forward without looking over my shoulder for his shadow. And for a second, I really thought about pushing the gas and ramming right into his shit just to get the message across. But I wasn’t trying to explain that to the insurance company.

So, I sat there with the doors locked and my arms crossed. Destiny’s Child's, "Bug A Boo" played low on the radio. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

“You make me wanna throw my pager out the window… Tell MCI to cut the phone poles… Break my lease so I can move… 'Cause you a bug a boo, a bug a boo…”

The lyrics made me smirk bitterly because that’s exactly what Jey was. A bug a boo.

----

A lil Q&A for y'all:

Do you think Tutor is really pregnant?

How you think Jimmy gon' take it when he find out Taya got rid of their baby?

As for Jey, why you think he pulled up Nyeya again so soon?

AN: Chapter 17 dropping in a few days. Been working on it.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 17.. (click here)

Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @nbanenefrmdao @queeny23 @punksyeet @partypoison00 @justazzi @southernpree @tian-monique @levissslutt @emotionalhottiee @blkgirlsneedlove2 @fafomama @bigjuiciisushii @jazzyboo123-blog1

[levissslutt]

oot and lisp🤣

awwww shit i done found another one

they got oot and mr lisp on da juices 🤣🤣🤣

[levissslutt]

i want to put him in my pocket so bad🥹🥹

his salt pepper beard ☹️

[levissslutt]

Prada You 2 Chapter 16: When It Hurts So Bad

Summary:

Three years have passed, but in city, the past never truly stays buried. The Prada Bois have grown stronger, their grip on the city unshaken. Old faces remain, new tensions rise, and the streets are more dangerous than ever.

Toya’s wedding should be a day of celebration, but for those who knew her, it’s something more—a gathering thick with whispers, with the weight of what was lost. Some wounds have scarred over, while others remain raw, unspoken.

Yet, the night brings a shift. A presence. A force that neither time nor distance could erase. The whispers start first, a low hum of disbelief that spreads like wildfire. Some things refuse to be forgotten. Some stories aren’t finished.

Because in this city, love, loyalty, and revenge all walk the same tightrope. And once the past steps forward, there’s no turning back.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye), Jacob Fatu x Kiyah, Sami Zayn x Natasha, Jimmy Uso x Nataya

Author’s Note: This story is set in a AU that takes place over summer in 2002. It has four original characters. If you come across this and haven’t read the first story, click here.  Again, I appreciate y’all for all the love and support. I hope I’m able to create something that’s worthy as Prada You.

Warnings: Some foul/harsh language. Heavy conversations.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 16: When It Hurts So Bad

July 9th 2002 (Tuesday)

...over at Big Mike's Pool Hall

Jey sat at the far end of the bar, the bottle of Heineken sweating in his grip as the condensation slid down to meet the veins in his hand. His eyes were distant, staring through the television above the liquor shelves.

Some late afternoon game played in flashes of green and gold, but Jey wasn’t watching. His mind was somewhere else entirely—still stuck in the bedroom where the air had gone still after three words too heavy to ignore.

Jimmy’s voice cut through the fog.

“She show you some proof or something? You even see a test?”

Jey blinked, slow to register what his twin had said. He turned, brows raised, the question clinging like humidity to his skin.

“The fuck you mean, Uce?” Jey asked, his tone sharpened now. “What you tryna say?”

Jimmy didn’t even look at him, just lined up his shot at the pool table. The click of cue against ball echoed low through the nearly empty lounge. Sami leaned against the wall nearby, watching with a quiet mouth and eyes that wouldn’t meet Jey’s just yet.

“I’m saying you need to make sure instead of just going off whatever she said,” Jimmy replied smoothly, sinking the eight ball without breaking stride. “Taya showed me the test. I was right there in the bathroom when she took it. And I’ve known my baby a whole lot longer than you’ve known ol’ girl.”

There was no malice in his voice. If anything, it was the same warning tone he used when Jey used to bet too much at the dice tables—when he let emotions call his plays.

Jey leaned back on his stool, frown cutting across his face. The low light of the bar flickered off the silver in his chain as he looked between the two men.

“That’s how you really feel, Uce?” he said, nodding once, like the betrayal cut a little deeper than it should have. Then he turned his attention to Sami. “What about you, Sam? You think she playin’ me too?”

Sami scratched at the back of his neck, that guilty shuffle in his body giving him away before he even spoke. “I—look, Tutor seems cool, man. But what’s the harm in having her take another one? Just to be sure.”

Jey didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened around the bottle. Somewhere deep in his chest, something itched. An unease he hadn’t admitted. A shadow he kept telling himself wasn’t there.

“Man, y’all buggin’,” he muttered after a long pause. “Watching too much TV. My girl ain’t like that. She solid.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes like he’d heard that one before, and Sami didn’t say anything else. They didn’t have to. The silence that followed told Jey exactly how they felt.

Still, he turned his back on them both. He didn’t want to see that look in Jimmy’s eyes—the one that said I told you so before anything even happened.

And he damn sure didn’t want to admit that maybe, just maybe, something was off.

---

July 9th 2002 (Tuesday)

Guiding Light flickered on the screen, soft and sentimental like the moment I was trying not to ruin. Mama’s hand moved slow and rhythmic against my bare arm, brushing lazy circles that calmed my nerves just enough to keep me breathing steady.

My head rested in her lap, and every so often, she’d lean down and kissed the crown of my head like she used to when I was little. It felt safe here.

But inside… I was anything but cool and calm.

The minute the show ended, I knew I had to do it. No more dodging. No more praying she wouldn’t find out. I needed to be the one to tell her. Not some messy family friend. Not some whisper at church. Me.

When the closing credits rolled and Mama shifted to get up, I stayed behind on the couch, watching the TV like it might hold the answers.

I gave myself a little pep talk in my head.

Just do it, Nye. Don’t back out now.

By the time I made it into the kitchen, Mama was already rinsing chicken in the sink, humming to herself like she didn’t have a clue that the air around us was about to change. I hopped up on the counter, tapping my thighs, pretending I wasn’t a bundle of nerves about to unravel.

“Something on your mind?” she asked without turning around.

I paused, biting the inside of my cheek. Then nodded, even though she couldn’t see me.

“Uh, I do,” I said slowly. “You remember how I said I had two jobs while I was living with Auntie Darlene?”

She turned her head a little and nodded like, go on, baby.

I started wringing my hands together. It felt like they were the only things brave enough to speak.

“I worked at the school doing work-study. And I—” I hesitated, then pushed the words out before I could swallow them again. “And I danced at night to help pay for school and other things I needed.”

It was barely above a whisper. I don’t even know how she heard me, but she did. I could tell by the stillness that followed. Not an ounce of movement. Just the water running and my heart hammering against my chest like it wanted out.

Then she spoke.

“Darlene was right then. She felt something was up when you’d came home in the early hours of the morning. And the abrupt move out didn’t help and neither did those envelopes full of money. Work-study doesn’t pay enough for all that.”

I blinked. Aunt Darlene… snitched? My mouth dropped.

“You knew? She knew? Oh my God,” I said, covering my face like it might erase the moment.

Mama laughed. That same full-bellied, soft-mouthed laugh I’d always loved.

“I didn’t know for sure,” she said, turning the water off. “But all that money you pulled out at the car dealership kind of confirmed it for me.”

Relief and embarrassment crashed into me like two waves meeting in the middle. I rubbed my hands down my face.

“Ma, I’m sorry…”

She cut me off with a wave of her hand before I could even finish.

“I don’t need no apologies. You’re an adult. Enjoy that freedom but also be ready to face those consequences that come with it.”

She dried her hands and walked over, placing one warm palm against my cheek. Her eyes found mine, gentle and unwavering.

“I’m proud of you. Never forget that. You stayed out of trouble, got your degree, and came home to me in one piece. I know I got a smart baby, so I know you’ll make the right choices.”

That was it. That was the moment. The wall I’d built between us over guilt and fear crumbled. I threw my arms around her neck, tears springing to my eyes before I could stop them.

“Mama, I promise I won’t dance forever. I still want to be a psychologist. And that’s what I will be. And if it ever gets too dangerous, I’ll leave it behind right then and there. I promise not to leave you.”

She held me tighter than I deserved, kissing my cheek with the kind of love that forgives what you don’t even know how to confess.

“I know, baby. I know you will.”

We said our I love yous like we always did, and just like that, the room settled back into comfort. Like nothing had changed at all. But I knew better.

I tucked that promise deep into my chest like a prayer. One I knew I’d have to keep.

---

July 10th 2002 (Wednesday)

I didn’t go to work Wednesday night. Not out of fear. Not completely. It was Solo’s warning that stayed with me about not showing my face on certain nights. And Jey knowing where I work didn’t help none either.

I’d already decided I wasn’t stepping foot in Sugah’s on a weekday again. Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays—those were the only nights I’d show face now. I’d let Sugah know next time I clocked in.

Maybe I’d find a new club to hit on the weekdays, but that meant leaving the city. And I wasn’t ready to do that just yet. If the money started drying up, then I’d make moves.

Instead, it became a night for the girls. My girls. Kiyah, Nataya, and Natasha. They’d been begging to see the new place. I said yes before I could talk myself out of it. I picked up a few things for dinner—taco shells, ground beef, taco mix, shredded cheese, a little guac on the side. You know all the extras needed for tacos.

Plus, a little pot of Rotel for nachos. And because I wanted to spoil us just a little, I grabbed some of that fancy champagne they kept locked up behind glass at the liquor store.

I’d already wiped down the counters and fluffed the throw pillows before Kiyah came through the door at 7 on the dot. She was in a whole pajama set with a silk bonnet and her overnight bag slung on her shoulder like this was The Real World and we were all moving in.

I squinted at her. “Is this what we doing? You ain’t say nothing about spending the night, heifa.”

She popped her gum and snapped her fingers. “And what about it? You knew I was coming to stay. I don’t drink and drive no mo’.”

I gave her that look—eyebrows raised, mouth tight—and she gave it right back. Two seconds later we were doubled over laughing because the both of us knew damn well Kiyah still had that reckless streak. She just liked playing grown now.

The twins pulled up right after. Same deal—nightclothes, duffles, hair tied up like it was a slumber party they RSVP’d to without me. That’s when it hit me. This shit was planned. And I was the last to know.

“At this point, I’m charging all y’all,” I huffed, watching them get comfortable. “I ain’t approve no sleepover.”

Nobody paid me no mind.

---

It didn’t take long for Nataya to find her way into the kitchen like it was hers. She clapped when she saw what I made, fixed two plates like she hadn’t eaten in weeks, and hummed her way right back into the living room.

“Thanks baby,” she sang, kissing my cheek. “I’ll be back for seconds.”

Once plates were made and drinks were poured, we flopped down in the living room like we used to back in the day. My Wife & Kids was on the screen. Champagne sparkled in their glasses. My heart felt lighter just having them close.

By 10, we were stretched out across my couch and floor—full, tipsy, giggling. MTV was playing in the background, but we weren’t paying it no real mind. The conversation had turned to real things.

I told them everything. How I’d started dancing to help with school but liked it enough to keep doing it. I watched each of their faces as I spoke, already knowing how they’d react.

Kiyah was hype, standing up mid-sip talking ‘bout how she was to start shaking ass too.

Natasha’s mouth dropped open, hands in her lap like she couldn’t believe I’d kept this from her.

Nataya was full of questions, asking if Sugah’s was like The Players Club and if I had a diamond stage name.

“It ain’t been that exciting,” I admitted with a small laugh. “More of a soft hustle than a show.”

But when I told them Jey followed me home after seeing me dancing at Sugah’s. And how he forced his way in like he still had the right to be all up in my space.

The room shifted.

“He so damn annoying,” Natasha snapped. “Like, I would’ve called the cops on his punk ass.”

Kiyah nodded, chip in one hand, champagne in the other. “He always been crazy but like—ain’t you got a girl? And said girl supposed to be pregnant?”

That’s when it happened. Like someone yanked the needle off the record. Like a loud pop right before a storm. The silence was thick, like fog, like molasses sliding down the walls.

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. Pregnant?

“I know you fucking lying. Who told you that?” Natasha gasped, with a hand paused mid-air with a chip between her fingers.

Kiyah didn’t miss a beat, sipping her champagne like she was sipping tea. “I overheard Tama telling Jacob that he heard from Tonga who heard from Bronson that Tutor told Jey she was pregnant.”

It sounded like a game of telephone with life-altering consequences. I sat there, stunned into silence as the rest of them went off.

“I ain’t really talked to Jimmy since last week,” Nataya chimed in, adjusting the strap of her tank top. “But I’m sure he knows. That’s his twin. Jimmy never liked ole girl, so I’m sure he’s upset.”

I could barely hear them after that. The room started to fade in and out like static. My champagne glass felt weightless in my hand. My chest was too tight, like something was clawing around inside, trying to get out but with nowhere to go.

Natasha must’ve noticed because she pinched my arm, soft but sharp enough to ground me.

“You good, boo?”

I blinked, looked over at her, then at the other girls like I was just now realizing where I was.

“Yea. Yea, I’m okay,” I muttered. “That’s just… crazy news considering he was just here Sunday breaking and entering my house.”

---

I didn’t say it, but I was mad. Mad as hell, actually. Yea I probably shouldn’t have been, but I was. Because how could he? How could he let this happen?

He was just in my space. Just in my face. Kissing me like he still wanted me. Threatening his own blood over me. And now this? A baby? Nah. I wasn’t okay at all about the news.

I finished my glass and poured another. I wasn’t about to sit in this feeling sober.

“You know I think she lying though,” Kiyah said, crossing her legs and letting her bracelet catch the light. “She give me sneaky. Like, I just don’t get good vibes from her ass.”

That pulled the rest of us back in.

“What you mean?” Nataya leaned forward. “You think she trying to trap Jey? Why?”

Kiyah sucked her teeth, her eyes narrow with suspicion. “I sure do believe little Miss Tutor playing games. She know her time is up and what’s the best way to stop the inevitable?” She looked at each of us before finishing her thought. “A baby. Jey is a lot of things, but his ass gon’ take care of his seeds.”

That much I knew was true. Jey always wanted a family—someone to pour into the way nobody poured into him. He used to talk about it like it was his salvation.

So maybe Kiyah was right. Maybe this was her Hail Mary. And maybe he was willing to catch it.

I stayed quiet though. My head felt like it was filled with cotton and questions. I didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to believe. But it all sat heavy. Everything did.

---

Eventually, the conversation shifted to something lighter—talk of the crawfish festival coming up. The girls were excited. I said I’d go. I needed something to look forward to. Something to balance out all the bitterness floating around in my chest.

“I’m eating every crawfish I encounter,” I declared, trying to summon a little joy.

That earned a round of laughs. The energy softened. For a second, we were us again.

Until Nataya picked up my glass, pouring herself a drink.

“Woah there, woadie. You can’t be drinking that,” I reminded her, brow raised.

Nataya and Natasha exchanged glances like they’d just had a whole conversation in code.

“It’s okay, Nye,” Nataya said softly, her voice lighter than usual. “I can drink now.”

My stomach dropped. Kiyah turned to look at me. I turned to look at her. The same thought passed between us like smoke.

“Girl, what?” Kiyah asked, her voice lower now. “The doctor told you that or what?”

Nataya looked down, twisting the gold bracelet Jimmy gave her years ago. The one that look liked mines back then but carried a different weight.

She stayed quiet, almost contemplative. I just knew she was about to say something that would change everything.

“I’m not pregnant no more, you guys.”

Taya’s voice barely made it across the room. It was low, fragile. The kind of tone that didn’t ask for questions, only silence. But silence doesn’t always arrive fast enough. My heart tightened in my chest like it knew exactly what those words meant.

I swallowed hard. Across from me, Kiyah’s mouth parted slightly, her expression already falling. She was catching up to the same realization I had.

“Taya…” Kiyah whispered, shaking her head. “You did it? Oh my God. Does Jimmy know?”

Taya couldn’t even look at us. Her eyes dropped to the floor and stayed there, heavy and still. That was our answer. Natasha confirmed it with a bitter truth.

“No, he doesn’t know,” she said. “But once he does, he best be cool. That was Taya’s choice. Her body, her choice.”

The weight of it all dropped like bricks. The air in my chest felt thin. Natasha was right—Taya had every right to make the decision that was best for her—but I couldn’t stop thinking about Jimmy.

I knew what that baby meant to him. I knew what it would mean to lose it. Again.

My body moved before my mind could catch up. I pulled Taya into my arms, and the moment I did, she broke. Completely. Her whole body trembled as the tears came. Loud. Ugly. Raw. She cried like she’d been holding it in for weeks, like the grief and shame were clawing their way out all at once.

“I couldn’t do it,” she sobbed. “I… I’m too young. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I gripped her tighter, whispering gently as her pain shook against my chest. “We got you, Taya. No matter what, we got you.”

Kiyah and Natasha wrapped themselves around us too. It was instinct—unspoken and sacred. A wall of warmth around our sister. That’s what we were. Four girls who had grown up in chaos, learning how to hold each other when the world gave us nothing but hurt.

We didn’t talk anymore after that. There was nothing left to say. Nataya cried herself to sleep in my lap. We all ended up curled up on the makeshift bed in the living room, arms and legs tangled like old times—back when our biggest worry was a missed curfew or a bad grade. Sleep found us slow and quiet, and we let it.

---

July 11th 2002 (Thursday)

By morning, things seemed to have shifted back to normal for us. But I could see the residue of the night before lingering in everyone’s eyes. Taya moved slower. Natasha was quieter. Kiyah had her usual fire, but even that felt dimmed at the edges. I felt it too. I held it in my bones.

Still, we rose together. Taya helped me cook breakfast—pancakes, grits, eggs, sausages, and bacon. We moved around the kitchen like clockwork, saying little, doing much. When we all sat down to eat, the silence was comfortable. No one forced conversation. We just… were.

After we ate, the girls took their turns showering, getting dressed for the day. The weight hadn’t disappeared, but we carried it better in the light.

“We need to do this more often, y’all,” Taya said with a soft smile. “I enjoyed this. It felt like back in the day, when we used to sleep over each other’s houses.”

I looked at her and knew it came from a real place. That genuine kind of peace you reach after a storm. We all agreed—we needed more nights like that. More sisterhood. More space to be soft and scared and understood.

And as they left one by one, I knew we’d be good no matter what came next.

---

I was left alone with my own thoughts once the girls pulled out the driveway. Their laughter and perfume still lingered in the air, but everything else fell quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your brain wander, makes your heart ache just a little more than it should.

Jey was on my mind heavy. The thought of him possibly being a father. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.

It hurt more than I wanted to admit. That used to be our dream—something sweet we whispered about in those brief moments when life didn’t feel so bad.

Back when we were still “we.” But now… now it just felt like another door slammed in my face.

Maybe this would be the thing to finally make him leave me alone. Maybe this baby would give him a reason to stop showing up, stop rewinding our pain just to press play again. I could seal those wounds back up for good. Let the past stay buried where it belonged.

My phone vibrated against the table, pulling me out of the spiral. It was Damian.

I answered, voice flat but polite. “Hey.”

He caught it immediately.

“Wait, what’s wrong?”

I sighed, leaning back on the couch. “Just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

He didn’t push. But I knew him. He’d circle back eventually, find a way to check in without prying. That was his way.

“Enough about me,” I added, forcing lightness into my voice. “What’s up?”

“I called to ask you on a date,” Damian said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

I blinked. “A date?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, Nye. A real one. You free tonight?”

I was torn. Was this taking things too far? What would come of it? And just as I was about to bring up Jey, I stopped myself. Jey had a girlfriend and a baby on the way. He didn’t get to be a deciding factor in my decisions anymore.

He wasn’t mine. And I wasn’t his.

So, I made the decision. “Yeah. I’m free. What time you thinking?”

“Eight,” he said. “I’ll pick you up. The spot’s a surprise.”

We talked a little longer—nothing too deep. And once the line disconnected, I was surprised to feel something flutter in my chest. It was excitement brewing. The kind you experience when you do something unexpected or rebellious.

I was nervous too, in a way that made my stomach tighten. There was something about the way Damian looked at me like he could see through me and all the walls I had built. It was how he could make me feel shy and alive at the same time that drew me in.

Trouble would probably come from this but I pushed that to the back of my mind.

---

I showered, slipped into something simple but cute, and twisted my hair into a knot on top of my head. My mood was lighter. It felt good to be desired by someone without baggage dragging behind him.

I grabbed my purse, shut the lights off, and headed out into the garage. The engine purred to life. The garage door lifted like the beginning of something new. I eased back, ready to get my day started as my night was looking real promising.

But I couldn’t move because there it was. That damn BMW. It was parked in the middle of my driveway like it belonged there.

And behind the wheel was Jey, like his ass was on the lease too. I slapped the steering wheel, hard enough to make my hand sting. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just leave me alone.

I was finally ready to move on for good and leave his ass in the past. Ready to move forward without looking over my shoulder for his shadow. And for a second, I really thought about pushing the gas and ramming right into his shit just to get the message across. But I wasn’t trying to explain that to the insurance company.

So, I sat there with the doors locked and my arms crossed. Destiny’s Child's, "Bug A Boo" played low on the radio. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

“You make me wanna throw my pager out the window… Tell MCI to cut the phone poles… Break my lease so I can move… 'Cause you a bug a boo, a bug a boo…”

The lyrics made me smirk bitterly because that’s exactly what Jey was. A bug a boo.

----

A lil Q&A for y'all:

Do you think Tutor is really pregnant?

How you think Jimmy gon' take it when he find out Taya got rid of their baby?

As for Jey, why you think he pulled up Nyeya again so soon?

AN: Chapter 17 dropping in a few days. Been working on it.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 17.. (coming soon)

Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @nbanenefrmdao @queeny23 @punksyeet @partypoison00 @justazzi @southernpree @tian-monique @levissslutt @emotionalhottiee @blkgirlsneedlove2 @fafomama @bigjuiciisushii @jazzyboo123-blog1

[levissslutt]

Prada You 2 Chapter 15: Too Many Strings

Summary:

Three years have passed, but in city, the past never truly stays buried. The Prada Bois have grown stronger, their grip on the city unshaken. Old faces remain, new tensions rise, and the streets are more dangerous than ever.

Toya’s wedding should be a day of celebration, but for those who knew her, it’s something more—a gathering thick with whispers, with the weight of what was lost. Some wounds have scarred over, while others remain raw, unspoken.

Yet, the night brings a shift. A presence. A force that neither time nor distance could erase. The whispers start first, a low hum of disbelief that spreads like wildfire. Some things refuse to be forgotten. Some stories aren’t finished.

Because in this city, love, loyalty, and revenge all walk the same tightrope. And once the past steps forward, there’s no turning back.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye), Jacob Fatu x Kiyah, Sami Zayn x Natasha, Jimmy Uso x Nataya

Author’s Note: This story is set in a AU that takes place over summer in 2002. It has four original characters. If you come across this and haven’t read the first story, click here.  Again, I appreciate y’all for all the love and support. I hope I’m able to create something that’s worthy as Prada You.

Warnings: Some foul/harsh language

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 15: Too Many Strings

July 7th 2002 (Sunday Morning)

The hours tickled by like a slow leak in a sinking ship, and I was the one holding the bucket. Sitting on the floor of my room, legs crossed like a little girl who didn’t know what to do with herself, I let the silence strip me down piece by piece.

What was my problem?

I kept asking that out loud like the walls had answers. Like peeling paint and boxed-up shoes could talk me off the ledge I’d danced on last night. The shame curled in my stomach like smoke—thick and sour. I could still hear my own voice saying that shit about Solo. The words haunted me, replayed on a loop, each time sounding colder than I remembered. Was it even true? Or was I just tryna hurt Jey in the only way I knew how?

The guilt felt like hands around my throat.

Solo didn’t deserve to be dragged into my mess. I hated myself for that. Hated the way my own pain had turned me reckless. Jey had pushed me over the edge, and instead of walking away, I grabbed a match and set fire to everything in reach—including Solo.

The sun was creeping up now, slicing gold across the floorboards. The house was still, like it knew something heavy hung in the air. I watched the sky shift outside my window, then finally reached for the landline Mama insisted I keep. The only reason I even had one was because my cell phone was now sitting in a drawer with a shattered screen and a cracked spirit—just another casualty of Jey’s rage.

Would Solo even answer a number he didn’t recognize?

The line rang and rang, and just when I was about to hang up, the static broke.

“Who this?”

His voice—low, groggy, cautious.

I exhaled like I’d been underwater.

“Hey Solo,” I said, barely above a whisper. “It’s me, Nye. I don’t even know where to start, but I need to see you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then another. Like he was trying to read between my words. But whatever he heard in my voice, he didn’t question. Didn’t push.

“Where you at?”

“Home,” I murmured, voice cracking. “I’ll give you the address.”

I rattled it off, and he repeated it back to be sure. Said he’d be there soon. And that was it.

No lectures. No judgment. Just… coming.

I tried to keep my hands busy after we hung up. I vacuumed the whole place even though the floor wasn’t dirty. Put up things that didn’t really need putting up. Moved picture frames half an inch to the left then back again.

I needed a distraction. But nothing could keep my mind from going back to that moment at the door. The weight of Jey’s voice. The fire in his eyes. The threat still echoing in my ears.

I had put Solo in danger. And that guilt was eating me alive.

By the time Solo knocked, it was pushing 8 a.m., and I was already two sips into a glass of white wine. I’d tried tea first. That didn’t work. Wine didn’t either, but it numbed the edge just enough to stop me from falling apart completely.

I opened the door, eyes puffy, lips dry, and soul unraveling.

He noticed immediately.

Solo stepped in, closed the door behind him, and locked it without me asking. And then he did the one thing I didn’t know I needed until it happened—he pulled me in. Those arms wrapped around me like protection, like understanding. Like grace.

I broke.

Pressed my face into his chest and cried until my knees weakened. And he held me. No questions. No “why now.” Just firm, steady hands rubbing my back while my tears soaked through his shirt. It took everything in me to stop. I didn’t want to ruin his whole damn morning, but he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

When I finally pulled away, I sniffed and gave him a weak laugh. “Damn. I done messed up your shirt.”

He shook his head, calm as ever. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Nah, let me at least dry it.” I reached for the hem, and he shrugged, pulling it off in one motion. A white wife beater clung to his chest, and I looked away before my eyes got stuck. Focus, Nye.

While his shirt spun in the dryer, he settled onto the couch like he’d been here before. I joined him, crossing one leg over the other, but his hand found its way to my thigh like it belonged there. His touch was gentle but grounding—just enough to hold me in place.

“What caused that at the door?” he asked quietly.

I swallowed hard. The tears threatened again, but I fought them back.

“Jey knows where I work,” I said. “And now… where I live. He followed me home from Sugah’s.”

His whole face changed. His jaw ticked, eyes narrowing.

“He hurt you?”

“No,” I said, wiping my nose. “I probably did more damage to him. But Solo… he’s spiraling.”

He cursed under his breath, running a hand down his face.

“Don’t worry about his ass. We gone set you up right. You not gon’ be in here scared. I’ma find out who told him too. That ain’t gon’ slide.”

I appreciated that, I did. But this wasn’t about me anymore.

“I’m not worried about me,” I said softly. “I’m worried about you.”

He looked over then. Really looked. His eyes searched mine, hand still resting on my thigh, giving me just enough courage to say it.

“Solo… Jey said some real foul shit before he left. And the messed-up part is… I believe him.”

He sat up straighter. Waiting. Listening.

I wiped my eyes, tried to steady my voice.

“He said he’d kill you. You and anybody else who tries to stand in his way of getting me back.”

The tears came then, fast and full and angry. Because it wasn’t an empty threat. Not from Jey. I knew him too well. And deep down, I knew he meant it.

I shouldn’t have come back.

I should’ve stayed gone—

---

Solo’s reaction wasn’t at all what I expected.

He scoffed. Like I’d just told him Jey said something petty—not life-threatening.

He rolled his eyes, settled back into the couch like we were talkin’ about spilled juice instead of a death threat. I stared at him, trying to understand how he was so calm.

“You’re not worried?” I asked, blinking at him. “Jey seemed serious.”

Solo leaned forward a little, rested his elbows on his knees, and gave me a look like he wanted to laugh but didn’t. His voice was low, steady, and so sure it almost scared me.

“Nah, I’m not worried about his ass. He just be sayin’ shit when he don’t get his way.” He smirked. “Fight me? Yeah, he’ll probably try it again. Might have some lil’ youngin’s jump me on some slick shit? Likely. But pull a trigger?” He shook his head, voice dipped in certainty. “Nah. He ain’t built like that. Not when it come to me. Not with his sensitive ass.”

I stared at him like he was speaking a language I didn’t understand. Because what? Had they… done this before? Been through something like this already?

There was something in his tone I couldn’t read all the way. Like this was some long-running storm that I’d just stumbled into mid-thunder.

He noticed the way I was looking at him and chuckled under his breath.

“Don’t stress yourself, Nye,” he said gently. “I appreciate you for tellin’ me, though. I’ll at least be ready for the petty shit that’s comin’ my way.”

He tried to make light of it, but my chest still felt tight.

That was Jey we were talkin’ about. The same Jey who followed me home. The same Jey who smashed my phone. The same Jey who looked me in my face and said he’d kill for me.

I leaned in, grabbed Solo’s face with both hands. My palms held his jaw firm, eyes locked on his. I needed him to hear me. Feel me.

“Solo. I’m serious. I think he was serious, too. Are you positive your brother isn’t capable of harming you like that?”

For once, he didn’t answer fast.

His eyes stayed on mine, heavy with something I couldn’t name.

And then—he didn’t speak at all.

He just reached up, slow and sure, and pulled me in by the neck. His lips met mine like they’d been waiting for me this whole time. There was no rush, no demand—just intention. Warmth. A kind of kiss that said I got you. A kind of kiss that made me forget why I was scared in the first place.

It was different from Jey’s kisses.

Jey kissed like he was tryin’ to claim something—like each touch was a battle he had to win. But Solo… Solo kissed like peace. Like he was invitin’ me in instead of takin’ something from me.

When he pulled back, his hand was still at my neck, thumb brushing the underside of my jaw.

“Was that a good enough answer?” he asked, voice low, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m tryna be serious about me and you. Fuck what he talkin’ about.”

His words sent something through me, something sharp and deep and aching.

Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was the fear. Or maybe it was the way I’d been craving something real—some kind of comfort that didn’t come with bruises or broken promises. Whatever it was, it took over.

I didn’t even think.

I just moved. Slid right into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. His eyes widened a bit at first, but when my lips met his again, he didn’t hesitate. This time the kiss grew heavier—hotter. My hands found his skin. His fingers gripped my waist like he was scared I’d disappear.

I needed this. Needed to feel wanted. To feel something other than pain and confusion and fear. And Solo… he was here. Solid. Strong. Kissable lips. Tattooed skin.

Arms that wrapped around me like armor. He was exactly the distraction I needed. And I was tired of fighting myself.

I pulled his shirt up and over his head, tossing it somewhere over the arm of the couch. My lips kissed their way down his neck, pausing at his collarbone, tasting soap and skin. His hands slid down to my ass, kneading it like he knew how soft it was even before he touched it.

I moaned into his neck, and he grunted low, like he could feel every bit of my hunger.

At some point, my shirt was gone too. I didn’t remember taking it off. My bra and panties stayed on, but it didn’t matter—his mouth was already on my skin, moving slow, deliberate. He kissed the curve of my neck, down to my shoulder, and then—

He found that spot.

The one right behind my ear.

I moaned so loud.

“Shit sound good,” he whispered, breath hot against my skin. “I need you to get louder though.”

Then he sucked on that spot and I damn near lost it. My head fell back, hips shifting against his. I could feel the fire climbing—high and desperate. My fingers moved to his waistband, fumbling for the button, ready to feel him in ways I hadn’t even allowed myself to imagine before.

And just as I was about to unzip his jeans—

His phone rang.

---

I could’ve screamed.

The sharp trill of Solo’s phone sliced through my body like cold water, dragging me out of the heat we were building. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want the silence to catch up and make me reconsider anything.

But he was already reaching for it, digging into the pocket of his jeans, the phone pulled free with a sigh heavy enough to tell me he didn’t want to answer either.

Still, he did.

I sat there, breath shallow, perched on his lap with my chest pressed to his and frustration in my eyes. My lips were still tingling. My body still burning. And now we were paused—thinking. I hated that.

Solo’s face twisted as soon as he heard the voice on the other end. His whole body tensed under mine like someone had grabbed the back of his neck and squeezed.

“He did what? Man, fuck! He always on that bullshit,” Solo snapped, voice rising. “Why the fuck would he do that?!”

My pout dropped as fast as his mood did.

His jaw locked. Fingers clenched into fists. I could feel the tension rippling through his body, vibrating against my thighs. Whoever was on that phone had pulled him out of the moment and dumped him right back into the chaos.

I didn’t need to guess who it was. I could hear Jimmy’s voice faintly in the background—tight, agitated. Probably trying to keep things from getting worse.

I didn’t ask questions. Not yet.

The call ended with Solo tossing the phone to the side like it had cursed him. He rubbed his hands down his face, slow, like he was trying to wipe the whole situation off his skin. He looked like he’d aged a year in sixty seconds.

“What’s wrong, boo?” I asked gently, reaching up to caress the side of his face.

He leaned his head back against the couch, eyes closed, lips parted like he was holding something in. His hands found their way back to my sides, rubbing slow and steady, like the motion was the only thing keeping him tethered.

And I wondered—like I always did—if he could feel the scar there. It was the way he ran his palm across it the way Jey had, even without knowing what it meant most likely. If he felt the heat it carried. If he knew it was a brand from another life.

But he didn’t say anything about it. He just kept rubbing my skin like it helped him breathe.

“For the past three years,” he began, voice low and rough, “he been out here wildin’. Whatever he said, we did. He wanted somebody dead, they dead. He wanted somebody hurt, we hurt ‘em. No questions asked. We did it. That’s just how it was.”

He paused. Stared at the ceiling like the answers were hiding in the drywall.

“The Hittas showed up. Shit, they ain’t come to play. They move strategically, not off emotions. Not off of ego. But Jey, nah.” Solo shook his head, anger creeping into his voice like a leak. “He don’t fucking think before he do. He puts us in harm’s way, way too much.”

I stayed quiet. Let him speak.

He was peeling something open, something deep, something tired. I could feel it.

His eyes finally found mine again.

“How much blood we gotta spill for him to get it?” he asked, voice cracked open. “Who gotta die next for him to see he ain’t fit to lead?”

His words sank into me, thick and heavy.

Because a part of me knew—so much of this started with me. With leaving. With surviving. With choosing me over we.

The mood dropped low. Like the weight in his chest had crawled into mine too. But instead of sitting with it, Solo leaned forward and kissed me again. This one was soft. Sad. Like an apology, like a warning. He kissed my lips, then my cheek, then the curve of my neck.

“I gotta go,” he whispered against my skin.

I nodded. I didn’t want to let go, but I understood. Something was unraveling. Something bigger than us. Bigger than the kiss. Bigger than Jey even.

As I slid off his lap, I reached for the shirt he came in with, handed it to him. Then I padded barefoot to the laundry room to grab the other one. The house felt eerily quiet, like it knew something was coming.

When I came back, Solo was standing in the middle of the living room, shirtless, eyes low. He looked up as I walked toward him, still in my bra and panties, and something shifted in the air.

He looked at me like I was something sweet he hadn’t tasted in a long time. His eyes lingered. So did mine.

I handed him the shirt, and he slid it on slow, never breaking eye contact. Then he stepped in close, hands finding my waist, his breath brushing my lips.

“We can finish what you started,” he murmured. “Just say the word. And I’m on my way.”

I bit my lip. God, I wanted to say it. Meant to say no. But what came out?

“I will.”

Even if I didn’t know for sure. Even if I shouldn’t.

He kissed me one last time, slow and thick with promise. Then he turned and headed for the door. I followed, quietly, keeping close behind like I wasn’t ready to break the spell. I hid behind the door as I let him out and locked it tight once it closed.

I leaned against the wood, palms pressed flat, eyes shut.

The silence settled back in. But the storm? It wasn’t gone.

It was just getting closer.

---

After Solo left, I finally let my body rest. The kind of sleep that drapes over you like an old quilt—heavy, quiet, and full of weight you didn’t know you were still carrying.

When I woke up, the sun had moved far past morning. Afternoon light spilled through the window in wide strips, dust particles floating like ghosts in the beam. I stretched slowly, still in my bra and panties, sheets tangled around my legs. My body felt lighter. But my heart? Still heavy. Just quieter now. Like it knew what was coming.

I moved on autopilot. Got dressed without thinking, letting muscle memory do the work—cotton shorts, tank top, my hair pulled back into something halfway decent. I grabbed my keys, a bundle of fresh flowers, and headed out to the car.

The drive was silent. No music. Just the sound of tires gliding over hot pavement. I knew exactly where I was going.

Shady Groves.

It was tucked behind the west side, quiet and sun-bleached, bordered by trees that looked like they’d been there since the beginning of time. You had to know how to get there, how to move through it. Head straight back, take a left, another left—and there he was. Three sections back.

Carmelo.

Granny had gotten the details for me when I first came home. Said it was one of the first things she made sure of—where he was, how to find him. But I couldn’t bring myself to come then. Couldn’t bear the idea of standing over his name etched in stone. Not with everything still buried deep in me.

But today… today I needed to say what I should’ve said years ago.

His grave was neat. Clean. A few fresh flowers already there, probably from his sister on his Daddy side. Maybe his mama. The headstone was polished, shining a little in the light. And there he was—his picture carved into the smooth granite. Smile still full of life. Date of birth. Date of death.

I sat down slow, knees folding into the grass. Set the flowers down beside the others. Ran my fingers across the carved words like they were Braille for the heart.

A loving son, brother, and friend.

The tears came without warning.

Soft at first. Then harder. The kind that shakes you from the inside. I sniffed, pressed my palm to my chest, tried to steady my breathing. I had come here for a reason. I needed to say it. All of it. So, I could finally stop dragging this guilt around like a second shadow.

I wiped my face, voice trembling.

“Melo, it’s me. Nye,” I said, almost afraid the wind would swallow the words before they landed. “I came to see you. Um… I had some things I wanted to tell you.”

My chest rose and fell too fast. The heat wasn’t helping, and neither was the weight pressing down on my shoulders like punishment. My breaths turned into gasps, and I had to brace myself with both hands in the grass just to calm down.

“Melo,” I whispered, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to die behind my bullshit. You supposed to be here. Living with us. Smiling. Thriving.”

I closed my eyes tight, rocked a little where I sat.

“I’m so sorry and I hope up there in heaven…” My voice cracked again. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. “You can forgive me.”

That last line barely made it out. But I said it. And somewhere deep inside—something broke loose. Like a rusted lock finally giving way. Like a chain slipping off my neck.

I sat there in the quiet, the world hushed around me. Birds chirped in the distance. A breeze moved through the trees.

And then… a white butterfly fluttered by.

Soft wings. Bright in the sun. It danced in front of me, floating, floating—before landing gently on the edge of Melo’s grave.

I smiled through the tears. If there was ever a sign… that was it. I watched the butterfly until it lifted again, carried by the wind, disappearing into the sky.

I leaned forward and placed two fingers against my lips. Then pressed them to his face—his picture, still smiling on the stone.

“It’s not a goodbye,” I whispered, “it’s a I’ll see you later, boo.”

And with that, I stood up. Brushed the grass and dirt off my shorts. Took one last look. Then I turned and walked back to the car.

My promise lingering in the wind.

---

….over at the high-rise

Jey walked into a quiet house, the kind of quiet that made you nervous if you weren’t sure what you were walking into. He had flowers in one hand and a Chanel shopping bag in the other—the kind of bag that whispered forgiveness louder than words ever could. Inside was the purse Tutor had been eyeing for weeks, the one she’d circled in a magazine and left on the table like it wasn’t a hint.

This was his peace offering—for the night he didn’t come home, for the mornings she woke up alone, for all the unanswered calls and lies she probably didn’t believe but accepted anyway.

He placed the flowers and the bag gently on the kitchen counter, glancing around.

No sign of her.

Not in the kitchen. Not in the living room. Not on the couch where she usually waited up for him. The house felt like it was holding its breath.

He moved down the hallway toward the bedroom, steps soft, heart already bracing. Just before he reached for the knob, he heard it.

Sniffles.

Low, soft, but unmistakable.

His chest tightened.

Damn. Tutor was a good girl. Solid. Sweet. The kind of woman who deserved peace, not the chaos he dragged in like dirt on his shoes. She didn’t deserve any of this. But what could he do?

His heart was split down the middle—one half beating for Tutor, the other still tethered to a past he never properly let go of.

To Nyeya.

Jey rested his head against the door for a long moment, breathing her name into the wood like it could give him clarity. Then, slowly, he pushed it open.

Tutor sat on the floor beside the bed, knees pulled up to her chest, face streaked with tears. Her hazel eyes met his immediately—puffy, red, and shining with sadness that had clearly been sitting there all night.

He didn’t hesitate.

He moved toward her and reached out for her. She didn’t pull away. She let him grab her hands, let him pull her into his arms.

He held her tight, burying his face in her neck like he could apologize through his embrace alone.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “I’m sorry for everything I been putting you through.”

Tutor didn’t speak. She just clung to him, her silence louder than anything she could have said. He pulled back slightly, kissed her forehead, and tried to meet her eyes.

“I had street shit to handle, baby. You know how it get. I don’t want you caught up in that.”

She nodded, but something was still off. She didn’t smile. Didn’t soften. Her eyes still brimmed with tears; still held something he couldn’t read.

Jey furrowed his brow, brushing his fingers over her cheek.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked. “Tell me. Something happened?”

Tutor nodded slowly. Her lips parted like she was searching for the right words. Her voice barely made it out.

“Jey… I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“You can tell me anything,” he said, brows pulling together.

And then it came.

“I—I’m pregnant, Jey.”

His mouth fell open.

For a second, he forgot how to breathe.

“You what?”

The words shot out sharper than he meant, slicing the air between them. Tutor flinched, her shoulders curling inward. His arms had tightened, unconsciously holding her in place.

“I’m pregnant. I don’t… I don’t know how it happened.”

Jey dropped his hands from her arms like they burned him. He sat back on the bed, hands running through his hair in frantic disbelief.

He always used protection. Always. How had this happened?

He was supposed to have control. Over his life. Over his choices. Over this. His head spun. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Couldn't grasp what this meant.

And all he could think, over and over again, was:

How the fuck am I supposed to get Nyeya back now?

Tutor climbed into his lap slowly, seeking comfort, but Jey’s mind was already a thousand miles away—stuck in a spiral he couldn't climb out of.

The room stayed quiet.

But inside Jey? A storm was brewing.

----

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 16.. (click here)

Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @nbanenefrmdao @queeny23 @punksyeet @partypoison00 @justazzi @southernpree @tian-monique @levissslutt @emotionalhottiee @blkgirlsneedlove2 @fafomama @bigjuiciisushii @jazzyboo123-blog1

[levissslutt]

awwww shit i done found another one

they got oot and mr lisp on da juices 🤣🤣🤣

[levissslutt]

Jimmy the man of culture that he is repping the salt and pepper beard ☝️ and roasting his little brother a lil bit for good measure

[levissslutt]

not ucey on da juicey🤣🤣

[levissslutt]

i’m so tired.. so fucking tired, everytime i try to push forward i’m shoved backwards and it’s like damn when tf doe this end

i indulge in social media and fantasy worlds and write and read fan fic to escape this reality but in the end when my phone is off and i’m sitting with my thoughts i really fucking hate my life.

i want so much better i’m meant for so much better and its simple things holding me back and it’s so incredibly frustrating, so fucking frustrating.

i’m not giving up i’m not ever, i’m not suicidal i’m ok mentally i’m just fucking tired man. it’s always money or school or work or my car or relationships like my gawd can a nigga BREATHE ??????

i feel so stuck and i’m tired of being told no

what do you do when you know your meant for more but have no where to start ?

[levissslutt]

stoppit rn 🥹

call me cupid the way i made him fall in love જ⁀➴

thank you so much to @huyandere for this wonderful art commission of katsuki and me! i’m beyond happy with how this turned out! 💖

[levissslutt]

call me cupid the way i made him fall in love જ⁀➴

thank you so much to @huyandere for this wonderful art commission of katsuki and me! i’m beyond happy with how this turned out! 💖

[levissslutt]

PORNSTAR

Authors Note: Heeeyyyy Yallllll🫣🫢 Sorry I've been in and out of this app.... But Life got me in a chokehold baby! Wheew.... 😮‍💨 But...I've been working. Here's a lil something to get back into the swing of things... This request had me on one... I hope the baby that requested this really enjoys this... I thought outside the box with this one...and lastly, I hope all of you enjoy. 😊

Warning:. PLEASE DNI IF YOU'RE A MINOR. THIS IS FOR THE 18+ CREW...

6.8K Words (DAMN IT) 😮‍💨

READER|

If your nephew hadn't begged you to go with him, you wouldn't even be here. Let's start there.

WWE meet-and-greet? Cool. Jey Uso? Fine as hell. But packed convention center crowds, screaming fans, and long-ass lines? Not your usual vibe. But your nephew, Malik, had been losing his little mind about this for weeks—talkin' 'bout "Auntie, you gotta come with me. Ain't no way I'm meeting my favorite wrestler without you."

You loved that boy too much to say no.

What you didn't love, though? The damn DIY crop top he made you wear. His "special request."

A black and Gold YEET shirt, sliced up by your sister like it was a damn Fashion Nova drop. 

"Ain't no way in hell..."

That was all you could think as you tugged at the hem of the the cropped shirt. The fabric barely grazed your midriff, the edges uneven from your sister's scissors and imagination. She swore she was doing you a favor. "Trust me," she said. "Little crop action. Let that snatched waist do what it do."

And it didn't help that it left your tattoo exposed, that tattoo. The one no one was supposed to recognize unless they paid the subscription fee and clicked that lil tip link.

A scorpion with it's tail flipped over but the end was shaped into a heart, right on the side of your rib cage, almost under your right boob.

Your subscribers? They loved that tat. One in particular tipped three thousand the first time he saw it in a slow-motion clip of you unzipping that bodysuit, whispering "You wanna see more, baby?"

But you never showed your face.

Never said your name.

Never planned to be seen.

Until now.

"Yo, that's Jey, Auntie! That's him!"

Malik damn near broke into a sprint.

You followed behind, trying not to let your thighs stick together from the heat and nerves. The closer you got to the table, the more you realized Jey wasn't just "fine." He was ridiculously Fine.  Dangerously Fine.

A walking sin.

Thick Samoan frame draped in a black plain shirt and matching sweats, ink flowing down both arms like liquid legacy. His tribal tattoo stretched up the right side of his neck, under that thick ass gold Cuban chain. You could see it even clearer when he turned his head to the side to look away, revealing it more. Your knees nearly gave out. 

His hair was slicked down, faded on the sides. Curls more defiant, than it was through the camera. His lips? Full and Pink. Smile? Bottom row full of Gold.  Beard? Full as hell, sprinkle of gray hairs in it. 

And Lord, when his eyes found yours?

It was like he'd already seen you naked.

Because...he had.

Not that you knew that...yet.

"What up, Uce? Who you bring with ya? Yo sister?" he asked, looking down at Malik first, but his gaze snapped right back to you.

"My Auntie. She brought me," Malik beamed proudly, nudging you closer like you weren't about to melt into a puddle.

Jey leaned in.

"Appreciate you bringin' him, mama. You lookin' real familiar though..."

You smiled, nerves prickling your spine. "Do I?"

His gaze dipped to your chest—not too subtly—and locked onto that tattoo like it was branded into his memory.

And the way his lips curled?

Yeah. He knew.

The grin that slid across his lips was lazy and laced in mischief. That bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he gave you a once-over that sent heat crawling up your neck.

"Damn," he muttered, leaning closer. "You a real one for rockin' that Yeet crop."

His voice was rich. Deep. Like honey left out in the sun.

You chuckled awkwardly and glanced at your nephew, who was still giddy. "He made me wear it."

"Smart kid," Jey said—still looking at you. Not your nephew.

Up close, he was too fine.  It was damn near suffocating. 

You took a picture together. He didn't touch your waist... but his hand did brush the small of your lower back as you leaned in. That light drag of his fingertips felt intentional. Testing.

The line to meet him was still long, but before you walked away, he leaned in slightly, his breath was warm, his tone low. Just for you to ONLY hear,

"Nice ink, mama."

Your breath caught.

He smirked, slow and knowing. Then added: "Seen it before."

Your stomach dropped. You blinked.

He let go.

Fuck.

The drive back was quiet, but your brain was loud.

You couldn't stop replaying the moment in your head. The way Jey looked at you. The way his voice dipped when he said "Seen it before." Like he knew exactly where.

And the thing that had your heart thudding all the way down to your thighs?

That little smirk. That sinful, knowing, bottom-lip-biting-ass smirk.

You dropped Malik off, kissed his forehead, told your sister to text if he needed anything—and peeled out the driveway faster than you should've. 

The second your front door shut behind you, you leaned against it, chest rising.

You needed to breathe.

But you also needed to work.

Saturdays were your bread and butter. Your masked streams always went up between 11 and 2AM—prime time for your audience. You hadn't even posted a teaser yet. Still had to light the candles, cue the playlist, and pick out a bodysuit.

Your silk robe slipped off as you walked into your bedroom. The soft hum of the ring light flickered on, casting shadows across your vanity and bed. You moved to sit, propped open your laptop—and that's when you saw it.

OnlyFans: New Messages (3) — From JSF89

You squinted.

JSF89?

That name always gave you butterflies. He tipped real heavy. Commented little. But always requested the softest, but filthiest shit.

You clicked.

JSF89: That yeet shirt was damn near criminal, ma. I see why lil man made u wear it. 

Your stomach clenched.

JSF89: But, that tat? That's what did it. I knew, I KNEW that ink from somewhere, been staring at if fo' months.

Your pulse drummed in your ears. You felt your fingers tremble as you read the third one.

JSF89: You ever been with one of your subs ? 👀

You swallowed hard.

Your throat went dry.

Then came the fourth.

JSF89: You ever thought about it? 🫣

You stared at the screen, the realization hitting like a gut punch laced with arousal.

Jey.

JSF89 was Jey fuckin' Uso. The fine ass man your nephew dragged you to meet today.

You closed your eyes for a second, but all it did was replay every moan, every video, every damn clip you'd uploaded where you talked directly into the camera with him watching.

With him tipping.

With him...

Fantasizing.

You reopened them, cheeks warm. Fingers hovering over the keys.

You weren't reckless with this page. Not ever. You never mixed fantasy with reality.

But...

For him?

You took a breath. Typed slow.

Sin-in-aShiesty: No. Never have. If you been watchin me for months, you know that's one of my  rules. 

You paused. Heart racing.

Sin-in-aShiesty:But... For you...? Maybe, I'd make an exception 🦂🖤

Your message was barely a minute old before the response bubble popped up.

Your heart thudded.

JSF89 is typing...

You watched the dots blink. And blink. And blink.

Then—

JSF89: So I ain't the only one breakin' rules tonight, huh? 😏

You bit your lip so hard you almost moaned.

Your thighs clenched on instinct. This was too real. Too fast. And yet... it felt like it had always been leading to this.

Another message popped through before you could even react.

JSF89: Drop that stream tonight. Imm be watchin'. 

You blinked. Then blinked again.

Because just like that... it wasn't anonymous anymore. The fantasy had a name. A voice. A body.

And God help you—a sexy ass face.

That thick, caramel, Samoan face with the full lips and the tribal ink and that damn smile. The man who made your nephew grin like Christmas. The man who dragged his fingers across your back like he owned it. The man who'd been stroking himself to your content for months.

And now?

He wanted to see what it looked like when the mask was off, and in person.

You stood, shook out your limbs, and grabbed the black mesh bodysuit from your drawer. High-cut. Backless. Zipped up the front. You knew the zipper wouldn't last past the thirty-minute mark—hell, maybe not even ten. But that's what they liked.

What he liked.

You stepped into it slowly, tugging it over your hips. The mesh hugged your curves like a second skin, your nipples already visible beneath the thin fabric. You adjusted the straps, checked your angles in the mirror, and slid on your mask—black, sleek, and full-face. Only your eyes and lips showed. Glossed. Full. Teasing.

You always went live with candles burning. Tonight, you added more.

Candles along the headboard, tea lights lining the vanity, a slow-burning wax melt filling the room with something warm and vanilla-sinful. The playlist was already queued: slow bass, nasty lyrics, moans tucked in between every beat.

Your fingertips trembled slightly as you adjusted the camera, propped it up just how he liked it. Wide angle. Just enough to catch the curve of your hips when you turned around, enough to see that tattoo peeking out every time you shifted.

The scorpion. Tail curved into a heart. You had no doubt he was staring at it right now, mouth parted, hand probably already wrapped around himself.

You hit Start Stream.

And just like that, the red light blinked on.

The chat lit up instantly—comments rolling in like always.

But your eyes were searching for one name.

JSF89 has entered the room.

You sucked in a breath through your nose. Your lips curled into a smirk.

Then other comments rolled in like water out of a dam, 

DADDY4U88: Lawd she done pulled the mesh out. We eating tonight, fellas. BIGTYME911: She Baaaackkk🔥🦂 KINGLUST21: Aye turn the lights up a lil. I needa seee alll dat😮‍💨 DRIPEMOUT: Oooweeeee, Mesh?? Oh you not playin tonight mama.😮‍💨 DemonTimeDon: She back at it... BEEN waitin all week.

And then—there he was.

JSF89: That bodysuit made for you, huh? That lil waist still sittin'? 😈💸

$500 tip.

You didn't flinch... but your body did.

Your thighs twitched beneath you. He knew exactly how to get a reaction. You swore the screen got hotter just seeing his name.

"Yall was good last week. I was gonna keep it slow tonight. But, some of yall know how to beg real good." 

The chat exploded.

BOOBMAN25: Whoever he is, he got her blushin thru a mask. 🤣 DeepStrokez212: Not the private nickname treatment. He def in the top 4. DripUOut: She said "some of y'all"—JSF know he the chosen one 😂 NastyWorkNed: I'm tipping just to compete now. 😤 JSF89: Let 'em talk, mama. I'm here for the show.

Another $500 tip.

But then came another comment.

JSF89: That tattoo always been my favorite. Right where I wanna put my mouth. 😈

You froze for half a second.

Thighs twitching again.

The words weren't new—but coming from him? On this night? After two $500 tips?

You already knew what time it was.

And he wasn't done.

JSF89: Take it off, mama. JSF89: Let me see it up close. JSF89: Do your worst.

$1,500 tip.

Your lips parted slowly behind the mask.

Your body responded before your mind did—hips shifting, breath catching, nipples pebbling under the mesh as your fingers slid up the center of the suit.

The chat couldn't see his tip. They never could.

But they felt the shift.

DeepStrokez212: Yo... wtf just happened?? BIGTYME911: She look like somebody touched her thru the screen 😭 BOOBMAN25: Who is JSF?? Cuz she movin different after his comments. DemonTimeDon: This the kinda pace change that get bookmarked. KingLust21: She bout to show out... I can FEEL it.

You scooted back til you reached the middle of the bed, then you stood on your knees, slow and intentional.

Fingers hooking into the sides of the mesh and peeling it down your shoulders, then further... revealing soft, glistening skin inch by inch.

Full view.

That damn tattoo.

The scorpion's curved tail rested just beneath the swell of your breast, rising and falling with your breath.

You leaned closer into the camera, tilted your head, voice like syrup:

"You still watchin', daddy?"

And then, without breaking eye contact with the lens...

You reached behind you. Grabbing it.

The rose gold wand. Your favorite.  Polished. Sleek. Quiet at first.

The moment it buzzed to life in your hand, the chat lost control.

JUICYJERK88: OHHH SHIT. DemonTimeDon: It's OVER. KINGLUST21: That's the toy. DripEmOut: Y'all heard that hum?? We locked in now. DADDY4U88: Cleared my schedule. 😩

You pressed the wand to your clit again. This time? Direct contact.

"Mmmfuck..." you breathed, body arching, eyes fluttering shut.

Your moans poured out slow and dreamy, like honey.

"Y'all watchin'? Hope you're strokin' with me..." "Especially you, daddy..."

JSF89: I'm here. JSF89: Stroke for stroke. Don't you hold back now. JSF89: Show me that pretty finish.

Your hips started rolling. Thighs tightening. That perfect moan spilling from your lips—soft, sweet, desperate.

Your body trembled. Eyes crossed. Toes pointed.

And just as your orgasm hit—your thighs jerked, and you squirted.

Hard. All over the bed. The wand still buzzing against your clit as your mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

The chat went insane.

BOOBMAN25: OHHHHH SHIIIITTTTT! KINGLUST21: SHE SQUIRTED. WE GOT A FLOOD. DADDY4U88: JSF WHAT DID YOU DO? DeepStrokez212: I AIN'T NEVER SEEN HER DO IT LIKE THAT DripUOut: WHO IS DADDY?!??!?

You lay there panting, wand falling from your hand, chest rising and falling as you finally whispered into the mic:

"...Told you it was for you, daddy."

And somewhere, phone in hand, dick still in a death grip—

Jey's soul left his body.

Your body was still humming. The sheets beneath you were soaked, the wand buzzing quietly where it had fallen from your hand, and the soft afterglow made your limbs feel like warm jelly.

You reached over, finally tapping End Stream.

The red light faded. The chat died down. And just like that... it was quiet again.

You exhaled slowly, mask still on, heart still beating fast from the messiest orgasm you'd ever shared on camera.

Then—

Ping.

A DM. Private. From JSF89.

Your eyes narrowed. You sat up slowly, grabbing your phone with fingers still trembling slightly.

JSF89: That was the nastiest shit I've ever seen. And you know I done replayed that squirt three times already. But I gotta ask you one thing, mama... JSF89:That offer from earlier today... About being with one of your subs...That still on the table? Your lips parted.

Now? You knew who he was.

Jey Uso. The man who hugged your nephew like family, the man whose real-life presence made your thighs clench in broad daylight at that meet and greet.

And now he was asking you for you.

Your fingers tapped slow.

You: Yesss, it's still on the table. Here's my number. Don't make me regret this.

Not even thirty seconds later—your phone buzzed.

(301)-232-****- This Jey. Drop the addy, mama. I ain't playing wit you. 

You swallowed hard.

This was real now.

You sent the address, then dropped the phone into your lap, heart thudding.

Jey🤒: 25 mins out. Be ready for me. No mask this time. I wanna see all that pretty face when you cum🥴

You stared at the screen for a second, a breath caught in your throat, before you jumped off the bed like your whole body had rebooted.

Shower. You needed one now. Not just to freshen up—but to reset. To prep.

Because Jey Uso was on his way. The man you'd moaned for behind a screen for months was about to see all of you—in real time, in real light, no edits, no angles.

You tossed the mesh bodysuit in the hamper, turned on the shower, and stepped in. Steam rising. Heart pounding.

Pussy still pulsing.

You scrubbed, shaved, rinsed, moisturized. You made sure you smelled like vanilla and warm jasmine—your signature scent.

By the time you were dry, the clock read 17 minutes.

You threw on a silk robe—bare underneath. Lit the candles. Turned the lights low, music lower. Just a little SZA in the background. Something sultry. Something slow.

Then you grabbed your phone. Checked the camera. Rewatched the clip of you squirting one last time.

And whispered to yourself with a smirk,

"Let's see if he can handle it in person."

Your heart was thudding. You'd been pacing for the last ten minutes—fresh out the shower, hair still damp at the ends, skin glowing from a fast rubdown of shea butter and nerves. You'd changed three times before settling on an oversized tee that barely hit the tops of your thighs... and nothing underneath.

And then—

Three slow knocks.

You froze.

Then exhaled, wiped your palms on your thighs, and opened the door.

And there he was.

JSF89. Jey. In the flesh.

Black tank hugging every curve of his tattooed arms. Shoulders wide. Chest ridiculous. Gold chains resting against thick caramel skin. And those black Ray-Bans sitting low on his nose, giving him that quiet, cocky mystery that made your thighs clench on instinct.

But what hit you first?

His scent.

That warm, spicy cologne with something smooth and masculine underneath—clean skin, a hint of mint, and heat. He smelled expensive. Familiar. Dangerous.

His eyes dragged over your face first—like he was matching what he saw earlier at the meet and greet to what was right in front of him now.

And then... lower.

His lips parted slightly as he stared at your thighs, at the peek of brown skin and shea-glossed curves, at the faint imprint of your nipples under the thin tee.

He stepped inside without a word.

You backed up slowly as he shut the door behind him, locking it with one hand—still staring at you like he didn't quite believe you were real.

"Damn," he muttered, voice low, smooth, and deep. "You still look even better without the mask."

You smirked, half-turned to give him the view over your shoulder.

"You tryna make me blush or..."

He was already in your space. Big, warm, radiating heat. His hand brushed your hip as he stepped in closer, chest nearly grazing yours.

"Nah," he murmured, eyes drinking you in. "Just tryna see what my favorite streamer looks like... in person."

You held his gaze for a beat, heart damn near doing backflips in your chest, before clearing your throat and stepping back.

"You want a drink or something first? You good?"

He licked his lips slowly, finally pulling off his shades and letting you really see him. Those dark brown eyes? Hungry. Focused. That soft simmer that said he was two seconds from forgetting what water even was.

He blinked. Then laughed low under his breath. "You tryna be polite after damn near leaking on camera thinkin' about me?"

You grinned. "I'm tryna be a good host. You drove 25 minutes."

"Yeah. And you worth every mile, mama."

You motioned toward the kitchen, as he followed. "I got you. You want tequila, or somethin' softer?"

He chuckled, licking his lips as he leaned on your counter. "Lemme get that tequila. Straight. I'ma need it."

Then he paused, eyes trailing down your legs. "'Cause if you sit on my lap lookin' like that... we not makin' it past the drink."

You bit your lip, heat crawling up your thighs.

As you reached for the bottle and two glasses, his voice dropped again behind you.

"And mama..." You turned, glass in hand.

He was already watching you like a man about to be fed his favorite meal.

"I ain't tryna leave 'til the sun come up."

Jey licked his lips after his, eyes never leaving yours as he placed the empty glass down with a soft clink. He stayed leaned over the counter, those thick forearms flexed beneath the weight of his body, chains shifting just enough to glint under the kitchen light.

You watched his tongue swipe across the edge of his beard, catching the last trace of tequila—and your thighs clenched.

“So…” you murmured, dragging a finger down your own glass, voice dipped in syrup. “You ready to see where the magic happens?”

He didn’t move at first. Didn’t speak.

He just looked at you.

Like you were already unwrapped. Like he was starving and finally at the table.

Then he stood up—slow. Heavy. Every part of him saying yeah, I’m ready. His hand brushed your lower back, slipping lower until his fingers flirted with the curve of your ass.

“Lead the way, mama.”

You smirked. Turned without a word. And walked slow on purpose.

You could feel his eyes on you as your shirt shifted with every step. The bounce. The sway. The bare skin teasing just under the hemline.

You cracked the door to your room open with one hand and stepped inside.

Soft lighting bathed the room in a warm, inviting glow—candles flickering low, your familiar setup in the corner, tripod and ring light tucked near your vanity, bed made… but barely. Pillows tossed, sheets inviting.

You turned around to face him, watching as he stepped in and shut the door behind him.

He took in everything—the low lights, the faint scent of vanilla, the vibe.

Then his eyes settled back on you.

“This where you had me losin’ sleep, huh?” he said low, gaze sweeping your body again. “Right here on this bed? Moanin’  under that mask?”

You stepped closer. “Right here,” you whispered.

You reached up and pulled your oversized shirt over your head, slow and deliberate.

His breath hitched.

There was nothing underneath.

The scorpion tattoo on your ribs caught the candlelight, curling under your breast like it had been waiting for him.

He didn’t say a word. Just stared. Hands clenched into fists at his sides like he was holding on to his sanity by threads.

You tilted your head, voice soft.

“C’mon, daddy.” “You said you weren’t leaving till the sun came up…”

You backed up slowly, letting the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

“…and I’m not planning on sleeping either.”

He hadn’t moved yet.

Still standing there, chest rising slow, watching you like a man on the brink—like one wrong blink and he’d lose all restraint.

But you wanted to be the one to push him over.

You stepped to him, bare and warm, your nipples brushing against his tank as you slid your hands up his chest. Your fingers found his Cuban link chains, thick and heavy, resting right at the top of his pecs. You curled your fingers around it and gave it a gentle pull.

"C’mere."

It wasn’t even loud. It didn’t have to be.

He followed, just like you knew he would.

You tilted your chin up, eyes locked on his face as you reached with your other hand and slid his Ray-Bans off slow—real slow—watching the way his lashes fluttered, how his jaw flexed once the light hit those dark brown eyes.

"There you are," you whispered.

His eyes were everything. Hungry. Focused. A little wild around the edges. Like he'd been holding back from the second you opened the door.

“You really had me watchin’ you with my hand around my dick,” he muttered, voice thick and deep, “now I get to touch you for real?”

You smirked, still holding onto his chain, letting your nails graze the back of his neck.

“Not just touch me,” you breathed, leaning up, lips just grazing his—“you get to fuck me.”

That did it.

He growled low under his breath, grabbed the back of your neck and crashed his lips into yours—hard, messy, claiming.

Your fingers tangled in the thick Cuban around his neck, holding him close as he kissed you like he owned you—like he’d tipped for months just to get a taste, and now? Now he was going to make sure it was burned into his memory.

"Mmm—" you gasped into his mouth as he nipped your bottom lip, then licked over it like he couldn't help himself. He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavy, lips still brushing.

"Been thinkin' about this mouth for months," he whispered, thumb stroking your jaw. "That voice. Those moans. That fuckin’ tattoo…”

He trailed his fingers down your side slowly, warm and rough, until they hovered just below your breast—right where the scorpion coiled on your skin.

"I used to pause the stream right here…" he murmured, eyes fixed on it, his thumb barely grazing the ink. "Every time you arched. Every time that little heart peeked out."

You shivered. His voice was thick, reverent. Like your body was sacred text and he’d memorized it line by line.

He sank to his knees before you even realized it. His hands slid down your thighs, gripping them firmly, spreading you just a little as he leaned in.

His lips brushed the underside of your breast, right over the tattoo. Soft. Slow. Worshipful.

"This what you meant to show me, mama?" "All those streams... all those nights I had your name in my mouth and my fist tight?"

He kissed it again. Then licked it.

And you swore your knees buckled.

He stood again, towering over you now, letting his hands trail up your sides until they reached your throat—fingertips gentle, but firm enough to remind you who was in control now.

"Lay back on the bed."

His voice didn’t rise. He didn’t have to ask.

You obeyed without a word, climbing onto the sheets and laying down with your legs still hanging off the edge.

You watched as he peeled off his tank—slowly. Letting you see every curve of that carved chest, every inch of ink, every scar that made him even more real.

Then he slid his pants down just enough to tease the V-cut of his hips and the deep thickness behind his boxers.

But he didn’t rush.

He climbed on top of you slowly, body warm and heavy, hands caging you in on either side of your head as he leaned down and whispered:

“Tonight? I’m not watchin’. I’m living it.”

His lips captured yours again, slower this time. And his hand?

Already trailing between your thighs.

His mouth dragged down your neck, leaving heat in its path, his beard tickling soft over your skin as he made his way lower—taking his time, savoring every breathy whimper, every arch of your hips.

When he reached the underside of your breast again—right over the scorpion tattoo—he paused.

Tongue flat. A slow lick. Then a warm kiss that made your stomach flutter.

“I used to rewind right here,” he muttered, voice dark, lips brushing your skin as his fingers slid between your thighs. “Every time you moaned with your eyes crossed and that wand on your clit?”

He kissed lower. Slower.

“You’d tell us you were close... but you’d always hold out just long enough to make us tip harder.”

You gasped as he kissed just above your mound, your thighs twitching open.

And then— He looked up at you from between your legs, eyes blown wide, a smirk tugging at his lips as he said:

“Tonight? I get to see it happen. Close. Real close.”

He reached over to your nightstand, never taking his eyes off you, and grabbed it.

Your wand. Rose gold. Sleek. Familiar. Dangerous.

Your breath caught in your throat the moment he turned it on. That low hum filled the room like a live wire snapping through your spine.

He raised an eyebrow. “This the one that made you squirt on stream?”

You bit your bottom lip and nodded, thighs already shifting restlessly beneath him.

“Mmhmm... That’s the one.”

He chuckled—deep and wicked—and slid his palm up your thigh, spreading your legs wider, laying on his stomach between them like he was getting ready to worship something holy.

And then he pressed it to your clit.

Not hard. Just enough.

Your head flew back instantly.

“Fuuuck—Jey…”

His free hand slipped under your thigh, anchoring you down as your hips bucked at the vibration.

He watched you closely.

Watched your brows furrow.

Watched your lips part.

Watched your body start to tremble under that first wave.

“There she go…” he muttered, eyes locked on your pussy. “Already twitchin’, huh? You really that close?”

“Y-yes… fuck yes…” You could barely get the words out.

Your back arched. Your legs trembled. That pressure in your belly building fast—too fast.

And just as you were about to tip over—

He pulled it away.

“No— Jey!” you cried, hips chasing the wand, eyes wild.

He chuckled. Slow. Lazy. Cruel.

“Mmm... Nah. Not yet.”

He leaned up slightly, his beard grazing your thigh as he whispered:

“I been waitin’ months for this, mama. You gon’ give me every piece of it. Not just the end.”

He kissed your inner thigh, then brought the wand back. Pressed it lighter. Slower. Building the rhythm again.

Your legs trembled all over again. Hands clutching the sheets. Mouth falling open as you gasped for air.

“Please…” you whimpered.

“Please what, mama?” His voice was silk over fire. He kissed your hip, still teasing your clit with those maddening little pulses.

You whimpered again, biting your lip hard.

“Say it,” he growled. “Tell me what you need.”

“Please... let me come,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I need to.”

He leaned up, one hand gripping your thigh tighter, the wand pressing back to your clit with purpose now.

“Good,” he muttered, licking his lips. “’Cause I need to see what it look like when you lose it for real.”

He didn’t stop.

No teasing. No retreat. Jey’s eyes were glued to your pussy like it was everything he’d been waiting for—and now that he had it, he wasn’t about to miss a single detail.

“Yeah, mama… give me that nut. Let me see it.”

Your back arched so hard your shoulders came off the bed. The wand stayed locked in place. His grip? Unforgiving. And his mouth…?

His lips were parted, eyes flicking between your face and the way your body writhed, completely at his mercy.

“Jey—fuck—Jeyyy—”

Your cry broke mid-scream as your climax ripped through you like lightning. Your toes pointed. Your thighs trembled violently. Your eyes crossed as your body jerked and pulsed, pleasure rushing in waves, wave after wave, until—

You squirted. Hard. Hot. Messy. All over the sheets, his forearm, and the rose gold wand still buzzing against your swollen clit.

“Fuuuuuck, there it is,” he growled, watching you unravel, still holding you in place like he needed to feel every single tremor you gave him.

But before your legs could even settle… Before your mind could climb back down from the stars…

He did it again.

The wand didn’t move.

“J-Jey—please, wait—” You were already writhing, body twitching from the overstimulation.

He climbed up the bed, hovering over you now, his voice dark and rough right against your ear.

“Uh uh. Not done yet. You got more in you.”

His lips brushed your jaw as he worked the wand in slower, tighter circles.

“I want that third nut. That mean one.” “The one you give right before you can’t take anymore.”

Your body was wrecked—flooded with heat, your breath coming in shallow gasps, fingers digging into his arms as your body spiraled again.

“You close already, huh?” His mouth dragged along your neck. “That quick? Thought you needed a break, baby.”

And just like that—

He pulled the wand away.

You let out a broken cry, thighs snapping closed out of instinct.

He laughed softly, dropping the wand beside you, then reached for the hem of his tank and peeled it off, tossing it across the room like it offended him.

Then came the sweats. Low, slow. The band of his briefs clinging to those hips, that carved V-line like something out of a dream.

And when they dropped?

You swallowed.

Thick. Heavy. His dick curved upward, veined, already hard as hell, but he didn’t even move until he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a foil square from his wallet.

“Real ones wrap it up,” he said with a wink, sliding it on with practiced ease.

Then he climbed between your thighs.

His voice dropped—lower than you’d heard all night—as he leaned in, his forehead against yours.

“This what you really wanted, right?” “Not the tips. Not the comments. Not the stream.”

He ran the tip along your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

“You wanted me.”

You couldn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

Your legs fell open in surrender, and your breath hitched as you nodded, eyes heavy, lips parted.

And then—he slid in.

Slow. Thick. Stretching you in a way that felt too much and just right at the same time.

The moment he bottomed out—deep, to the hilt—he went still.

Buried in your pussy. Breath ragged. Palms braced on either side of your head like he needed the mattress to ground him.

His chest hovered over yours, chains dangling, brushing your collarbone with each shaky inhale.

“Shit…” His voice was ruined. Thick. Heavy. Full of disbelief. “I knew it was gonna feel good, but this?”

He looked down between your bodies like he still couldn’t believe he was really inside you. The woman who used to ride her wand in slow circles, whispering dirty little nothings behind that shiesty mask. Now? Your legs were wrapped around him. Tattoo bared. Eyes fluttering. Pussy wrapped so tight around his dick he had to breathe through it.

"This pussy..." he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "Goddamn, mama. You made me obsessed with you."

Then—he moved.

That first stroke? Deep. Slow. Intentional. Dragging against your walls with delicious, dizzying pressure.

And once he felt how your body clung to him?

He locked in.

He gripped your thigh, hoisted it higher, and fucked you deep—tight, heavy thrusts that rolled through your core like thunder.

But he wasn’t just stroking. He was studying.

One hand slid up to your ribs, thumb tracing that scorpion tattoo like he was finally touching the fantasy that lived in his head for months.

He bent his head down and kissed it. Slow. Then again—harder—his teeth grazing the heart at the tail.

“This where it all started,” he growled against your skin. “Every time you showed this… I knew I was done for.”

You gasped as his lips moved higher, trailing over your breast, then your collarbone, then your mouth—kissing you deep, tongue tasting you like he wanted to live inside your mouth.

His hand wrapped around your throat—gentle, but firm. Thumb resting under your jaw, fingers splayed wide, the pressure making your breath catch in your throat and your pussy clench around him hard.

“Look at me,” he said, fucking into you rougher now. “Don’t close your eyes. You begged for this. Now you take it.”

And you did.

You moaned into his mouth, hands sliding up his back, nails dragging down the ridges of his shoulders.

Then he reached up—fingers tangling in your thick ass hair, gripping it at the base. Pulled your head back, exposing your neck, your chest, your whole fucking soul.

“And I'm just gettin' started.” he whispered against your throat.

His pace didn’t slow—if anything, it got meaner. Heavy strokes. Thick. Intentional. Deep enough to make your mouth fall open and your hands claw at the sheets.

But he wasn’t close to finished. And neither were you.

Without a word, he gripped your waist and flipped you.

Not rough, but solid. Like a man who knew exactly where he wanted you. You landed on your stomach with a soft gasp, and before you could lift yourself up, his palm was flat on your lower back, holding you in place.

“Nah, keep that arch right there,” he muttered behind you, voice gravel and sex.

And then—he slid back in.

You choked on a gasp.

He filled you deeper at this angle, the curve of him kissing your walls in places you didn’t even know you had. Your legs trembled, your breath got ragged, and your toes curled in the sheets.

“You hear that?” he gritted, snapping his hips slow and deep, his heavy balls slapping your clit with each drag. “Listen to her. You makin’ her talk to me like she mine already.”

You whimpered into the sheets.

“And that moan?” he growled, gripping your hair now, wrapping it around his fist and pulling your head up just enough for you to breathe again. “Sound even better without that fuckin’ mask.”

“You so fuckin’ pretty…” he panted, his free hand gripping your ass, spreading it. “Look at this body. Thick. Drippin’. Made for me.”

You cried out, body shaking, heat swirling up your spine.

“That’s it,” he whispered, letting go of your hair just to drag his hand down your back, then over your ribs to your waist, holding you still as your thighs started to tremble. “Come on, mama… gimme that nut.”

“Let me feel it.”

And then you snapped.

You came again—loud, uncontrollable, your body jerking under him as your pussy clenched tight, throbbing around him.

You moaned so hard you swore your ears rang. Legs shaking, eyes rolling. Gone.

But Jey?

He wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, and you collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving, slick dripping down your thighs.

“Get up,” he said, voice hoarse.

You looked over your shoulder, dazed.

“Huh?”

“Turn around. Sit back. Face me. Get on your knees, baby.”

You obeyed.

Hair messy. Chest rising and falling. Skin flushed and still trembling. And he stood there, dick soaked and throbbing, eyes low.

“Open that pretty mouth for me.”

You did.

He stepped forward, stroking himself slow—gripping the base and pumping up, eyes never leaving your face.

“You gon’ take this for me, right?” “You gon’ let me paint that pretty face? Let me remember this?”

You nodded, tongue out, lips parted.

He pulled his phone from the nightstand and angled it down.

“Just for me, baby.” “Private. So when I miss you, I can watch how you took it like the good girl you are.”

Your heart was pounding. Your pussy still twitching from the last orgasm. And your face? Seconds away from being painted.

His breaths got shorter. His abs flexed.

“Fuck—yes—yes, mama…”

And then—he came. Hard.

Thick, hot ropes painted your lips, your cheek, your tongue, some hitting your collarbone.

Messy. Warm. Endless.

He groaned loud, voice shaking as he whispered your name behind the phone, his hand tightening around himself as he emptied the last drop on your chin.

You held your tongue out until the very end, then slowly licked your lips, eyes heavy and locked on his.

You reached up and grasped his dick, replacing his hand with both of yours before kissing the tip. Sucking off the remaining drops.   He slightly shuddered, before biting his lip.  You swallowed once, and removed your lips from him then looked up at him—face still covered—smirking through it.

“This what you been fantasizin’ about, daddy?” He still held his phone over your face,  “Goddamn... this one just for me. Look at my baby—covered in me. Just like she promised.”

And you smiled into the camera. Tattoo peeking. Lips still parted.

He threw his phone behind your head landing on the bed, the screen dimming as he knelt in front of you, still panting, eyes heavy as they traced every drip of him sliding down your chin and chest.

“Shit...” he whispered, running his thumb along your jawline, wiping a streak of his own release with careful precision. You caught his thumb with your lips and sucked it off his thumb. 

You released him and wiped the rest of his cum off your face before slowly licking and sucking it off your fingers. He leaned in and placed a kiss to your forehead.  "You still good?" he asked, voice deep and velvet-rough

"Good," he said, voice gruff now, like he was holding back everything. Your throat was raw.

Your face sticky and flushed.

Every nerve ending still sparking under your skin as he kissed your forehead like he hadn’t just ruined you with every stroke, every command, every drop he painted across your face.

You nodded, breath shallow.

“Yeah… I’m good,” you whispered. Your voice was a little shaky, but your smile was steady.

Jey let out a low breath, one hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed your temple again, then your cheek—his lips brushing where his cum had just been.

"Good," he said, voice gruff now, throat coated in grit like he was holding back every dark thing he still wanted to do to you.

“‘Cause I don’t plan on givin’ this pussy back to the internet.”

You blinked. That heat—that heat—returned like wildfire beneath your skin.

He reached for his phone again, but this time he didn’t pull up a stream. He flipped the camera. Tapped record. Then held it in one hand, the other sliding between your legs with familiarity now. Confidence. Ownership.

“Lay back,” he murmured, already climbing back over you. “You still got more in you. I want one more on camera. But this one?” He looked down at you, eyes hooded.

“It ain’t for your fans.” He kissed you, slow and deep. “It’s for me. So every time I’m gone… I remember who this pussy belongs to.”

You licked your lips. Arched into his hand as his fingers slid into you again.

And then he asked it.

The question.

Low. Rough. Serious.

“You ready to be mine for real, baby?”

And the red light blinked. Recording. Just for him. For the man who didn’t just watch you live.

He lived in you now.

Forever his favorite fantasy.

Bonus✨

The sun had just started kissing the skyline, painting your bedroom in soft, peachy golds and sleepy shadows.

But neither of you were asleep.

You were on top.

Straddling him. Hair messy. Skin glowing. Legs trembling, but determined. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider with every bounce, every slow roll of your hips. You were riding him like you meant it. Like he belonged to you now.

And Jey?

Jey looked like he was dreaming with his eyes open.

His head was pressed back into the pillows, chain gleaming against his chest, that thick vein pulsing down his neck. His mouth was open. Breathing heavy. Speechless.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, eyes glued to where your bodies met. “Look at you…”

He dragged his hands up your thighs, back to your ass, squeezing it like it anchored him.

“You so fuckin' pretty when you ride it, mama…” “Like this shit was made for you.”

You moaned softly, hips grinding down in tight circles, your hands pressed flat against his chest, feeling every hard breath he took.

The sunlight hit your scorpion tattoo as you rocked your hips just right, and his eyes went hazy.

“Mmm—fuck—that lil tat still do somethin’ to me,” he breathed. “You real. You here. And you mine.”

You leaned down, lips brushing his.

“Say it again,” you whispered, voice shaky but sweet.

He gripped your ass tighter, thrusting up into you slowly as the head of his dick dragged right against your spot.

“You. Mine.” He kissed you once, then again. “Ain’t never givin’ this up.”

The sunrise spilled across the room, warm and golden, catching the gleam of sweat on both your skin. And with your forehead pressed to his, your bodies locked in rhythm, breath tangled between moans and messy kisses—

You both felt it building. Together.

Right there.

Right on the edge.

And just before you both tumbled into that final climax—

We leave it there. Right where dreams meet daylight. Where fantasy turned real.

And he’s still amazed.

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[levissslutt]

A BLACK GIRL RUNS THIS BLOG BITCH

[levissslutt]

[levissslutt]

me watching jimmy get played every fawking friday

ain’t even friday yet and i’m already irritated

😒

[levissslutt]

yo i’m crying ntm on solo🤣🤣